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Poems - Page 5

  • Pilgrimage 2010

     

    In 1997 I wrote a series of poems inspired by the weekly pilgrimage around Iona. In last weeks visit I decided it was time to re-visit that idea and see what a new version might look like. Once a few more of the group have posted their photographs on flikr I may well illustrate the poem with some pictures - but for now I will let the words stand on their own.

     

    Pilgrimage 2010

    Warm welcome is piped,

    our departure sung,

    and onlookers stand in curious gaze.

    We have lost count

    of heavens deft touch

    and the delicate way earth responds.

     

     

    Open silent walls,

    Yet sisters tell tales

    and remember scented flowering verbs.

    We heard Sophia’s

    affirming new voice

    and tread silently, silently on.

     

     

    At the meeting place

    a people worked hard,

    and parted for distant new found land shores.

    Our race died here

    or else embraced life

    moving past the place of no return.

     

     

    Following waymarkers

    over hidden stones

    and a misty uncertain horizon.

    Tell old stories

    to seek a new cause,

    soaring beyond imagination.

     

     

    Idle rusted tool

    hides joyful primrose

    and rich veined marble shards wait to be gleaned.

    Unseen work stands

    at nations centre

    and heads homeward as loving token.

     

     

    At Columba’s bay

    tiny cairn is built

    and a well worn myth climbs inviting cliffs.

    We are made new

    with un-thrown stones

    carried boldly into mission’s soul.

     

     

    Conversation flows,

    languages collide

    a coloured stranger is wasted unused.

    Enrichment stalls

    fresh life is ungiven,

    we say prayers and sup Adam’s clear Ale.

     

     

    At the barbed runrig,

    pure pleasure is clubbed,

    and natural returns as farms decline.

    We have made chains

    and broken old links

    singing new songs of justice and faith.

     

     

    Hilltop look out post

    mountaintop echoes

    crying for well remembered dreams lived out.

    Not in wild currents,

    but in chuckling song

    and blithe reply to prodigal reign.

     

     

    Silently

    bog-step

    gate-close

    insect-hum

    wrapped in a mantle

    of whisper.

     

     

    Ancestors dancing

    James and Isa

    Dan and Annie

    Helen, Betty

    Morag and Barbara

    Naming our saints

    Piping our welcome

    Singing our heavenly touch.

     

     

    News comes slowly here

    and a wee girl dances

    as Mum sings of unmourned detainees.

    Innocent hope

    welcomes fresh future

    even as death stalks friend and stranger.

     

     

    And we turn inland,

    to life left behind,

    renewed somehow in a quick sideways glance.

    Clearing poetry

    Shaking images

    of grace-filled welcome at stranger’s gate.

     

    © Craig Muir 2010


    Creative Commons License
    This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

     

  • Clearing Poetry

    Written in the refectory at Iona Abbey, whilst staff worked and guests created poetry

    Clearing poetry
    Active thinking
    Knowing doubt
    Cooking words
    Chattering pen
    Shaking image
    Wiping ideas
    Cleaning nouns
    Spraying verbs

    Watching workers
    Passing cups
    Writing tables
    Revising cloths
    Looking aside
    Sitting un-still
    Thinking laughter
    Silent greeting
    Telling task

     

    © Craig Muir 2010

     

    Creative Commons License
    This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England & Wales License.

  • A Life Poem

     

    I presented a twig

    with the hint of a bud.

    “A chance of life?”

    “Yes, m’duck ”

    And Easter came.


    I point across fences

    at the fruit filled life.

    “We’ll walk around”

    “Where’s the fun?”

    And Easter came.


    I looked on forlornly

    at the pile life leaves

    “It can’t be done”

    “No such word”

    And Easter came.


    I stand broken and tired

    at the foot of life’s hill

    “Where to from here?”

    “Hang on tight”

    And Easter came.


    Craig Muir, February 2010

    This poem is inspired by my Mother-in Law, Barbara Smith. She had a number of sayings that coloured the way she lived life. It was a positive can do outlook that brought plants to life, enjoyed crab-appling, acquired cuttings and found practical solutions to any problem. Whilst the incidents and sayings are personal to the family, I hope the poem expresses the potential of Lent and you will see Easter come.