Nature and Me

I thought when I enrolled to do a creative writing degree with UHI it would be creative writing – what it says on the tin. I did not know I would have to read reports. I didn’t know I would have to write reports. It has been a hard slog. I started the journey as a bright and optimistic retired person of 61 years old. Six years down the road my 67 year old brain is complaining. It does not want to jump through hoops and it does not want to get up when it falls over. It pleads for a pillow and a blanket so it can just stay down and rest a while.

I was given a challenge to record poems, nature poems, I had written and post them on my blog. It is always a surprise to hear myself. I don’t think I sound like I do. I did as asked, using my phone. I had to invest in  SoundCloud to upload them on to the blog.  So here we go. I am giving you the words and a bit of background.

Someone Not Me – I have no idea when I wrote this or why. Don’t you sometimes get fed up of being you and wish you were someone or something else?

Someone not me

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If I could be

Something not me

I’d be a cloud

Quiet, not loud

I’d sweep across the sky

And wave as I go by

I’d wink at someone in the crowd

If I could be

Something not me

I’d be a river

A merry fish giver

I’d chuckle over rocks

I’d soak your fair-isle socks

I’d watch closely as dragonflies quiver

If I could be

Something not me

I’d be a ladybird

One with six spots preferred

Over the meadows I’d roam

I’d find my way home

Cast on the wind as it stirred

But I am just me

As I’m meant to be

Just a girl nearly four

Skipping along the shore

I hop and I jump

And feel my heart pump

Just ready for ventures galore

Imposter – this was written for Writers’ Digest either in April or November one year. They do a poem a day challenge. The prompt might have been the word ‘imposter’. Do you know that cuckoos don’t randomly drop eggs into nests. They do a lot of watching and observing of different birds over weeks paying close attention to their routines and when they might be away from their nest for a while.

Imposter

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if only you could count

you’d know there’s an

imposter in the nest

it matches every other egg

in size, colour and speckle

and when it hatches

love blinds you and you

tell yourself it’s yours

didn’t you have a big boned cousin once

with a healthy appetite?

you don’t face up to the cuckoo

in the nest

In praise of mystery – another Writers’ Digest  prompt. I don’t mind science as such. It is not something you can ignore or reason away as some do. But neither is it ‘everything’. I like a bit of mystery. I don’t want everything explained, or perhaps more accurately, reasoned away. I can live with not knowing everything

In Praise of Mystery

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Let us not

measure the world in feet and inches

lay it carefully on an operating table

pour facts down its throat and put it to sleep

shave off the grass and the trees

drain the rivers, cut into the mountains

define it by its minerals and chemicals

push the visible beneath the microscope

acknowledge only the verifiable

Let us not

unravel the mystery

Not all questions need an answer

Low Tide – this was an ‘on site poem, written at the turning circle down by the old ferry terminal in inverness. The tide was out.  There is a beautiful view of North Kessock over the water and the occasional dolphin.

Low Tide (1)

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the withdrawing tide

peels away the water and

strips the shoreline naked

smooth stones pock the

dirty yellow sand and

strands of black seaweed sprawl across

bleached white driftwood

seagulls paddle in shallow pools as

blackbirds skip over

empty beer bottles and a

rusted bicycle wheel

man’s careless neglect exposed

nature’s beauty marred

the wind mewls and

grey clouds cry bleak tears

Slow to Dress – this was a poem prompted by a walk. The walk was prompted by the need to write a poem. I had been doing an online poetry course and the tutor suggested a walk and about writing down what you see and making a poem of it. I love this poem. I love the image of the old ladies and young girls in spring dresses. I am a tactile person and have to touch trees and stroke bark,

Slow to Dress

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They stand out

Two naked old ladies in

A room of girls

In bright spring dresses

They catch the eye but

Bruise the heart

Lean grey limbs exposed

Nothing concealed

Two dead trees stand

Amid a chorus of wild growth

But look – draw close - see

Tight buds primed to burst

Two trees in a wood

Quietly alive

Just slow to dress

Almost ready to join the party

River Ness – this was recent. I had participated in a poetry workshop where the tutor focussed on the senses, the sounds, the movement and the feelings around us. I sat beside a river for about an hour. I don’t think I have sat still for so long without playing with my mobile phone. The River Ness sometimes has fast days. This was a slow one, and the slowness of it slowed me down. Nature does that to a person. I know the river has a destination, the sea, but that day it didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get there.

River Ness

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It slides, slow and soft, a silent snake of silver water

Indifferent to the blare and bustle of bright lights and busy roads

Debris of dead leaves shift and swirl as the river sweeps by

There’s a muted melody that sings rest to my soul and

Recalling I am nature too, I stop and savour a spring sun

It’s a start. There are other nature poems rattling around somewhere. I am find that I have multiple copies of things as I have moved from one laptop to the next. I am trying to tidy things up. I am also aware that writing about nature should take second place to be in nature. I might just put on my jacket an head off for a walk around the estate.