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Missing Image File

Poetry

Lockerbie

Christmas a time of fun and love?
That night hell came from above
When fuel and fire filled the air
All died that landed there.
A nightmare.

For two days long we passed them by
Unknown faces yet we cried.
A scene of crime they cannot move
We covered them with our clothes.

We searched and searched
We did our best
No life was found you know the rest.

280 souls died that day
Many from far away
Across the sea and far from home
They died so all alone.

It bothers me to this day
Why life is taken in this way?
By crazy men with no soul.

I pray that we will find out why
These poor souls were picked to die?

As time goes by I wonder why?
These people had to die?

The Munro's - thanks Sir Hugh

It was a race to finish
A list to complete
for a name in a book.

For years we took you for granted
like a lover
then gone.

So many great memories
now the hills are battered
By so many feet?

Who are we to criticise
we have all used you?

For many the first
Like love it is life changing?

So many are now enjoying
what we had when young.

Go and have fun and savour
Those Munro days in the sun.

Heavy summit Schiehallion 24 July 2014
On 8 round - still single married to the mountains!

Beinn Eighe "The Triple Buttress"

Unseen from the road, the majestic cliffs are hidden by ridges and wild corries.
A long walk in, views expand as we climb, Liathach, brooding watches our progress from afar.
A familiar family of deer by the boulders, they have been there for many years and are friends.
What have they seen?

The views of moor and lochans, waterfalls sparkle in the sun.
At last, the lochan and then Cathedral like, great cliffs glisten in the snow.
Time and weather sculptured, wreckage glints in the sun.
This is a wonderful poignant place, this Torridonian giant Beinn Eighe.

Sulliven Assynt

This is my special place
My retreat from a mad world.
From the bothy
Suilven stands Castle like
Summit guarded by loch and bog.

The mighty West buttress,
Steep, sandstone, scary.
Moving fast
Not savouring,
The peace and beauty, I came for.

I race to the top,
Summit reached,
Time to think,
Why all the haste!
Will we ever learn?
To enjoy the beauty and not the race?

That was many years ago
Now I enjoy the slow walk in
Along road, path and moor
Lochans and muddy peat.

Eyes open that once were shut
To beast, bird and flower,
How much I have missed?

Time to enjoy the view
That few see.
Sit and listen
Too the words of the hills.

Then the steep grind
Which clears the mind?
Stopping, breathing hard
The views
The seat near the top
With Canisp watching.

The ridge is reached
Nearly there
Summit breached
Flat ground at last
Views unsurpassed.

Stac Polly, Coigach
The Summer Isles
Beauty and peace

I now appreciate
These great mountains
Even the pain of the descent
On aching knees and joints.

Pain clears the mind
As I wander slowly back
Soaking in the views and memories
Wishing I was young again.

Passing by ruins and sheilings
Where man once lived
Who owns this land?
Not the few, nor the rich?
It is all of us, we will fight for it.

Let's look after this place
For the those who come
To enjoy the beauty of Assynt,
A special place.

Jan 2011

The Journey to Sheneval

Cars fly by as you cross the road, to another world,
then silence, the traitor's gate.

The track wynds through the trees, the river breaks the silence,
The glaciated slabs hide the cliffs, then:
Views of An Teallach open at every turn.

Midges and clegs abound here but not today, too cold, its winter.
Cross the river, is that bridge in the wrong place? Muddy and wet, back on track,
Steep hill, upwards towards the top, the wee cairn, stop, no rush, drink it all in.

An Teallach. Snow plastered, familiar, foreboding.
Open moor, contour round and round, special views,
Every corrie on that great hill has a particular thought. Memories.

Fisherfield, these great hills, the light changing, to the West
Youthful memories of companions, some now gone.
Epic days, trying to impress? Pushing it and nearly, losing it?

Descent to Shenevall, steep, slippy and wet,
Eroded now by so many feet.
Collect some wood. The bothy, the deer, they are still there;
Sheneval. It never changes, only the seasons.

Fire on, primeval. Tea in hand, alone with thoughts.
the Deer rattle the door, time for sleep.