Movement - Noah Moray Parker (M)

Movement - Noah Moray Parker (M)

I am a river, swirling, twisting, rolling

Just like the rest of the arguing,

Pulsing, fighting, complex.

Moving, ever moving, we don't know where,

We don't know why, but we do.

Ground - Noah Moray Parker (M)

I am stained with the

Life,

Body,

Soul of the Earth.

I can feel the pointing finger,

Jab, hard into my dark crevices.

I am filled with clear, bright

Energy.

Unititled - Tori Aynsley (H)

Rushing down the river gleams,

I hear the sound of swirling trees,

A rustle from the hedge beside

Along the river but deep and kind.

The smooth, wet rocks beside the river,

The gleaming, golden sun

Shining. The river speaks of gurgles and gulps.

Suddenly, the trees begin to speak

With swirling and whispering that it's time to go.

The sun has gone,

The clouds replaced.

I must go,

It's time to fly away.

The River - James Stirling (G)

Down by the old

Rusty, bank the river

Slowed. The water

Jumped like dogs.

Where the grass

Is green and the

Flowers were out.

The trees lent over

The River.

Gentle River - Alastair Prenter (G)

Glistening white water running along the soft rocks that occasionally rock along the river bed which seems untouched by everything apart from the beautiful but cold water that never stops. There are grooves in the river that never change shape and yet the water is always moving. It is shiny, so, so shiny and glistening so that it would make you feel that it would always be bright. The water reminds me of life as it keeps going on and on and on and even when there is a rock in the water, the water just adapts and moves around it.

When the river is calm, all you can hear is a gentle trickling calling you which will never cease and never stop. The river will never let anyone down, here it's always a beautiful and sunny day.

The River - Campbell Gibson (G)

The water rushing over the rocks

The wind blowing in the grass.

A place where the chaos and hassle stops I think this place is pure class.

The River Almond - Lottie Brinkhorst (L)

As I sit on a jagged rock

All that surrounds me is woods.

To the right of me is the flowing river

As it crashes and knocks against the

Rocks.

To the left of me is a golden field that came out of nowhere And is guarded by a wooden, broken fence.

As the sun glistens down on the

Busy River Almond it fills me

With calmness.

All I can hear is the tweeting of birds

And the rushing of the following water.

As the sun goes behind the cloud

I am left with nothing but wind.

Although the river is not bright

Anymore, I am still happy sitting

On this jagged rock

Listening to nothing but water.

The Mirror River - William Guy (G)

The rustling white horses

Clash with the curving rock.

As the water flows it picks up

Debris like a taxi and

Drops it off.

The trees shadow the water

Like tall men to a baby.

It always changes from start

To source, flows, trickles, stalls,

Then the slowed down river

Snores to sleep.

Woods by the River - Eddie Grierson (S)

The trees surround me,

Shading the light with their long, brown arms.

The birds, invisible, high above me in their bright blue Kingdon above, chirping down at me.

Sycamore, maple, ash and lime

And the apple tang of wood sorrel,

Almost untouched wilderness.

Almost.

For here I come, the sturdy wooden bridge leads Unto pastures green and grazed by sheep.

The gurgling water, twisting through boulders, Piled onto sand, a miniature rocky raft.

Jackdaws cooing in their all too numerous flocks, And swallows snapping at the midges.

Now the avian kingdom does reveal itself.

Now.

A hoverfly, which I have a passion for, That marvellow wasp-mimic.

The perfect yellow-black stripes

So no bird here dare consider "tasty snack".

Tits and finches in their bright tuxedoes, Blues, greens, yellows, blacks and reds.

To pick out friend from rival,

Species from Species.

Yes.

This rocky, beer like river seems

A place to look for wolf or bear.

But alas, come now, in Britain

They are no longer there.

For man, smug man, thinks he to be unique But he is just another mammal, another creature, And though he like or not He is the most destructive of them all.

And so they're gone, wolf and bear in Scotland, But others have, worldwide, already gone.

Extinct, forever, and so, it is our World That we must conserve.

Not us, our World

That we must conserve.

Untitled - Alastair Spencer-Nairn (G)

The trees with their arms surround me

With a scent of pure wilderness

As we run through the forest at the

Bottom of the hill.

Watching the frogs leap,

And the birds take flight,

And the occasional squirrel as it

Clambers up the trees.

Then the clearing is gone

Like a picture on display and it is

Only a faint memory in the

Days that lie ahead.

Down by the Riverside - Alastair Spencer-Nairn

All you can hear is the shouts

And complaints from the buckets of water, The tweeting of the birds in the Evergreen trees.

The rocks, as they make

A stand, alone, quiet, waiting,

A one man army.

The light bouncing off the free flowing water And the decision of the screaming children As they jump from one rock To another, screaming with joy Until they find the slippy, Non-grippy rocks and make A fall.

The birds

Are now silent,

Respectful of the body afloat.

Hoped Out

A roaring in the ears

Rapid heartbeat, breath held

tight

The cold claw held at bay

Steady - strong.

The shadows lengthen -

The generators are on

"If the hospital can cope so can I"

Rips make themselves felt.

All else has failed;

Faith now pounds through veins

Unable to grasp the heart:

Weary and fading.

Gone.

Silence smothered like a

devastating mist,

the grey creatures lurked

as I uncontrollably sunk into discomfort,

the rigid stale bread and the stench of petrol

wriggled out of my rucksack.

A frosty chill shuddered through my body,

the cold bit my face till it was luminous red 

                           I was a target.

A sharp crack echoed through the ice as I felt my loneliness disperse.

Glacial blue eyes lit up the white sheet.

Surrounded like a harmless tender piece of prey.

There was no hope here.

Past Hoping

A sun beam on a summer afternoon

squeezing through

the mistaken gap in the curtains.

But this glorious optimism

enlightens the

smallest

fragment

of dust suspended                                                      in the air.

This bright ray soon becomes a shadow.

The falseness of dreams - harshness of reality.

The darkening depression

creeping up fast like death -

but dying

knowing you're going to heaven.

Hoping

The coldness that bites,

lonely vastness of deepest blue crashes down,

Embraces me warmly like an old friend

the cold sting of fear and despair like knives on my skin,

the

almost beautiful scent of flower reaches my senses

A golden speck of light suspends about me

giving my perpetual darkness - glimmer of light.

The light slowly creeps up on me like the sun

creeps

up over the horizon,

The light now reaches the glimmering

crystals on the ground

This beauty was blind to me.

Now I know.

Wintering

In Winter’s wake lies planted bulbs

Enclosed in the womb of soil -

We wait for obstinate buds to flower;

overdue.

The hot blood pulses in ears

Blurred and rushing.

Yet - no vibrant explosion of life,

No yelping lamb delivered,

Only the corpse of past fertilities; gone.

My stomach overturned,

The trees are barren.

A harsh gust of chloroform distorts,

Cold, acidic injection sliding down veins,

Eyelids falter staring blanky; never mine.

Tears of wine

Trails down delicate glass.

What Tomorrow Brings

People sow seeds with Hope,

Waiting, believing

In that - something - will come-

Anticipation bites, coldly,

Lingering for only a while-

Solemnly surrounding,

Aspiration, Contemplation,

Enlightened darkness of desire -

Operating under the deluded belief,

The silver lining

Drawn in fools' paradise,

It is the desperate, everlasting hope of

What tomorrow may bring.

Indigo

Light fading into darkness
an indigo feel
thick and sticky
-like sour cotton candy-
burning acid on a swollen tongue.
The sound of a silent scream.
The smell of dying leaves.

Sudden desire, like lightning
cuts through dark clouds
bathing darkness in light.

False light.
Blinding light.
Sun reflected like diamonds
on flakes of cold snow.
Icy win stings like a needle
and leaves nose like a cloud of hope.
Hope fading blue.
Blue fading indigo.
Light fading into darkness.

Uncertain Faith

waiting -

a train,

Unsure of the imp

ending arrival.

Taste of freedom:

bittersweet, clings to your soul

As the artificial glow

seeps

through prison walls.

Slate grey, obscures,

rusts your vision.

Your mind numbs to the drip,

                                             drip

of your trust

As it dissolves to mist.

Memories, steel razor blades,

biting like frost;

As you're waiting for a train

Unsure of the imp                  ending destination.

Despair

The dying golden orb,

once so strong and bold,

shatters

A thousand daggers of ice

slash through the air,

chilling

The cold clenches mercilessly,

crushing out all warmth,

suffocating

Yet out of no where it rises,

a fragile touch of colour,

defiance

Hope?

Sitting, watching, waiting.
Where is she, half-hearted anticipation and hope is simply not enough,
I hear fading sirens in the distance,
only for darkness to fall once more.

My nails are worn down to the bitter thread,
another sleepless night, gone.
I drag my bones firm my bed of misery,
red robins glide through the pale sky.
Something dark hovers in the distance.

My soul is numb.
I long for sleep and the truth.
I long for that dreaded call.
The red robins squirm in a state of agitation.
Buzzards lurk nearby.

The immensity of hope
has forced me to breaking point.
The phone rings.
The robins are gone.
The buzzards sit, hunched on the wall.

Hope

The acrid taste, rusted, rushed, ancient as time itself, rises.
While golden orbs play, dancing across your vision, scattering the darkness as a warm gust of air scatters sand.

Even the shadow seems a little brighter today.

Running ahead of you, the scent of the sun trailing tanned from behind.

The climb, then the fall. Now returns the darkness