Firmly planted

The snow capped mountains
Slowly shed their cloak
The sloughing of the skin
The white becomes brown again

The corries, their fissures hidden
Their slopes a playground
Skis and snowboards careering
Downwards to return to the start

Walkers shouldering sacks
Routes hidden, crampons on
Each journey into the known, unknown
Risks to be taken and treasured

As I stand wondering firmly planted
At base level eyes raised
Will I reach the heights again?
Can I achieve the unachievable!

Winter sands

Standing by the loch

Looking outwards

Wistfully watching

Breeze rustling twigs

Waves, not real ones

Wash gently, slowly

On the man-made beach

Sloping to the waterline

The boat bobs unmanned

Free from prying hands

Cold and lonely

An engine without spark

The winter chill warming

Spring not yet holding

The sand warm between toes

After the barefoot stream

The child plays happily

Sand collected together

Mounds of spoil swept

With love and joy

A cold shower shared

Sheltered by the shed

Passes without malice

Wind ushering onwards

As eyes survey the space

The peace and freedom

Visions of joy shared

Old become young.

Broken but not lost

Standing in the ruin of a religious past
The mission, the story, the decay
Stone clinging to stone, the abbey,
a centre of something strong, something gone.

Walls feet thick, broken and lost
Remanants and battlements, standing proud
Fractures and fissures, fallen angles
A centre of power, of peace and people.

Gravestones, tables and plaques
Telling of people long gone, families
Sharing a piece of Moravia, a sacred space
The writing there long after the memories

Old and new, the historic and the recent
Flyers encased in their last stand
Preserving our skies for peace, for freedom
To see and share the sky no more

The vision of greatness lost to all, Preserved lightly
Remind us of the prior, the present and yet to come
Were here, are here and will be
Long after we are but dust and dim memories

Watching mountains

Travelled together map in hand
The day explored
The joy of mountains
The challenge of height

Marching through trees
Climbing steadily upwards
No view to see or savour
Just the vision of hope

The ascent begins in earnest
The crook between
The saddle of the hill
The single gap between two

Skirting round, finding feet
Sloppy and slippery
The wind whistles wildly
Singing its own song

Onwards and upwards
Keep on moving, talking
Pushing and pulling
Tendons screaming stop

Summit summited
Rest accepted with relief
Panoramas preserved
Camera pointed memories saved

The light continuously changing
Loch Linnie ripples with shadows
The Ben clean and clear
Nothing to spoil the views

As I look across the tops
Watching the mountains
Names unpronounceable
But days and moments not forgotten

The Blunders

Here come the blunders

Quattro force
Thick as thieves
Stuck together
They all believe

Gathered closely
Noise created
Sweat fermenting
That smell is fated

Sporty Blunder
Always running
Chasing odd balls
Ouch, that’s funny

Randy blunder
Ever flirting
World of warcraft
Wow that’s hurty

Laidback blunder
Lives in dream land
Following football’s
Third rate goof band

Clever Blunder
Life’s a dream
Lowest effort
Or so it seems

Joined together
Four asunder
Making mayhem
Here come the blunders


This is specially for my oldest son and his three mates

A bothy night

The fire burns gently
Chairs gathered close
The last gasp of light
Glints through the small window

Steam issues from breath
One long room
Heat at one end
Cold at other

Another handful of coal
Thrust into the frontless grate
Candles flicker,
Only given light here

The door unopened
No visitors tonight
The choice of space
A floor for all

The stove hisses gently
Water from stream
Tea made, mugs filled
The promise of supper later

The bottles warm
In the ingle of the nook
Claret is the order
Rab frowns, it was his

Glasses filled
Claret, the drink of kings
Shared by paupers
Friends among friends

Conversations shared
The world to rights
No logic, none needed
No subject discarded

Nature calls, Spade collected
Don’t ask a person
Spade and loo roll,
It’s obvious, toilet alfresco.

Sleeping bags laid out
Floor space readied
Jacket become pillows
Sleep is wanted

Snores exhausted
First asleep wins
Others fluster
Fire maintained

Bellies full
Bladders bursting
The bottle’s empty
The friendships full

It belongs to me

I cannot fight it
it can consume you,
It may want to
But it won’t beat me.


I will live with it,
To play with it
I can bounce of it
There will probably be payback

I cannot play piano
but never could anyway.
Maybe no big hill days
There are smaller ones


Make me laugh
You heal yourself
When you laugh,
People laugh with you.

It’s is MySlowdown
Just words that are powerful
I will deal with it
I will live fully with it.

The Farm Cottage

Boots at the door, a smattering of manure
Clinging on for dear life
The cat through the door, friend no more
The dog, breaking wind and walking

The kettle is boiling urgently
On the side of the range
Glowing red almost, an inferno
The rest of the house is a freezer

The water tank boils and the tap is run
Steam exhausting in a kitchen of chaos
Nothing fitted here, all stand alone
Everything on its own feet

A seat on the loo counting the blocks
Each showing, frost gathers the outlines
The breeze is a chiller, seeping through gaps
The window, the doors

Two houses as one and a huge garden,
Vegetable rows, like soldiers on parade
All green and perfectly straight
To feed the masses and monsters

Staying awake

Paces to normal
Keeping ahead
The speed is gaining
It’s time for bed!

Balancing life
Juggling work
The need for leisure
The time for mirth

Staying awake
Eyes wide shut
Generate logic
Almost, but…

The missing words
Absence of sense
This might be normal
In my defence

Keeping a family
Driving the car
Sometimes wanting
A view from afar

Fight the good fight,
Walk the long walk
Remember to sleep
To breath, to talk