Tor Mor, Look East
No great inspiration in this naming.
Tor Mor, Bruach Mhor: big hill.
Our distant Ben More tempts a gaze.
From here I can spot un-roaded ruins:
Wintertown, populated by foxgloves,
doorless doorways, ambling hooves.
Downhill, The Loch of the Pot of Iona
offers a shimmering promise of fish.
Inside dry stone walls, adders doze.
I point, name Gorrie’s Leap, imagine.
Some cliffs are a kind of fairy hill:
nobody at home, but with a dizzy music.
Copyright © Seth Crook 2017
Seth Crook rarely leaves Mull. His poems have most recently appeared in Northwords Now, Pushing Out The Boat, Envoi, Antiphon, The Rialto.
Please note that The Open Mouse is taking a break during August, and will be back in September.