Four of my poems - Jim McDowall Personal Website

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Four of my poems


Gnarled trees, storm twisted

Stand lonely watch by broken walls.

Dense thicket hugs the silent keep

That once gave guard for leagues around.

Gale battered, weather rotted,

Hinges rusted through,

Stout oak, iron bound, lies fallen,

That once withstood a hundred men.

Grey stone, fallen, scattered,

Dappled green with moss,

The fortress now makes peasant’s croft,

That once subdued the native tribe;

And ivy creeps o’er weathered rock

That once stood proud to face the world.

© Jim McDowall

June 1995

(First published in Symphonies Of The Soul 1996

ISBN 1-888680-00-8)

The Croft

Crumbling stone, moss covered,

Huddles in the driving rain.

Rats shelter, gaunt and scabbed,

‘Neath rotting beams.

Dawn breaks on desolation.

Roofless cottage, abandoned,

Stares, eyeless in the morning light.

A child’s doll, worn and weathered,

Lies amidst decaying weeds.

A new day begins.

Waving broom, wind lashed,

Quails before the Northern blast.

Broken scythe, blade rusted,

Half buried in the sodden peat.

Another Highland morning.

© Jim McDowall

March 1996

Good Morning

Eyes unfocused, the world’s a blur,

Morning’s glow claws through.

A watery haze, thin sunlight strikes;

Pounding to renew.

A drum roll sounds ‘neath clammy brow,

Nature’s screaming crew.

A cough erupts as cracked lips part;

A throat is ripped in two.

Leaden head and trembling hand,

Bile upon the tongue.

Faltering steps from rambling limbs;

A new day is begun.

© Jim McDowall

August 1993


Wraith lights dancing,

Twisting, flickering shapes

Sending shadows to cavort;

A frenetic reel through the night.

Orange and yellow,

Brightness burns the eye,

A beauty which cannot be held;

Its warmth reaches the soul.

Sharp cracks echo,

Rending the brooding silence,

Glowing embers explode;

A myriad of sparkling gems burst forth.

White crystals deck the sky,

Autumn boughs bend toward the heat;

Dark sentinels surround

The dervishes of flame.

Gift of the gods.

Sustainer of life, destroyer of life.

Brightly woven magic

Brings hope against the dark.

© Jim McDowall

September 1993

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