Miles of louring cloud
over the sodden peat
and huddling cottages.
Who’d live here but
the lichen and the crows?
Only the men who
keep this art alive:
to set the rain on fire.
June 30, 2016
Uisge
By hjs
This entry was posted on Thursday, June 30th, 2016 at 3:04 pm and tagged with poems whisky Scotland and posted in All poems, Places. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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- Topsell’s Beasts revisited
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- Carrying Jack
- Tourists
- My Acceptance Speech
- A Balance
- Map reading at 60
- My Covid-19 Song
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- Patrishow
- Sunday morning at the canal
- Lunatics
- Too late
- The Master of Sleep
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- Late January
- Snow on the sidewalk
- Cat. Field. Morning. Midday. Dusk
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- Triumphs of Design
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- Infinity Pool
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- Thaw
- Operating instructions
- Chickentime
- Recipe for happiness
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- Ellis Island
- Walking on Thin Air
- John Brown in the Met
- Wheelchair access
- New York Scenes
- Party
- Salisbury Cathedral
- A lesson from the DSLR workshop
- Too steep
- Footwear
- Paper thin
- Newfoundland I
- Newfoundland II
- El Horcajo
- Cotswold Graveyard
- Uisge
- Grizzly bears and other surprises
- The View
- In the Still of the Night
- November Recipe
- Yellowstone
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- Burqa
- Subversive dictionary
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- Prague awakening
- Love story, Midwest
- Birds of the early morning
- The Undoing of Flight
- History (i)
- In-between
- Birthday
- The Fierceness of Badgers
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