Poems

A Particular Type of Scottish Anti-Cyclone

A sky of slate
washes the colours from the hills,
coats the fields in mist,
turns water black,
dulls people.

It's hard to smile
without the sunshine;
gazing past monochrome landscapes,
yearning for summer
or a splash of its paints.

Even the snow
brings more life and tone
than this endless, clinging murk,
that smothers the people
in the land of the long, grey cloud.

© Craig Stobo