Monday, November 5, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Summer Symphony
Summer Symphony
Rippling like water over stones
the piano plays on; while overhead
a flute plays, bird song, sweet and clear
fiddles buzzed with the bees
fresh cool breezes brush a cheek
insects flitting by.
Azure sky above, a peaceful day.
Drums begin to rumble in the distance
wind gathers, the trees and flowers
begin to dance, a spot of rain falls
clouds darken.
Lightening flash, cymbal clash
son et lumiere.
This life, like summer passes and is done
has sung it’s song and gone.
Summer’s lease too soon fades
into sweet oblivion.
The symphony has reached its end.
Sue Hemmings 10th July 2007
I was listening to Radio 3 and heard a piece of music, piano tinkling.This reminded me of running water. The next piece had wonderful drums and I thought oh ho hear comes the thunder also as I was listening to the music the weatheroutside changed from sunny to cloudy and so helped to set the mood.
Rippling like water over stones
the piano plays on; while overhead
a flute plays, bird song, sweet and clear
fiddles buzzed with the bees
fresh cool breezes brush a cheek
insects flitting by.
Azure sky above, a peaceful day.
Drums begin to rumble in the distance
wind gathers, the trees and flowers
begin to dance, a spot of rain falls
clouds darken.
Lightening flash, cymbal clash
son et lumiere.
This life, like summer passes and is done
has sung it’s song and gone.
Summer’s lease too soon fades
into sweet oblivion.
The symphony has reached its end.
Sue Hemmings 10th July 2007
I was listening to Radio 3 and heard a piece of music, piano tinkling.This reminded me of running water. The next piece had wonderful drums and I thought oh ho hear comes the thunder also as I was listening to the music the weatheroutside changed from sunny to cloudy and so helped to set the mood.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Hirta Croft House
Their voices echo still inside my walls,
I hear the cry of babes
the loud voices of men
calling from sea to shore
the mothers' softer murmurs
as they sit quietly knitting.
From my windows, I see the men climb the perilous crags
to harvest the fulmars*
first the adult birds, then the eggs
and lastly the fat tasty chicks;
I see the sheep grazing on the hills.
Through my stone, I hear the cattle lowing
people singing as they work
but then comes the loud factor man
to collect the rent
from our turf roofed storehouses
built stone upon stone, skilfully crafted
by ancient art.
Across the sea lies rocky Dun
tall cliffs rising prehistoric giants
thrown there sixty million years ago
by volcanic action.
Man first came here five thousand years ago
now all are gone, except those from the MOD
in their listening station
theirs is the only sign of human habitation,
all that remains of the others are crumbling croft houses
and scattered stones.
The fulmars and the sheep remain.
*a sea bird native to the area.
This poem was inspired by a postcard I bought in a Glasgow art Gallery.
I hear the cry of babes
the loud voices of men
calling from sea to shore
the mothers' softer murmurs
as they sit quietly knitting.
From my windows, I see the men climb the perilous crags
to harvest the fulmars*
first the adult birds, then the eggs
and lastly the fat tasty chicks;
I see the sheep grazing on the hills.
Through my stone, I hear the cattle lowing
people singing as they work
but then comes the loud factor man
to collect the rent
from our turf roofed storehouses
built stone upon stone, skilfully crafted
by ancient art.
Across the sea lies rocky Dun
tall cliffs rising prehistoric giants
thrown there sixty million years ago
by volcanic action.
Man first came here five thousand years ago
now all are gone, except those from the MOD
in their listening station
theirs is the only sign of human habitation,
all that remains of the others are crumbling croft houses
and scattered stones.
The fulmars and the sheep remain.
*a sea bird native to the area.
This poem was inspired by a postcard I bought in a Glasgow art Gallery.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Culross Old Schoolyard
I sit in the silence; broken only
by the trickle of water from the fountain,
sound of bird song,
there is no true stillness.
Kissed by sunlight and warmth
azure sky above.
Peace after the funeral:
serenity in my spirit;
for what seems the first time
for so long.
I smell the sea;
the fragrance of freshly cut grass,
taste of salt on my lips.
This is surely paradise.
This is a poem I wrote after a visit to Culross in Fife. I live at Balloch LOch Lomond, Scotland.
I sit in the silence; broken only
by the trickle of water from the fountain,
sound of bird song,
there is no true stillness.
Kissed by sunlight and warmth
azure sky above.
Peace after the funeral:
serenity in my spirit;
for what seems the first time
for so long.
I smell the sea;
the fragrance of freshly cut grass,
taste of salt on my lips.
This is surely paradise.
This is a poem I wrote after a visit to Culross in Fife. I live at Balloch LOch Lomond, Scotland.
Ariadne's Dawning
Ariadne’s Dawning
Trees obscured by mist,
nothing in view except the immediate,
jewel-like drops glisten on spiders’ intricate weaving,
Ariadne’s dawning.
The mouldering rustle of fallen leaves
embalming the perfume of blowsy summer rose.
Crisp Autumn air caressing and soothing
invigorating.
Summer kissed goodbye, weeds and flowers
die back into the earth.
This morning
is a glory of contemplation, hibernation
allowing us to comprehend the intermediate
between summer and winter
in this hinterland.
Persephone sleeps in Hades
she will arise with spring
for now, we have our time of quiet reflection
before her fecund resurrectiion.
Trees obscured by mist,
nothing in view except the immediate,
jewel-like drops glisten on spiders’ intricate weaving,
Ariadne’s dawning.
The mouldering rustle of fallen leaves
embalming the perfume of blowsy summer rose.
Crisp Autumn air caressing and soothing
invigorating.
Summer kissed goodbye, weeds and flowers
die back into the earth.
This morning
is a glory of contemplation, hibernation
allowing us to comprehend the intermediate
between summer and winter
in this hinterland.
Persephone sleeps in Hades
she will arise with spring
for now, we have our time of quiet reflection
before her fecund resurrectiion.
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