Claggain Bay: Islay
The pebbled beach is boulder-strewn, the sea
blue-green, Argyll a smudge upon the sky;
few sounds: some screaming mother terns, maybe
a lowing cow, the breeze, a buzzard’s cry:
the dramatis personae of the scene
that hold me in their thrall. The stones are dry,
the tide will polish them to jewelled sheen.
I click the shutter then I wonder why
I violate this wholeness with my snaps
when it’s already fixed in my mind’s eye.
Why not just sit here, like the stones perhaps?
I lay the camera down and down I lie.
A hare appears; a black cloud passes;
air stirs the golden seed heads of the grasses.
For instructions on how to submit your own poems, click here
All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.