Do not be fooled.
These streets, paved with gold,
glisten with bent back sweat,
dripped and sleeve dried of narrow eyes
that hurt in the salt soaked sunshine
and half moon light.
No riches.
Simple broken ends, hammered by the waves
and buried by the mocking seagull’s cry.

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In collaboration with the Funkypancake studios.

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bright eyes watch
ripple shudders
penetrating heat
hisss es

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Dilapidated house in Lewis - by "Blues"

It was not an easy living and the kids eventually had to leave home to work over the water. They came back from time to time but then the old man died and there was no longer a reason to make the trip. The building lay empty and locked until one winter a storm ripped slates off the roof. The subsequent decline was rapid and the cottage soon became fit only for sheep and nesting birds. Never again would that hearth see a roaring fire in the grate.

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South Uist Sunset - by Blues

I look at this scene and feel calm, the serenity of the South Uist sunset. The derelict building, a black cut out on the darkened promontory, is a focus for the mind on life on the island. Summer now but a different proposition in winter. As if I am being lulled into a false sense of wellbeing.

I spend a few minutes gazing and then retire to the cottage. The oil lamp is already lit. There is no fire in the hearth but the smell of peat lingers, mingling well with the whisky in my glass. We sit around the table in the kitchen and talk long into the night.

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Graffiti1 by Blues

hidden art
conflict of emotion
paint by discard
sewer of creativity
avoided filled void
afficionadoless

Graffiti3 by Blues

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photo - "jura dawn" by Blues

waters gently lap
whilst the light slowly
grows in intensity,
nature’s perfect alarm clock
a gradual awakening,
reflection on the day ahead,
eastern promise exclaimed
in western islands, perfect

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