Dominion

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We are told that the word of god granted man
Dominion over animals.
Man conveyed this interpretation of the word of god
from man to man.
Across all divides man came together to put animal to use.
Or to death.

Our reportedly developed, and enlightened world
continues to put to use – and perpetrate death.
To cause the world we all share,
Not to prosper, but to decline
And eventually fall.

We grant ourselves particular domination
In the name of “tourism and leisure’.
Where the killing of animals is sugar-coated as
Activities for the wealthy with no conscience.
With neither sense, nor soul, arguably.

We are all beings
Living on the same earth.
There is no dominion greater than that of nature itself.
That of the natural laws of the evolution of each
Animal family. Our family, too.

Dominion was invented by man to overcome weakness.
Not that of the animal but that of the man.
Nature has no dominion, no deity.
Man is neither god, nor wise as a god.
Man has put his wallet where his heart is.

Dominion.

Helen Finnie
13.02.2018

Inspired by a Facebook post from: FP Family Polaris
from which the above image was taken.

Stand And Drink The Rain

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Pour away the Iron Bru’
Stand and drink the rain.
Put away the footspa
And tread the sand again.

Turn off the t.v.
Turn down your mind.
Put aside the d.v.d
Open up the blind.

Get off the sofa
Stride along the shore.
Throw out the painkillers
They’ll only lead to more.

Turn off the mobile phone
Throw it in the pond.
It’s time now with people and
With Earth to make a bond.

Hang up the haute couture.
Auction the bling.
Wipe away the make-up
Let your beauty sing.

Little Owl

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Outside my window
In the leafless night
The little owl calls.

From this window,
The owl and I
Reaching for the moon.

I too call out to my mate
Not knowing when I will
return to him.

The owl and I together
Calling to the night.
A small wind begins to stir.

Mine’s a silent call
But – together – the owl and I
Tremble in the treetops.

Helen Finnie
11th December 2017
Little Owl Image by David Chapman

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Night Light

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Waking, I look first from the window
for the three lights in a row on the island
showing they’re at work on the lobster pond.

There’s a time of night when stars line up
in a row of three too; lofty
companions to Fladda Lighthouse.

Then there are the lighthouses on Colonsay,
and the Garvellachs – smaller stars skating
across the sea’s blank mirror.

Waking from a dark dream, I am fortified
for the day ahead by these nine lights.
Three on land, three aloft and three a-sail.

Night light, star-light, sea bright.
Looking out, I’m reassured by this
constant constellation.

Night Light

Whisky On The Rocks

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Heated by the earth’s core,
Stirs a rolling boil.
Steaming waves of mercury
and gold, that I recall.

Glinting shards of sun’s light
Out across the bay.
Out of nowhere.
Out of this – unprepossessing – day.

Stir the soup of lava
Till lava flows no more.
Follow the crystal water flow
From hill to shining shore.

Magna from the cauldron.
Brew from the pan.
Storm from the bowl
Of the Corryvreckan.

Malt from the barley.
Smoke o’er the sprout.
All in the quest to
Coax the sugars out.

Wort through the washback.
Grist to the mill.
Yeast in the yield distill
The spirit of the hill.

The alchemy of weather,
Rockface, land and sky;
All the way from Islay
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Helen T Finnie
8th November 2017

 

Talking Bull

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Taking the road to the shore
I pass two of the senior bulls
(On our island full of bulls)
The elder statesmen of the
Celebrated cattle of Luing.

They move neither to left nor right.
Pay no heed to traffic nor footfall.
I can walk right up to the great heads.
Only the eyes swivel my way.
Watchful, weighty.

How are you doing? (I say).
No answer. Although I’m left with
the impression of a stern response.
I don’t suppose much bothers them.
How could it?

Returning from the cafe
I pass the two leviathans.
They stand, seemingly unmoved.
And I realise I have spent the whole morning
Talking bull.

Heron On A Post

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Today I saw a heron on a post.
Viewed at eye level from the back
of a motorbike.

Upright, stood to attention.
Watching. But not watching me
behind my visor.

Not watching me – human on
two wheels going as fast as I can.
Without wings.

The heron flies
aligning head, body, legs.
Stream-lined, stream bound.

I align my head,
body, legs with
man and machine.

We ride for the ferry, he for the fish.
One world, two elements.
I see you heron. I want to be seen.

First Light

I’ve spent fifty years, on and off, trying to recreate the wonder that Gavin Maxwell’s beautiful writing set light to when I was a child of eleven years. Through painting, photography, writing (and latterly poetry) I enjoy a sense of that original wonder – of an intimate, enthusiastic, headlong, close-up plunge into nature – in all it’s forms. This blog is a way of sharing that; and of sharing the work of others engaged in a similar quest.