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Tales from Iona - my pilgrimage

Wild goose,

you lifted your left leg

and shook the dust off!


——— + ———


Now that the gate stands rusted in its lock

we have to find another way around.


———+———


Fairy ring, tall and straight

on hilltop ledge

you leaned in and I out

and I took all the blows.

———+———


That frog you almost stomped on

in that dark lane

followed us home and ‘ribbeted’ all night!


———+———


Walk this way!

Come follow me.

The journey is long.

Walk with me.


You left … and I’m still waiting.


———+———


Smiling, you asked me to be your friend

and we knitted together something special

before you left the ends frayed!


———+———


Gnarled like arthritic hands

the trees twist black

with green moss and grey lichen

in an ugly caress.


———+———


Oily black boulders form a barrier

to the wind’s breath.


———+———


Strong ties, strong bonds

smother us in a pressing weight

where breath becomes shallow

and sometimes stops.


In this moment we shout,

‘breathe’ and as air fills us,

it’s pushed far to a diaphragm

in a repeated cycle.


———+———

In a place of solemn stones

listening to voices

speaking the strangers’ names

from quiet mouths

there began the stillness


arriving at this liminal line

this thin space without shadow

I kneel.


———+———

Stones breathe through the cracks

that open to a mouth

where breath is silent

but for the heave of a wave,

the push and creep and glide.


Hope dries in these stones

weathered by time and place

of tectonic crash, draw and shift.


New birth from molten seed that

pushes through crusts of golden grain

through rhythm of drum smashing,

and washing contours smooth


with veins of olive green and pomegranate red

dappled salty grey,

heaves from these sacred stones,

smooth with fissure blue


and cries out in the air:

‘I am the rock on which you stand.

I give you life, through death.’


———+———


Invading space with giant wing

seeking, soaring, looting look,

Black-bird bold and brave

bends right and left,

darting into tilt and turn,

White-tail rudder banks to port

mantle heaves with swiping swing

spiralling in thermal heat

is forced to flee -


soon to return.


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