Monthly archives: January, 2017

Through the Air

Through the Air

Through the air
A glinting sunbeam flashes
Searing the happy shaking leaves
Dew-adorned on early morning trees
Green moss swathes my naked feet
(Trousers rolled up
Inhibitions rolled down)
And shoe-less tingling toes
Filter water through the pebbles
Of a dusty riverbed

As step by step
A crisp sunrise
Unveils the beauty
Of the day

Dreams of the Sea

Tangalory Isles 4

“Tangalory Isles No.4”; Oil on canvas; 20 x 20 cms

Dreams of the Sea

Sitting proud
On a flat estuary
My ship is taking water
(the seagulls are voracious).

Passing bland islands
Floating debris scars
Our meandering wake.

Sailing to windward
The luff rattles,
Our prow scintillates
The flat Firth.

Nearing Chanonry,
The narrows beckon,
Laughing dolphins cavort.

Standing to larboard
Shoulder to the future
Plimsoles on the camber
Of the wet deck.

© Brian Crawford Young 2017

Murmurings from Aloft

Murmurings From Aloft

(At an attic window, Holyrood Crescent, Glasgow)

Window rattling drew me here;
weary of spirit,
longing for the chasm of sleep,
troubled by love’s emotions.

A chimney-crowned tenement
commands my attention.
Dark shapes in silhouette
delineating the city’s dull skyline.

A warm strange wind plucks and pulls
at the trees in the Square.
Animating, aggravating
the leaves in the treetops.

Flyting, dancing,
in a dark paso doble
of sinister intent.
The eerie chiaroscuro of night.

There is no stranger here
in fedora,
collar up, head down.
No cigarette glowing.

No full moon or hooting owls
or toppled dustbins.
No shrieking arch-backed cats
nor shadows on the blinds.

No dog barking
with a juicy bone.
No incessant ringing
of a distant telephone.

I am at home
in monochrome
breathing mist
on the windowpane.

Why then does my heart beat loud
and my mind race,
regardless of the lateness
of the hour?

I close the curtains.
Kick hapless furniture.
Stumble to bed, murmuring.
Lost in the landscape of night.

© Brian Crawford Young 2017

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