FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX

FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX

Without you, there is no magic

in the shadows any more.

I don’t see the cruise ship

whisking us to Madeira,

or the dozing bird of prey,

head turned into chest

but occasionally an ebony panther

creeps stealthily across the curtains

before melting to the floor,

chased by the hunters’ gun.

When our hands intertwined

a phoenix rose

soaring across the ceiling

with our hopes and dreams,

sometimes chased  by spiders,

eagles’ wings or a bobbing rabbit,

that made us chuckle with delight.

I can still make the rabbit

but the phoenix has gone,

broken, incomplete,

leaving an emotional void

to cast a heavy shadow across my heart.

SHORELINE SOLACE

 SHORELINE SOLACE 

 Let the soft breeze kiss my face

and whisper secrets through my hair

as silver sand blots falling tears and

whisks between bare toes

tempted by the ebbing tide

that snatches pastel pebbles

with a sharp intake of breath .

They clash like castanets

with rhythmic percussion

punctuated by shrieking terns,

dashing to and fro,

protecting secret nests

leaving me to my thoughts

and whimsical dreams drifting

far beyond the horizon.

A poem written about a difficult time in my life which was helped very much by the solace at a very special place : The Bothy.

LUNCH AT LOSSIE

LUNCH AT LOSSIE

One in red,

one in blue,

chitter chatter, chitter chatter,

friends forever,

no uncomfortable silence,

just relaxing chat,

neatly coiffed hair and

delight that they’ve done their bit

and retired to a life of

nice little lunches,

with neatly pressed creases

in coloured slacks and

sensible flat shoes

that don’t stress aching ankles.

Sharing the bill

til the next time

same time, same place.

A table of four makes less noise,

two generations, awkward silent,

hotching in seats, staring out windows,

watching the rigging dance in the breeze.

Between the two tables I sit and listen,

pretend to be deep in my scrawls across

a battered notepad as I

anticipate succulent white fish

cooked with butter and feel relieved that

I am as I am, alone and able to leave when

it suits,  go where I want and do as I please.

SUNSET AT FINDHORN

SUNSET AT FINDHORN

It tugs at your heart like a rose’s thorn

determined to linger in your thoughts

as a medallion of molten gold

slips softly through darkened clouds

and lifts your spirits to a higher plain.

There are no words,

which is why we stand in awe,

bodies motionless

aching for that golden magic to

somehow stop and stay forever.

The silhouettes of wading birds

wander slowly across the rippling foreshore,

oblivious to the fiery palette

that brings the lovers and loners

to share the evening solace.

So near you yearn to reach out

and touch that special something

but instead remain entranced,

under its hypnotic spell,

grateful to share the moment

that disappears so quickly

in one fiery yawn

slipping silently behind

distant ink black mountains

that seem to have swallowed it whole.