Hebrides Poems - Poems about Hebrides

music for the soul the lilting of the seasons in the Hebrides...

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The grey skies shift to blue, and now a breeze is heralding a longed-for transformation. With rainbow colours Mother Earth is blessed and all the islands of the west caressed, reborn. Sweet Summer knows no storm....

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Perfectly formed in a challenging terrain, low and squat they lie and ever ready to shrug off Hebridean wind and rain, with weathered roofs and walls rock steady. In days of yore, a refuge from the storm, now picturesque, and just a bit forlorn....

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Seaweed, fragmented shell as cannonballs in maelstrom hurled upon the shore. The bellowing wind cast all asunder as Summer’s shoots from shifting sand were torn. Such was Autumn’s storm. The sleet was blown in horizontal sheets as figures double-bent fought step by step to make but little progress, homeward bound. The sky was lost in billowing grey, forlorn. Such was Winter’s storm. Relentlessly the...

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The moonlit ocean murmurs to the stars. In drowsy rhythm, wavelets lap the strand. They whisper tales of places near and far and songs that have been sung since time began. It’s here that you and I, who’ve sailed the seven seas, have found our piece of heaven, in the Hebrides....

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Perfectly formed in a challenging terrain, low and squat they lie and ever-ready to shrug off Hebridean wind and rain with weathered roofs and walls rock-steady. In days of yore, a refuge from the storm, now picturesque, and just a bit forlorn....

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They gleam and shimmer in the perfect light of paradise, known to the ancient gods as hallowed refuge, where the stars at night pay homage from on high, and from the west come ocean flower breezes, to a land where sea and sand and sky hold boundless sway and pastel multi-hues embrace the day, where gentle rhythms echo on the shore and...

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HEBRIDES Big waves crash on a Hebrides shore, Horizontal rain slashes the rocks. There’s no shelter here, not even a crack, There’s no wood here, and nothing to burn: Frost giants hurl slivers of ice. The sun will rise twelve hours from now, But by then, they say, the snow will be Knee deep, and nearly slush. I’m dry enough, but stranded atop A...

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