A Poem before sunrise

As calm as a mill pond
still and quiet
the city sleeps
peace lingers in the streets
even the Blackbird's song is on hold

the light of day seems premature
when you've just breached the wall of sleep
tranquillity hangs in the air like a Cormorant circling the ocean

even your mind is rewired
peace with yourself is yours
at this unique moment

everything seems pleasant again
now the tension and angst
have followed it's Master to the bed shelf like a dog!

look... listen
how pleasant, how still, how sweet, how silent...

                   -

the Cathedral struck 6:00a.m
the Cormorant dived for it's prey
the schole was scattered
the Blackbird did sing
but no one listened
everyone was too busy
going to their factories and office desks
and going about their daily tasks.

Sonnet - Integrity

scattered houses on shiny moleskin hills
belly folds of green reveal unnamed Glens
greater heights call you to conquer the Bens
beachcombing shell sand such beauty distills
weather and midges keep tourists away
theme parks and fast food are not welcome here
wind and rain are as wild as the deer
sky's often blue, sometimes gunmetal grey
what makes us return again and again?
what is it that makes our calling sure?
as a full set of stamps, complete seven
great times and photos recall now and then
with part of you there you go back for more
purgatory? No to me it's like heaven.

A visit to the Isle of Coll

You were the lowly one
who wanted to know you?
A handful of people embraced Atlantic anger
that really wasn't that bad.
Faint passages of tangible tourism
manifested themselves in a thread of irresistability

hope sallied forth
as there was time

time to sit and think
                and watch the waves
                and contemplate
                and reflect
                and console
                and sit
                and stare
nobody was in a rush

as time adroitly parodies it's own wonderment
it is enhanced by an afterglow of specialness
imbued by a different beauty

curvaceous arcs of mint white sand
enticingly flat tableland
lonely woods
rustic cottages
and a convivial spirit
strangers said hello!

we walked it in a day but you will be in my heart forever
we must come back and find ourselves again
and carry on where we left off.

Strangers said hello!

and watch the waves and reflect

Quatrain

Counting the days till we get there again
Over the mountains and into the glens
Vying for attention; ben, sea and sand
Embellishments of beauty, hand in hand.

Dreamscape

In a constantly changing environment
grab the moment with both eyes
right time, right place
fixed landscape, light in perpetual change

we see what we feel
we feel what we see

heart responsive to each flickering flame within the timbre
'go not happy day from these shining fields'
dancing squalls weave tracts of blue
floating sunshine illuminates an enchanted wood
all cradled in evening's sweet embrace

we feel what we see
we see what we feel

rainbows swerve on a stallion breeze, take me to the gate of that paradise wood
now I can hear the most beautiful music ever
strings plucked on a celestial harp
unknown instruments and the sound thereof indescribable
layer upon layer of high and low vocals harmonize in stupendous perfection
melodies cascade into a swirl of heart rending tunes

we hear what we feel
we feel what we hear

shifting shafts of shining light in motion roll heavenward
the indiscriminate night gently drops it's mantle over raiment green
eventually the cloak surrenders it's grip to the kiss of dawn
hencewith a sea as crisp as parchment is unveiled
Yes we can identify some of the far away islands
but as I scramble through my diary looking for that lost page
the beautiful music is lost forever in the placid depths of sleep's ocean.

take me to the gate of that paradise wood

Seashine

Horizontal line so blue
*
*
*
Kissed a sky with lighter hue
*
*
*
*
Vast sea just smothered in blue
                                         blue
                                         blue
*

Sun and sea so brightly shine
*
*
*
*
In this space and time of mine
*
*
*
*
'Till a long summer's day is through
                                         through
                                         through
*

It's not always like this here
*
*
*
*
Rain is often very near
*
*
*
*
In summer's very short curfew
                                        few
                                        few
*

Seashine white horse memory
*
*
*
*
From a pristine cloudless sea
*
*
*
*
Part of you will always be there too
                                                too
                                             
                                                too.

Inside the head of a Musaholic

I was easily taken by sweet dainty tunes
school playground noise imbibed songs of the day
age soon intensified cult status illusion
which I later discarded though not far away

rock gripped the root that pop pushed aside
fashioning it in some esotorical way
music embraced it's childhood sweetheart
with classical leanings the order of the day

only dimly aware it reached the deepest of parts
twinning enthusiasms to a serpentine ridge
a head full of fluff, guess it's not a bad thing
surrounded by music and winter and spring

music is birdsong and rivers and night
morning and evening in sweet recondite
pianos through morning, violins by day
the superlatives of music in our own special way.

Inside the head of a Musician ( a prosody )

I often wonder as you're sat there in the orchestra waiting to play the solo section on your bassoon,
do you enjoy playing it as much as I enjoy listening to it?

Or are you just waiting for a glare from the conductor and the downbeat of his baton?

Blank out everything, no sport
                                 no holidays
                                 no hobbies
                                 no books
                                 no love
                                 no marriage
                                 no wife
                                 no children
                                 no LOVE

How terrifying that must be
in the grip of such a monster of responsibility
a fortion of accountability!

Wrong note, half a beat too late
no time to even smile
the world would come crashing down like a house of cards
and never did anybody forebode such an acute sense of responsibility as that.

Balsam from Gilead (Keep The Dream Alive)

When we arrived we were just a wee bit sad
until we found wondrous Balsam from Gilead
even minor infractions would sometimes annoy
if it wasn't for this strong but sweet scented joy

apply it to all of your painful sores and burns
love, wine and laughter emphatically returns
it's renowned they say for it's powers of healing
it will soon have you dancing on the blinkin ceiling

please don't use sparingly but as nature intends
what that equates to is about twenty good friends
stay in a mansion, lodge or even a castle
away from all the hustle and bustle and hassle

with ritual banquets you will live like a King
in some corner of the Motherland whose praises we sing
memories to linger forever and a day
well what more can I say but. . . K.T.D eh!

stay in a mansion, a lodge or even a Castle!

Footprints in the Sand

Just like footprints in the sand
who knows where her steps will land
will they take her in a way that's true
will I be there to hold her hand

well seasons come and quickly go
we sometimes wonder if we know
where have all those years gone
what can we say we've got to show

looking back on many years
there's been some blood and sweat and tears
now I'm not there to hold her hand
I see her flounder in an empty land.

Sonnet - September

Speed swiftly on from summer's last ember
sense that relief, the fire is out the sun
we got married then, in sweet September
our whole life in front of us, yes such fun
springtime lovers forsooth I remember
before the time in your womb was a son
we did not care, whatever the gender
resolved to be never under the gun
on our own again in sweet September
the passage of time was second to none
we gave it our all, we both remember
a fact of time we never will shun
sweet September is like tweed's tumbling thread
hark! Another endless summer is dead.

Suilven

You rise in bold propinquity to your dear Sisters:
Quinag, canisp, Cul-mor and Stac Pollaidh.
While your erstwhile cousins in Wester Ross are all
bunched together in a heaving mass of intelligible triangles
you all stand out like statuettes sculpted by a random modern artist!

an island mountain on a plinth of loch bog and rock
we viewed you as an impregnable grey castle, guarded on every side
the show piece of Sutherland beyond rival
towering you are... towering majestically over Assynt

if it wasn't for the kind providence of a bealach
you never would have surrendered your crown
we walked on your ridge like insects on the back of a sleeping Lion

O beautiful Assynt
here is where the veil between heaven and earth is pretty thin
a chaotic coastline hemmed in by a Peacock sea

pools like sequins beneath my feet, they sparkle today
another day, another glory
inky pools with fathomless depths beneath my stride

still iconic

still towering...  always towering.

always towering

pools like sequins

the veil between Heaven and Earth is pretty thin

A walk along Cove top
h Bog cotton shimmering by a passing cloud bank
twinkling soft light adorns a fabric of green
like slices of blue a diaspora of lochans
how comely the babble of a sweet highland stream

distant memories of such happy times
inspire emotive and love laden rhymes
Cove top never changes
but we sometimes do
flashbacks of youth and of our children too

two rusty life boats, midst a cradle of tears
a testimony of courage going back all those years
Camas Mor's  sprawling arc of golden white sand
halts to shingly pebbles yielding beauty in bland

echoes of sun, sand, surf and sea
Shags and Cormorants nest so cannily
peat channels and cuttings
attestation at hand
to Ivor's wee bothy
that shall there always stand.

a testimony of courage going back all those years

bog cotton shimmering

how comely the babble of a sweet Highland stream

halts to shingly pebbles yielding beauty in bland

Ode to Ivor's Bothy

Welcome to Ivor's Bothy
we hope you will be very happy here
hardly anybody knows of it
the ordnance survey marks it as a shieling
but that was two hundred years ago

welcome to Ivor's Bothy
it's very quiet here, apart from the odd army exercise,
it's just the symphony of nature
cacophony of birdsong
bleating of lambs
and the irresistible call of the sea
o and the occasional police helicopter!

welcome to Ivor's
Bothy of your wildest dreams
all your needs are catered for
rice, noodles, pasta and luxury tinned salmon
all your wants are programmed and computer formulated
there is an outside spa and lavatory, close to nature or even under the stars
the choice is yours

welcome to Ivor's
Bothy of your wildest dreams
where the rivers run with Carlsberg Special Brew
and the streams trickle forth Strongbow Cider
you can fish for Mackerel with the rods provided
or just sit and watch the Bog Cotton sway in the breeze
the land is as untamed as the Eagles that soar over your head

so a hearty welcome to Ivor's Bothy
we sincerely hope your stay will be a pleasant one
nobody has ever complained.... YET!!

Grandma's Lawn

Shooting stars and the frost of dawn
watching gliders from our Grandma's lawn
celestial rampart of time's lament
latent gold of nature's pageant

someone said " don't cast pearls before swine"
" you're money's mine now, mine all mine"
laugh lines indent as the weather is sunny
some cynic said that nothing's that funny

paraffin heater and a trick of the tail
please hold on to the cold steel rail
love, wine and laughter midst olde country fayre
but Grandma's lawn now, it's not even there!

On listening to Delius

Delius is a feeling
Aesthetic mollifying of the inner man
comparable to stroking a cat
an inward surge of silent adrenalin
like delicate strains of the most beautiful of instruments, the harp

stringent moments of happiness are gradually brought to the fore
like a perpetually opening rosebud

punting down a river
feel the sun upon your face
a sad copse of trees
pasture
corn fields
church steeples
the sweet scent of freshly mown grass
bees
butterflies, definitely butterflies!

Delius is a mood
perhaps coaxed in spring
when the wind isn't your enemy
it caresses your skin

the sound of the wind while
walking in the Fannichs or Torridons
or even on a deserted beach before sunrise
hear the choral soundscape morph into one entity
or maybe swooning in and out of early morning birdsong
grasping the spirit of a summer evening
the polished fragrance of a summer rose in a July garden

Delius is a memory
lingering in sweet memories
our children on the beach
all holding hands
jumping the waves
no worries
no cares
no pressures
no stress
of course there were such
but joyful sunshine locked the door
that the former was pressing against

a head full of fluff or a musical parallel world?
No technicalities
precision
cold data
deadlines
tests
targets
just reflection on beautiful days
cherry picked memories dovetailed
into the gift of sweet music
as I sit listening to Delius.

From the balcony

Boy are they not having some fun
can't wait to vegetate in the sun
most energy they'll use all week, I think
is when they get off their fat butts to order a drink

Gut buckets gorge themselves waiting for tea
one pint after another ne' mind it's buckshee
bar-b on hand, eat away your sorrows
by pass the future, don't worry 'bout tomorrows

quick down for breakfast, hardly time to dress
can't wait for more manufactured happiness
man they just cant wait to get here so soon
as an onlooker though I could bark at the moon!



Is that it?

I am born
I am new
I am wild
I am free
I am

Go to school
get told off
parents, teachers
reprimanded
I am wild
I am free

I leave school
get a job
managers, colleagues
I am young
I am naive

I settle down
I fall in love
I mature
I buy a house

I marry
We are young
We have children
They are new
They are wild
They are free

They leave home
We are alone
We retire
We are free

I look back
I am alone
I am not new
I am not wild
I am not free
I was.

A beautiful secret condemned to keep

Festoon my soul with fleeting pleasures
as I stroll along Firemore's superlative beach
a wee round of Cove's incomprehensible treasures
or just green windswept hills so clearly out of reach?

across  the rubicon towards the saddle,
wends a Drover's track eastwards stained by soft light
path gravitates to bog you nearly have to paddle
in an hour or two the sun will slip out of sight

I can't believe my eyes, my heart wants to leap
vast sylvan woods  tumble a burn so free
like a beautiful secret condemned to keep
from the beach you can't believe you see what I see

a necklace of lochans in ice silver blue
capricious old trout and spring's dimming light
I aim for the road now must keep  heading true
before the restless sea makes a pledge with the night.

a necklace of Lochans

like a beautiful secret condemned to keep

Spring Evening

May has come at last
sentiments of joy hale forth
absorbed by my senses
that are very well aware
of a lucrative sweetness
imbued by a soft tangible light
that only a spring evening could afford

nurtured by poetry
refined by art
reproved by nature
trained by beauty
counselled by time

chasing shadows set by an imperial benchmark
the birds said 'good-night' to each other
I heard them, I was there!
Granted I have no witnesses
only the soft balance of nature
and the sweet scented air

whether summer is splendid
or a washout or both
it matter's not
spring was a harbinger of hope
and hope keeps us going
hope is what we need

hope's dashed
hope again!
Never give up hope
there will always be another summer
there will always be another spring

the Birds said 'Good-night'
I know

I was there!

Good night,

Ingo Star.