Orkney

On a May Morning On a May morning there’s talk of the festival, an after party and sore heads, while gulls siren and pass overhead, leaving curlews the fields and oystercatchers the shore, and petrels the wide grey sea, passing over turf roofs thousands of years old, and memories of hearth and an ember that […]

Community Spirit The past is in the past except for when you live here. Where our heritage shapes our lives and we are propelled forward by our faith in each other. Yet, the present arrives all the same and with it a desire to break free. Echoes of the past remain – sensibilities of a

Brough of Birsay, Orkney  I walk across the damp causeway sidestepping wet seaweed left behind by the outgoing tide. The sun tip-toes over the Brough its rays touching everything it touches in a tangerine glow.Passing the Viking settlement my feet sink into the machair abundantly studded with meadow flowers, their scent mingling in the sea-salted

Waking At Warbeth Get upUp out of your comfortable gravesKick off the quiet quilt of kirkyard clayUpAnd shake the sleep-salt from your socketsRise upAnd rattle your red bonesUnwind your shrouds for ribbonsCross country track and fieldThe pistol is poised skywardThe hare has leapt the trapJavelins lance gold from sky to silver seaAnd the rising tideIs

Orkney I am window ledge cat, curled up, purring, one eye watchful.I am towering, bird-soaring cliffs looking over frothing, teal waters.I am snow, drifting through fence post eddies.I am early morning, sunrise spark over horizon.I am heather fire, carnage before the green of rebirth.I am wind, bending all before it, demanding you attention.I am panorama

Boys’ Games They built a base And go there to share Drinks and snacks and secrets. We cannot know Where they go, just when And what time they get home. I hunt for clues Left in my son’s clothes, Stains and smells and wrappers. I gather hints From joyful chatter, Viewpoints and names and games.

The Heart Of The Ocean Eyes play tricks. Lips tell lies. But hearts stay true, and while you drown in the warmth of icy water, you’re protected like a baby swaddled in a blanket by their mother; preserved by the ocean’s rhythm. Waves mimic your beating heart, a conversation no one else hears or understands.

A Shimmering of Orkney When the wind hurtles over sea and land, the trows fly. On dockan leaves they scoot and swerve and skim the waves with outstretched fingers. Trouble blooms in their wake: hear their delighted screeching. The standing stones do not bow to wind nor fairy. The giants trapped within are silent; they

The Cold and the Dark When you’re born under a big sky, and there’s nowhere to hideYou can build it up or burn it down, everybody can see you try And you’ll cast a lonely shadow at the edge of the worldEither side of the summer it’s not for everyone It’s a funny kind of

Love Your Island Water weaves between breezy islandslike breath looking for a shore to land onMemories run deep in dark mirrored burnsRoots grow with each new generationanchoring into the ancient rock Push as hard as a Westerly galeRise as strong as an ancient stackSleep as deep as an ocean dreamRace as fast as a peregrine