Once I was a young man wild and free and sought beauty.

Lonely shorelines by M.A.Meddings

Long ago I sat on Northern shorelines
and listened to the cries  of the Waup 
Echoing across floes and marshlands of Sutherland 
It heralded in its lonely wailing
All the pathos of a desperate longing

And in its sadness
Where the  late summer downpours
Drowned out the ache of sudden tears 
I heard again the eerie cry of the Fulmar
Echoing down the wind from the Northland 

And on Melvich head
With my face turned into the wind
I heard you  long off, speak my name
Softly at first
As a whispering of the ebb waves on 
A forgotten shoreline

Then under the lee of the unspoiled dunes 
I heard the ghostly cries
Come again and again

I am yours forever
Though we hardly knew it then
The words were plain and true
Your cries whispered You! You! You!

But then I was a young man
Wild and free

Yet last night in dreams again
I went to Halladale once more
And listened to the pathos
Of a Whimbrel calling
And I sat on lonely seashores
And heard the waves call your name
You !
You !
You !
And it was a peaceful sound

Poetry by lastromantichero The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 2550 times
Written on 2008-05-02 at 10:18

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This has truly touched my soul completely!!!

Every words captivates my soul..very nice..thank you for sharing this my hero!!!..kisses

Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
How beautiful!

Kathy Lockhart
Truly this poem is beautiful in every way-- each word, each sound, each moment described. As I read each line, I am taken away from this time and place and transported there, right there beside you. My senses become alive and engaged as I read each verse.Michael you are wonderful poet. Never stop writing my darling. The world needs each word painting you create. This is a masterpiece. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxyblyvm

Dan Cederholm

WoooW what a wonderful text Mike
Melvich is one of the finest places
around the world when you wants to
go Birdwatching sea birds . . .

and many times I have watch the
Fulmare, but from the Swedish
coastline often in October when it
storms . . . the Fulmars glide and some
fast up and downs with the wings . . .
up and down the Fulmar dances with
the top of the wawes and I can realy hear
your beutiful poem . . . the calling . . .

You . . .

Thanks for an outstanding poem Mike!

all the best, Dan