Poetry and short story writing

[Chief Broom]

I never imagined i would start writing poems/short stories but seem to have become inspired since moving to the Highlands. I feel its a positive form of expression and also quite a challenge!

The Bench By The Loch

On a bright November day, I noticed as if for the first time
The old weathered bench.
Capturing my awareness it suddenly appeared in high relief
and magnificent.
Peeling paint, lichen encrusted, it had seen many seasons
and many visitors.

Laughing children, legs dangling, excited to see
a whiskered face appear above the waves
.
Travelling campers admiring the view
with a smiling Labrador sniffing the air
.
A young backpacker with a long way to go
takes a swig from his energy drink.

Not being made for comfort, it asks of the sitter
to be alert, upright and aware.
Not a time to slouch when a heron is poised to strike
or an osprey is overhead.
Better than any pew but just as hard,
the invitation is to commune.

A serious bird watcher with expensive tripod
and monocular.

City dwellers away from phone and laptop
surprised by there own happiness
.
An elderly couple in their twilight years
content in the sun and breeze

When winter arrives the old bench must endure,
remaining steadfast through the ice and snow.
But the heavens will move and the earth will turn
and as sure as springs arrival, the visitors will come.
It will be there, ever waiting
ever accommodating.

 

[Drago]

There was a young man named Enus,
Who h[DELETED BY MODS]

 

[Cathryn]

Absolutely beautiful, @Chief Broom . I find poetry really hard to appreciate (and teaching it is a real challenge for me) but yours was beautiful.

 

[Chief Broom]

Thanks Cathryn Im surprised that writing poetry isnt more popular, to me its a kind of meditation and appreciation of our world/environment/life." We are what we think all day" said Emerson! and pondering, musing, contemplating and then writing is good for the soul and life affirming!

 

[Drago]

I extract the wee wee as I always do, but I can confirm that it is rather good, and paints a wonderful thought picture.

 

[Chief Broom]

I extract the wee wee as I always do, but I can confirm that it is rather good, and paints a wonderful thought picture.

Thanks Drago, glad you liked it. Cheers CB

 

[Chief Broom]

Once Upon A Time In The Scottish Highlands

A cosmetic surgery company 'Better Than Nature And God. com' thought a Highland photo shoot would be just the thing to promote their lifts tucks, implants, and their special offer double size butt enhancements. Hiring a vast Motorhome the entourage of hybrid flesh and silicone meandered the single track roads until they arrived at the chosen location. Backing up against a farmers gate Justin the photographer surveyed the brooding craggy hills and almost pee'ed himself with excitement "Marvellous" he shrieked as he tried to whip up enthusiasm from his team of pouting gargoyles.. Being February a bitter wind was blowing with ominous looking clouds on the horizon but Justin just thought they were the shade of his favourite eye liner. He shepherded the bleary models of the bus who were reluctant to leave its cosy confines, " OK sweeties we'll just go over this hill a bit". Shivering in scanty clothes they variously minced, tottered and wobbled in a marching catwalk pantomime. Camera clicking furiously, the outrageous contours of boobs and butts were captured against the rapidly darkening hills when a squeaky voiced Charlene '44DD' exclaimed "its snowing".And she was right, suddenly the air was white, the sky white, hills,, ground white, everything white....trout pouting lips screamed and shrieked amid the raging blizzard. Totally disorientated they huddled together in a moaning freezing agony of death,....
Its April and the sun has warmed and the deep snow has been melting revealing a grisly scene, Amongst Gucci handbags are protruding heads, elbows, buttocks and breasts. Charlene '44dd' being more exposed by the warming sun has caused internal gases to expand....she lets out a full bore withering fart. A crow viewing the carnage from above alights on a ginger tussocked boulder which was actually Justin's head. The crow evacuated his bowels giving Justin a fashionable streak which he may well have approved of if he had been still alive. Surveying the scene the crow was horrified. In his many years he had dined on rotten entrails and all kinds of eye watering offal but this muddle of fake tan flesh was too grotesque even for him. Another ripping fart from the hideous flatulent sex doll which was Charlene '44dd' was enough for the crow. Recalling the location of a stinking but honest sheep carcase he took flight into the gloriously pristine April sky..

 

[Chief Broom]

In the unlikely event someone reads this and would like to know where this is, its Chanonry Point on the Black Isle

Down At The Point

The shimmering tide mirrors a blood red primordial dawn,
beneath the dark waters a moving shoal a thousand strong.
Suddenly a shining grey dolphin launches itself into the pure air
a salmon gripped within its raked teeth.
A graceful silhouette held in brief ecstasy between sea and sky
then plunges back in a flurry of red reflected foam

A bear padding along the shore looks up for a moment
and in the dense pine forest a wolf howls

Two thousand years hence, the bears and wolves have long gone
and now a different cast of characters stand on the shingle.
The dolphin watchers! A congregation of the faithful.
The locals, the regulars the devotees ,the tourists ,the excited children.
And wending their way amongst a forest of legs and camera tripods
are the wolves cousins the dogs.

Its an ancient arena but its ready again
for an aeons old meeting of predator and prey..
A rising tide of anticipation ripples through the throng
and many feet shuffle towards the waters edge..
In the distance grey fins are coursing through the waves...
A child sat on his fathers shoulders points and shouts!,
"Dolphins!" "Dolphins!"....They have arrived!

Just yards out from the shingle and the animated crowd,
A dolphin thrusts with his powerful tail
driving itself forward into a fast skittering aquaplane.
Spraying and drenching some of the delighted watchers.
much laughter, cheering and clapping ensues,
Those who were soaked curse quietly and step back
but soon step forward again!

Erupting from the depths a grinning head appears,
a large salmon displayed in its toothy jaws
Unceremoniously its tossed into the air and caught again
Then as if competing and vying for attention
the acrobatics begin with many leaps and somersaults.
A fishing boat rounding the point invites further playfulness
and soon has a compliment of weaving bow wave riders.

Then as suddenly as the party began the waters quieten,
A fin here and there breaks the surface
but now farther out in the channel
The owner of a passing yacht sees them depart
and then like a final salute a large tail fluke points skywards
then slowly sinks and is gone

Its been a good day down at the Point
Tourists will have their memories and photo's to take home
Children will sleep well tonight and have dreams of the playful dolphins.
The locals, the devotee's, and all the faithful are comforted
that a well loved tradition continues

But what of the wolves cousins the dogs?
They have also been watching and witnessing todays theatre,
the eager crowd, the shimmering sea, the leaping dolphins.
They are happy enough with their day in the sun
and are content. But unmoved.
For they are wise, and they know, It's all good

 

[Chief Broom]

One from a few years ago.

The Fool

I taught my foolish dog
how to behave himself.
He resisted at first
but with his kind eye and good heart
he acquiesced to my teaching.

The class began at home,
then field, hill and valley,
sea shore and forest.
All seemed to smile upon
master and pupil.

How he shone under my guidance!
Proud to introduce him to
friend and stranger.
An ally recruited to my cause,
was he not my creation.

The season's turned and witnessed
this signed alliance.
Footprint signatures written on path and trail.
Crossing and re-crossing
ever onward interwoven.

The years flowed by with my qualified friend,
inseparable comrades we'd surely walk for ever.
In such good company
it was too easy to forget
school was out.

From scholar to old soldier!
Still graceful and now dignified.
He wore his years well
with the invisible medals
from many an adventure and campaign.

Then the terrible day came,
when i knelt to stroke that gentle head
for the last time.
How could this be. My beautiful friend
with the foolish ways.

I tried to behave myself
but as the tears coursed down my face,
I realised.
In all those years, in all those miles,
He had been my teacher
and I was just a fool.

 

[Chief Broom]

The Hill

It once defeated me, this Hill of Truth.
as it kindly informed me of my deficiencies.
Gasping and jelly legged
I could do nothing but surrender and dismount.
Yet smiled at so obvious a lesson!

Determinedly i shall gain admittance
to this admirable fellowship of the humble and cheerful cyclist.
No qualifications or secret handshake required
and here no imagined status can assist,
The hill being both arbiter and doorman.

Headwinds and tailwinds, grimace and grin!
I shall enjoy my meanderings
alongside the Loch and down the leafy lanes.
Pleased to see a Kestrel high above,
or a deer surprised by silent approach

How intimately I now know the terrain
and from this saddle the passing seasons.
Sense's stimulated alive and vibrant!
The warming breeze caresses my hands on the bars
as life awakens in the spring

In summer heat a lizard skitters across my path
and above the shining Loch an Osprey
In autumn I roam the Rowan berried lanes
and in Winter i see the skeins of Geese
like ribbons of smoke across the sky.

I wave and acknowledge other travellers
on these country roads, the farmers and workers.
I try not to impede their progress
and hope that my exertions can be recognised,
as also having purpose and merit

And today as i approach my hill, The Truth Hill.
gone is any dread or foreboding
For now I can share with the hill the knowledge,
That i am also a possessor of truth. In mind and body
and in this faithful beating heart

 

[tyred]

Some great writing on this thread Mr Broom.

 

[Chief Broom]

Some great writing on this thread Mr Broom.

Well Mr tyred im very pleased you like them I was wondering whether anyone actually visited here...it was beginning to feel like a long forgotten dusty old museum vault!

 

[tyred]

Well Mr tyred im very pleased you like them I was wondering whether anyone actually visited here...it was beginning to feel like a long forgotten dusty old museum vault!

I dabble a little in writing poetry, short stories and also a cycling blog and like to look at other people's writing when I get the chance.

 

[Chief Broom]

I dabble a little in writing poetry, short stories and also a cycling blog and like to look at other people's writing when I get the chance.

Feel free to add to the thread! I would like to see others work

 

[tyred]

Here goes, some recent ones.

Shelter

Rain beats on window pane,
Sun hides behind grey cloud.
Wind whistles in the chimney,
Sheep seek shelter behind a wall.

No walk for me today -
Sofa and televison call.

Remembered

I don’t think
Of the diseased corpse,
Laid in wet clay -
The physical life
Now ceased to be.

I think of the beauty,
The smile and the laughter.
The fleeting glimpses
Of precious shared moments.

The body dies,
The soul survives.
You live in my memory -
Eternally.

Cancer

Oh curséd Devil
That walks in our midst.
Ready to pounce,
Sinking your dagger
With scant regard -
The young or the old,
The rich or the poor.
Leaving devastation,
Taking -
But never giving,
Misery and suffering
Left littered in your wake.

Recuperation

Killing Time
Is killing me.
Sitting here -
A broken bone -
A leg in plaster.

A loss of liberty
Once taken for granted.
The mental turmoil
Trumps physical discomfort.

Unmoved

Old ash tree I salute you,
You stand tall and majestic
For many years, how many
I can only guess.

You’ve seen it all -
World wars,
War of Independence,
Civil war
And rumours of wars.

Lovers through the ages
Have carved names on you
While generations of sheep
Sought shelter ‘neath your boughs.

All past
And still you stand -
Unmoved,
In splendid isolation.
The present only touching you,
You remain unmoved -
True to yourself

Sunset at Trá na Rosann.

No artist’s brush-stroke
No optical sensor,
No celluloid slide
Can capture the beauty
Unveiling before me.

The tide-pounded stones,
Golden sand and shingle
All wet from the foam
Of the evening tide.

I watch awe-inspired,
While the world goes blood-red
As the winter sun
Goes to bed behind Horn Head.