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eclipse

Isle of arran

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eclipse
The wind moves clouds like a glass 
blower, rain the fingers of ghosts
seeking the residue from whisky
coloured dreams. Rain lands on a
beach, grains of sands memories from
past lives, tide washes into a shell,
spirits long to tell the people about
their tales of Arran, an empty bottle
in the waters the echoing vowel of the
sound of Arran, the sea is time's fire
camouflaged. Can an island exhale as
the night rows away collecting lost
tears of those long gone in a bottle,
tears on a candle wait for a flame.
An island's pen is synchronised  with
ships sailing into the night
 
Visitors to this island gleam stories that
the wind carry's to king's cave from which
the moon takes a drink. Red deer sleep
-antlers are clock hands, golden eagle reaps
following an ancient unchanging protocol,
in two straight dives keeping its inner clock alive,
wings briefly a bridge between clouds. First whispers
of light arrive, keys to unlock a diary-the gorse flowers
private narrative. The wind and stories are strong enough
to carry the Arran stone through dreams, clouds, across the
wings of birds as grey seals preview stars through the sea's
glass eye. Thrift flowers grow, arrows frozen between the sun
and moon, reverse the flight, inverted dreams of sleepers play 
out through the evening, thrift flowers exist at a certain height,
how far into dreams do sleepers have to go to revive Arran
characters of old  to have a final dram before catching arrows
in empty bottles, whispering final words into glass, throwing the
bottles into the sea with the passing shadows of birds. 

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JoelJosol

I like the music, rhythm, and the marriage of concrete with the abstract. The sea, the bottle, the island create a coherent picture for me.

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Tinker

Hi Barry, This is what I meant in my response on my own poem.  I have read this a couple of times and I keep coming back.  The poem is dense with image and meaning.  It takes time to absorb.  Images like the following, boggle the brain and excite it at the same time. 

On ‎10‎/‎22‎/‎2018 at 1:08 AM, eclipse said:
in two straight dives keeping it's inner clock alive,
wings briefly a bridge between clouds.

Another fascinating piece.   ~~Tink

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tonyv

Barry, I looked up the Isle of Arran, and as it's often referred to as "Scotland in miniature," I see its appeal. Although I haven't been there, it does seem you've hit the mark with this poem. There are some enjoyable recurring themes, but I think my favorite mention in this poem goes to "whiskey colored dreams."

Tony

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FrasMac

Hi. I live within sight of the Island of Arran, and have visited often. There are doubtless many poems written and yet to be written about the island and its friendly inhabitants, including the humans!

The old farmers of Ayrshire have a saying, "If ye canna see Arran, it's raining, and if ye can see Arran, it's gaun tae rain!" - says a lot about the weather in these parts, although it does give respite at certain times, and in those times it is stunning. Lots of fine hillwalking, birdwatching, sea-life watching. A great place to retreat.

Your poem I feel does some justice to the island, already mentioned is the density of the imagery, which is full of colour in spite of the clouds, or maybe because of the clouds, as they are what bring the rain which gives Arran and indeed all of Scotland its colour and drama.

I enjoy the drama and life with which you have portrayed the island - a fitting tribute.

Nit - for accuracy, Scotch whisky has no "e" in it - it should only ever be diluted with the smallest drip of water, to release the flavours!

Thank you for a most engrossing read.

 

 

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Tinker

Isle of Arran.jpgIsle of Arran

Since Fraser sent me off to investigate with his compliment poem to this one, Aisla Craig. I had to come back and find what I could find.  This is incredibly beautiful country.  I so appreciate your sharing this with us.   

~~Tink

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