Son

Brittle

Brittle
He grew delicate
roots inside me,
brittle as glass.

by Amanda Gilmour

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Foinaven

Fractured quartzite-rocks
graze Achriesgill's grey edges
with scattered pieces
that I wrap in my lace scarf,
keeping the hill close.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Oldshoremore

At Oldshoremore, the
aurora borealis
waltzes over stars
while I collect broken shells
bathed in rose-gold glow.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Soul

As I burn your soul
onto paper, a butterfly
lands on my pen.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

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Dawn

Dawn's ghostly whisper,
dappled with rose-gold hues, seeps
into inky skies.

by Amanda Gilmour

Sundown

In the gloaming sky,
pink hues seep from sundown, while
amber-tinged clouds bloom.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Penumbra

A sprinkle of stars
burn into nightfall, veiling
the moon's penumbra.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Waltzing

His ashes dust hills,
feeding wildflowers, waltzing
with wild winter wind.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Shadow

In between shadows,
moonlight illuminates cats
fighting on spring grass.

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour

Filigrees

Petal filigrees
press stencil 
patterns on snow,
echoing full bloom.

by Amanda-Louise Gilmour

Sunset

Atlantic waves slice
the sun in half, a semi-
circle melting.

by Amanda Gilmour

Amber Moon

Amber Moon

Above the city,
light polluted night leaks
amber into the moon.

by Amanda-Louise Gilmour

Amber

Oriental lily
stains the wings
of a white butterfly,
amber.

Drumochter

Stars fall over
the pass of
Drumochter,
smudged grey as always,
barren, desolate ‒
a world dropped dead
into Dante’s Ninth.
 
By the old railway,
I cradle your urn,
twisting the lid,
scattering ashes that
return on a
wet wind wave,
blinding me.
 
As your particles
speckle the
yawning hills,
my soul blinks
behind gritted lids.

Amanda-Louise Gilmour
 

Mill burn

Beneath susurrus snowflakes
by lilting Mill burn,
his going spawned silk rivulets
glissading over wrist bone;
echoing in pearly scars
over crimson flowing vein,
a gossamer reminder
of his whispered nasal hymn.
Narnia embellished summer
dresses hidden silvered skin,
beneath susurrus snowflakes
by lilting Mill burn.

Amanda-Louise Gilmour

A Black Isle Sunrise

Catherine Faulkner

The almost-morning, almost-dawn

Brushing blue cold from dark,

Staring out the wilder, furious stars,

Stalking night with gull-shrill cries.

At Munlochy Bay the wolfish grey

Grows steady silver, steady bright

Snapping teeth in jealous bid against

The clipped perfection of the moon.

By Kessock Bridge the blush of day

Runs sleek against the timid pink,

Runs deep with tinted, fierce intent,

To keep new dreams from breakingFrom breaking on the fractured light

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Web

In the blossom tree
a crystal-spun web is
ignited by sunrise.

Stars

Stars shine at twilight.
Confetti sprinkled sky
echoes in my eyes.

Haiku

Snowdrops bud nightly
peeking from the dirt,
stretching
in yawning clusters.