Sadly I lost my old boy back in April.   I wrote this poem about him ages ago.

               I KNEW YOU WERE WAITING

Some were loud and noisy, standing

with paws gripped to wire,

noses forced through mesh.

Strange miaows from Snowshoes

“please get me outta here”

All endearing, all homeless,

but something lured me to the end of the aisle.

I stopped but couldn’t see you,

yet knew you were there.

I entered your pen where you snoozed, nose into tail.

Had you given up on life, or were you simply exhausted?

You raised your kind head, sniffed my hand

and stole my heart, the old boy, found by the dustbins,

with an “estimated” age.

For four months you rested and slept,

until you blinked at the warming sun

and took a tentative step into the garden,

your haven, where a ridiculous friendship

has been formed with an enormous bird of the sea,

who treats you with respect, 

as you feign the stalk of a predator,

before rolling over and pretending he isn’t there.

When you sit by the window, the sun filters through

your pink, translucent ears, and your grey and white coat

bristles like frosted fir trees.

No more rescue centres for you, my little friend, my confidante

and all because I stopped that day and looked for the one

I couldn’t see.

I knew you were waiting.

Patsy Goodsir

THE TWEED COAT

THE OLD HOUSE.

I can't believe it's more than a year since I last posted on here.

THE OLD HOUSE

How did you end up without your clothes

on a quiet back road where nobody goes.

Choirs of daffodils, are singing out loud,

remembering the days, you once stood proud.

A click of the shutter, your beauty shines through,

Oh how I wonder, what happened to you?

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.