Bits And Clips Poem by jim hogg

A broken down familiar place:
the pyloned power lines that sag;
the deep and shadowed loch that waits;
the plans behind the plans we had;
the 'keeper chasing with his gun,
with Bobby Johnstone ducking low,
and Brandy barking as he runs
below the reaching sycamores.

A face I can't quite recognise
yet know I know her glance and style:
a sunlit wave that once washed up
this vain peninsula of life.
She's speaking softly to herself
and you and I and all the birds,
are listening rapt as if we grasp
a hidden beauty in her words.

There's scribbles on the railway bridge,
that seem to speak of something lost,
of harder times and lives fulfilled;
another age, a world that's gone,
when kids still danced the night away,
where only ghosts and highways meet,
and of the tunes they used to play,
there's not a trace, nor single tear.

It's autumn and I didn't know.
I missed the show: where have I been?
How differently it's all turned out:
the little hopes and massive dreams
that brought us here, are wearing down,
and though at last the running's done,
and we're so far from where we were,
there's beauty in the winter sun.

(song)
(adapted from A Dream Reflects)