Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

CRIANLARICH

entry picture

Another wee blast of grim northern verse from my Highland stravaigings early in 2013. Crianlarich is the railway station/stop where the train from Glasgow splits, half to Oban, half to Mallaig, or rejoins on the way south from both. It's surrounded by fantastic scenery & the temperature always seems to be -2C.

 

CRIANLARICH

At Crianlarich where the great winds roared,

Hyphens of railway line flow to meet

Between frowns of dark mountain, converge

Tremulously for a timetabled heartbeat.

Colliding briefly like huge angry stags

In coupling then hurtling away south or north,

Dark carriages filled to the brim with us 

Rest uneasily in temporary berth.

A quick fag on the platform, a sallow glance

Towards fog-boxed peaks & diminishing glens,

Where the wind cries Morag and all our

Turning points come to lost and boggy ends.

◄ A poem written for someone I never met

Fires in ancient buildings..... ►

Comments

Profile image

Stuart A Paterson

Thu 16th Jan 2014 23:27

Thanks Greg & MC. It's a treasured spot. Love getting off at the platform there for a fag & a look around. Going north, it promises what lies ahead, what you've got coming. It's like there's a change in the atmosphere.

Profile image

Greg Freeman

Thu 16th Jan 2014 21:32

I'm a sucker for railway poems, Stuart, and junctions are always significant. Can't be many, if any, in a more scenic location. Remember waiting for a train or two there in days of my youth. Love "the wind cries Morag".

Profile image

M.C. Newberry

Thu 16th Jan 2014 15:55

Ah...this brings back memories! I well recall
taking the overnight sleeper from The Smoke to Glasgow and suffering the delay before setting
off for the Highlands. But what pleasure to
see those wild places emerge from the mist
and cloud cover. A grand prelude to a walk
(west to east) across Scotland's great
wilderness from Knoydart to Stonehaven. I can
still remember marvelling that my feet had
grown to accommodate the weight carried over
a two week self-contained overland odyssey!
My poem Streaps Bothy was written with those
days in mind.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message