Landscape Photography; Inspiration for a Poet

As a photographer putting my work out in both the physical & digital realms, I regularly receive messages of support & adulation. Whilst it’s often hard to reply to everyone when they first get in touch with me, I’m humbled & honoured that my work is being appreciated by many others across the world!

I received one such message from a supporter, a poet from East Kilbride named Kit Frank Duddy. Kit had written a poem for three images that I had recently shared through my Facebook channel & I wanted to take the time to honour his time & effort by showcasing them here on my website.

I can’t express enough how happy such interaction makes me; the level of satisfaction goes beyond simply saying thank you! Kit’s prose is not simply fantastically written, but is highly personal to him as an individual & I am greatly honoured that my photography has served as inspiration or as a creative spark in his imagination.

You can read more from Kit on his Facebook page here

Heart_of_the_copse_Scott_Wanstall




”Take a bough”

In midst of woods a lone tree stood, apart from all the others. It’s boughs were bent and branches rent and seemed lost without it’s
mother.

Tall pines and firs a circumference made as if to bar escape, our tree
stood tall not afraid at all, though it seems to have arrived of late.

Those trees with fronds around their grith, stood around as if in mirth, discomfort to enjoy. Our
tree however bent a knee and was climbed again by boys.

No longer just a branch, a bough or tree, a mast of a Spanish galleon!
Those stumps and branches made steps of rope as masts had been
climbed upon.

Imagination can take flight in nature’s wild abandon, in copse
in bush, in tricks and ruse, let imagination
run on.

Aberfoyle_Scott_Wanstall

Lack of Destination

Softest crunch of the path as aimless feet tread, shale and pine cones mark out
the bend.

Bracken discovered tween green grassy blades, softens
the edges of wooded highways.

Youngest of saplings hover the track, while others like gymnasts bend over their back.

Light seeks the crannies neath the skirts of the pine and mist softens denuded branches dried
by the clime.

No path ever entered brought nought to the step, a whisper of life,
song, stave or a clef.

When life has no meaning a road has no call, take nature’s
meander doesn’t that just beat all.

Grief_Scott_Wanstall

Vestige

Lasting presence of a taste of life gone bye.

A glimpse of romantic interlude a tear drop slips the eye.

A heart so torn by longing a pain no eye may see.

That tore you from my arms heartbroken I may be.

A vestige of such a moment there for all eternity.

There the mind of an artist now for all of us to see.