Poetry Map of Scotland, poem no. 127: Arbroath Cliffs

Arbroath Sandstone

I bow my head to mountains
every morning, a benediction
to Northern skies
but my eyes are on the East
measuring my life out
in steps along claret cliffs
The taste of salt surer than wine

A red light flares in my heart
stitching memories
with the Needle’s E’e
A dare to the De’il -
his effigy twisting to the wind
land-locked,
when all we can do is swim

Three sisters shushing
secrets in the Mason’s Cave,
siblings bound with pink thrift
and promises
The sea a grey milk
boiling up.

The haar stealing time.

 

Lynn Valentine

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