Dreams of the Land

Across the moor,
Suilven’s haunched shoulders
Taunt me with their intractable presence.

We climb the zigzag trail
On loose scree and mica schist
Breathless in wonderment.

The cry of the raven
Echoing down the cliff face
Shatters the thin air.

Looking down
A necklace of lochans
Glisters the boggy moor.

To the west
The Hebrides are swathed
In Atlantic blue.

Scrambling on all fours
We reach the bald round summit
And are startled

By its precarious beauty.

Painting and Poem by
Brian Crawford Young © 2017

Dreams of the Sea

Sitting proud
On a flat estuary
My ship is taking water.

Passing bland islands
Floating debris scars
Our meandering wake.

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

Nearing Chanonry Point
The narrows beckon,
Laughing dolphins cavort.

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

I peer, guileless,
Into the approaching

(the seagulls are voracious)

Painting and Poem by
Brian Crawford Young © 2017