awakening

Here comes a piece right from the heart, as I begin to come to terms with a virus that confine us and still stirs fears won’t go away and belongs to Natural Laws.

As soon as we accept this, we become survivors. Put aside politics, those daily obscure statistics… Are we seriously reminded daily about death rates related to the flu, coronary disease, smoking & other drugs? And if only… If only we were reminded daily about the state of our homeworld; victims from climate change.

Yes, it is dangerous; yes, it can kill. Yet like others, we will pull through or disappear… Life is precious and every new morning feels a blank page.

Blank Page

New,
New beginnings,
threads from loose ends, shreds of blankness left in
a corner of a page, chapter so void of
ink and thoughts.

New,
that point of
singularity where dreams wonder out of
nowhere, elemental as
hydrogen in
time and
space,
where syllables
echo like dots
from a ballpoint
pen ready to blacken first page, new beginnings in
a cartridge without smudges, writer’s mistakes…
Look at it now,
It has darkened beyond
belief, as
new beginnings set to sail as
asteroids, debris, comets,
bouncing flash balls from
nebulae still
to be imagined and
penned.
Fresh universe to the writer.

© Nat Hall 2020

Resistance

Da Lang Kames, Shetland Mainland.

Da Lang Kames, from O.N., “Long Ridges” . This is a part of my island. A magical gateway to this last corners of wilderness, as BBC Wildlife broadcaster Simon King once defined Shetland.

There is a deep blanket of peat, a rich, precious, protective and fragile habitat about to be destroyed in the name of greed by a few. In spite of a seven year campaign or so, wir community ignored when alternatives exist. A too grand-scale project and areas of special scientific interest decimated by bulldozers… Folk impacted notably involve Nesting, Aith and up to Vidlin, as da Kames extend East and West.

Central Mainland, Shetland.

They want a 103 turbines of that size scattered from wir Lang Kames to Vidlin.

Do not take me wrong.

Not against renewable energy – but against the sheer size of a wind farm in such a small gem of archipelago & impact on my local environment: destruction of peat blanket, loss of precious & fragile habitat… Wir rural community ignored for years in the name of money, as well as long-term impact on tourism, incl. eco-tourism. A terrible mistake for Shetland.

There are alternatives that could have made us independent from this hellish national grid: peerie community turbines (tidal or wind). Instead, sold out to a giant parent company (SSE) for snap short-term profit… Utter Disgrace.

I want to believe it is not too late. Too late to save the rest of Shetland from those who want to destroy it.

If you too have visited my islands,

You will have marvelled at these magical places… Maybe you drove/were driven along the N/S road along da Lang Kames to reach magic places like Eshaness, Uyea or Toft on your way to Yell and Unst or Fetlar, wir North Isles…

Thanks to Billy Fox for the graphic images.

Shetland is world famous for its many natural and archaeological treasures –

To plunder it this way is both eco-genocide and damaging to our community.

Please share the logo and help us save Shetland. Thank you.

Working-Class Heroes

Every morning, the same pavement.

Working-Class folk don’t wear medals, just a clone mask.

They feed the belly of the ship with such ardour, ore, mighty coal,

invisible on

upper deck, their eyes unknown,

left to silence…

Shackled to shovel and

furnace,

their only world,

fire -darkness, prisoner to

plates and rivets, air filled with smoke, soot and carbon –

the nemesis of pink champagne,

silk on pale skin, untouched

China.

Unaware of night and

iceberg, as

they fuel insatiable mouths; revel in rags, hail to the steam whilst the captain dines at

table with officers and

courtisanes.

They’ll never know the mundane world, but will perish with their own ship in the name of

blind Britannia.

Working-Class Heroes behind

masks, look at your hands bruised with

blisters – you are sole key to

the engine, the feisty

beast and

propeller

© Nat Hall 2020

stars

Starry nights have returned…

When night returns on my latitude, and conditions are right, we see it all… Stars, constellations, our Milky Way, meteors and auroras. It is magic.

On Friday night, and to my great surprise, it did just this… Against the odds of forecasters, the veil vanished and let me contemplate such marvellous spectacle. Here comes a prose poem to celebrate it .

Stars

Tonight, I captured Arcturus. Its light pulsed heart, so unmatched glow flicked and flickered in my parallel universe... W by NW, there, inside mid-August twilight, as Elvis echoed deep in stars, I felt the weight of the great Plough lost in a sea of sentinels. Tonight, I harnessed Aquila.

Where Perseids crash in oblivion, I looked for his wings in North night and imagined a hooded friend with two ravens, cloaked and solemn, eyes down on us.

Tonight, I saw the Milky Way, forbidden patches among stars…

So elusive in August skies, the whole of my world in your hands. Light refracted to reach us out and remind us our loneliness belongs to black; that area called underworld, Hades or Hel.

The Creator gave us Lyra, Betelgeuse and Altair in an effort to help our way – never lose sight of the greatness our universe colours with grace; redraw known shapes with my index like a Kepler or a dreamer.

Tonight, I wished for that white star that bears my name to protect us from knives and blades, shackles or chains – reunite us with divine light, and let us shine among stardust.

© Nat Hall 2020

Light in darkness

Hairst

Seasonal gathering of silage.

Hairst

Da shalders* have moved on. Da playing fields, once

more silent.

Their flight calls,

memories.

As

summer’s

sliding into Hairst,

wir hame sky changed

its song; tis now

time for

sheepdogs,

shriek calls from

young blackbirds still

clad in brown

feathers;

mass

gathering of

life around cliffs and

headlands, our

first sign of

winter.

Now

silage

rolled in bails,

the winged world can

move on, our

gulls will

fill a

sky and

join Aeolus in

his quest for new songs.

8 Aug 2020.

NH

#

Golden Plover in cotton grass

Poet’s Notes

Hairst means harvest, and is also the Shetland name for autumn, derived from Norwegian Høst & German Herbst…

Shalders, the Shetland name for oystercatchers.