Haiku ~ three

On the old apple
blossom, crispy petals bloom
into white butterflies.

Amanda~Louise Gilmour © 2020

Haiku ~ two

Sparkling star-like on 
roses, dewdrops ignited 
by sunrise.

Amanda~Louise Gilmour © 2020 

Haiku ~ one

Gauzy clouds veil sun-
down, diluting the scarlett 
sky, salmon-pink.

Amanda~Louise Gilmour © 2020


If only I could
sleep and inhabit dreams where
I wander freely.

Amanda~Louise Gilmour

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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


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

by Amanda Gilmour


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

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour


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

by Amanda~Louise Gilmour


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

by Amanda-Louise Gilmour


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

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


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


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


Icicles tinkle

on a sleeping blossom tree

twinkling in the sun.



Snowflakes rest upon
the old badger, blanketing
sleeping, open eyes.



Oriental lily
stains the wings
of a white butterfly

Amanda-Louise Gilmour

The Gloaming

The Gloaming

From thrawn skeleton,
a cloud of pink petals
sigh from the old gean
in the glen beyond the wall,
where birds sing and deer roam,
while rivulets of glassy burn
pass through in lilting lullaby
carrying fallen blooms
from the natural world
in a trail of confetti,
meandering into 
the gloaming mouth 
of the firth.

Amanda Gilmour