The Arts

Karma Changchub: Photos from

The following photos were taken by Karma Changchub in East Ayrshire.

Enlightenment, inherent though it is in the mind, seems so difficult to unveil. But if you develop fervent devotion and fuse the guru’s enlightened nature with your ordinary mind, enlightenment can be realized. Truly, to meditate on the benevolent teacher is a spiritual practice more profound than any other.
Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche

Wasp on the Prayer Flag

Maeve O’Sullivan is a Dublin-based member of Bodhicharya Ireland. In Wasp on the Prayer Flag, O’Sullivan’s fifth collection with Alba Publishing, the years 2018-2021 are chroniced in the forms of haiku and senryu verse.  The three sections, Seasons, Sequences and Senryu, bring to the reader Maeve’s lucid observations of life in Ireland and abroad.  This latest edition is both an insightful and a rich addition to her previous publicatons.

From the back page of Wasp on the Prayer Flag

Maeve O’Sullivan has an unerring gift for rendering momentary experience – outdoors among weather, flora and fauna, or just pottering at home – into memorable, often beautiful haiku or amusing senryu.
Matthew Paul

These meditative haiku discover magnificence in the everyday. Alert to how birds, plants and insects revel in weather and the seasons, they connect our human world with the cosmos, and the natural world with the timeless.
Catherine Phil MacCarthy

 Wasp on the Prayer Flag is an excellent poetic guidebook for Maeve O’Sullivan’s native Ireland and places beyond.
Julie Warther

The final senryu ends in a consummate and optimistic note.  Here is Pandemic, the last Senryu sequence in the book.  Some of the senryu were previously published in Many Roads for Bodhicharya.

empty city street
they walk hand in gloved hand
two young men

in separate trees
a pair of magpies
a pair of collared doves

bored with lockdown
I wear sandals in which
I travelled the world

a doubling of deaths    the clematis buds fatter

my friend tells me more
about his cousin’s passing –
wasp on the prayer flag

no human hugs
for seven weeks –
this silver birch will do

lifting of lockdown    first glimpse of Dublin Bay

The easiest way for anyone to get a copy of the book is to visit O’Sullivan’s website. 30% of all profits from sales go to charity partners Asral Mongolia, an NGO whose aim is to eradicate poverty and to support children and their mothers in Mongolia. Since publication costs of Wasp have now been covered, that means that 30% of sales now go directly to the charity.



Their father died in a car accident. Their mother can’t work because of her disability. Their ger (traditional Mongolian tent) is old, it leaks and in winter loses heat. Egshiglen and Enkhtur have to share their clothes and collect garbage to heat their home in sub-zero winter temperatures. They share one pair of winter shoes between them. You can help transform Egshiglen and Enkhtur’s lives. DONATE

Maeve O’Sullivan’s poetry and haikai have been widely published, anthologised, awarded and translated. She is the author of five collections from Alba Publishing. Maeve is a founder member of the Hibernian Poetry Workshop, and a member of the Irish Writers’ Centre and the British Haiku Society. She also leads workshops in haiku, and reviews for various journals.







No Lockdown on the River Garry

This short film by Sitar Rose is a pensive study of the Scottish countryside during lockdown.  The film contains a series of shots along the River Garry down to Loch Oich.  The river runs from the west of Pilochry to the north of Fort William in a north-westerly direction.

With only the sound of the flowing water at various stages in its travels, the images take us to standpoints on the river bank from where we catch glimpses of trees, lichen on rocks, spring buds on bare branches and reflections on the water of the sun and landscape.




Bill Grosart: Five-Spot Burnet



Bill Grosart: Damsel Fly

Bill Grosart: Dangling Marsh Lover



Bob Douglas: Mid-summer sunset from Balerno

Bob Douglas: Pink Poppy in Malleny Garden

















Bob Douglas: Himalayan Poppy flowers against white sky.


Yeshe Dorje: Edward VII Victoria Park Edinburgh

Yeshe Dorje: Leith Docks from Newhaven Harbour





Yeshe Dorje:Two Saardhar Ji



The Light on the Shore

Old as I am
Older than the threads of understanding
Which we weave between us
Old as you are
Older by far than the contours of the love
Which we leave behind us
Bold as I am
Bolder than the pioneers
Who trekked their way across the desert
Bold as you are
Bolder by far than the lovers
Who have swum the tide to be together
Are we old enough and bold enough to say good-bye?
Are we old enough and bold enough that we do not need to cry?
Well, I’m not so old and not so bold I don’t need you more
Now the light is slowly beckoning you to the shore
Cold is the ground
For which you’re bound
It’s a place where we can never more be together
Cold is the air
That takes you there
On a passage that will end with your end forever
But it’s not so cold I do not feel the warmth of your skin

And it’s not so cold I do not know the fires that burn within you
Though they are fading now, I wish that they would blaze once more
And keep you from the light that’s slowly beckoning you to the shore
If I could sail the seas of time, then I would keep you from harm
But I am no sailor and I cannot warn you
Though there is nothing in my life I ever wanted more
Than to keep you from the light that’s slowly beckoning you
Than to shield you from the light that’s slowly beckoning you to the shore

The world is a beautiful place to be born into

                The world is a beautiful place 
                                                           to be born into 
if you don’t mind happiness 
                                             not always being 
                                                                        so very much fun 
       if you don’t mind a touch of hell
                                                       now and then
                just when everything is fine
                                                             because even in heaven
                                they don’t sing 
                                                        all the time

             The world is a beautiful place
                                                           to be born into
       if you don’t mind some people dying
                                                                  all the time
                        or maybe only starving
                                                           some of the time
                 which isn’t half so bad
                                                      if it isn’t you

      Oh the world is a beautiful place
                                                          to be born into
               if you don’t much mind
                                                   a few dead minds
                    in the higher places
                                                    or a bomb or two
                            now and then
                                                  in your upturned faces
         or such other improprieties
                                                    as our Name Brand society
                                  is prey to
                                              with its men of distinction
             and its men of extinction
                                                   and its priests
                         and other patrolmen
                                                         and its various segregations
         and congressional investigations
                                                             and other constipations
                        that our fool flesh
                                                     is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all
                                                           for a lot of such things as
         making the fun scene
                                                and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
                                         and singing low songs of having 
and walking around 
                                looking at everything
                                                                  and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
                              and even thinking 
                                                         and kissing people and
     making babies and wearing pants
                                                         and waving hats and
                                                and going swimming in rivers
                              on picnics
                                       in the middle of the summer
and just generally
                            ‘living it up’

   but then right in the middle of it
                                                    comes the smiling  

The world is a beautiful place to be born into'' by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 
from A CONEY ISLAND OF THE MIND, copyright ©1955 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. 
Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp. 

Obituary: See The Guardian.

Chinese poems

Po Chü-i was born at T’ai-yüan in Shansi. Most of his childhood was spent at Jung-yang in Honan. His father was a second-class Assistant Department Magistrate. He tells us that his family was poor and often in difficulties.  (772-846)



My new Province is a land of bamboo-groves:

Their shoots in spring fill the valleys and hills.

The mountain woodman cuts an armful of them

And brings them down to sell at the early market.

Things are cheap in proportion as they are common;

For two farthings, I buy a whole bundle.

I put the shoots in a great earthen pot

And heat them up along with boiling rice.

The purple nodules broken,—like an old brocade;

The white skin opened,—like new pearls.

Now every day I eat them recklessly;

For a long time I have not touched meat.

All the time I was living at Lo-yang

They could not give me enough to suit my taste,

Now I can have as many shoots as I please;

For each breath of the south-wind makes a new bamboo!




“Those who speak know nothing;
Those who know are silent.”
These words, as I am told,
Were spoken by Lao-tzŭ.
If we are to believe that Lao-tzŭ
Was himself one who knew,
How comes it that he wrote a book
Of five thousand words?



I have been ill so long that I do not count the days;
At the southern window, evening—and again evening.
Sadly chirping in the grasses under my eaves
The winter sparrows morning and evening sing.
By an effort I rise and lean heavily on my bed;
Tottering I step towards the door of the courtyard.
By chance I meet a friend who is coming to see me;
Just as if I had gone specially to meet him.
They took my couch and placed it in the setting sun;
They spread my rug and I leaned on the balcony-pillar.
Tranquil talk was better than any medicine;
Gradually the feelings came back to my numbed heart.

This is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at

u3a Photographs

Jigsaw post-processed on Photoshop by Bill Grosart.

The following photos were taken by members of  Photography 4 of University of the Third Age, Edinburgh. Every month the members decide on a subject and submit a few photographs on Dropbox followed by a viewing on zoom.  At other times, one member gives a presentation about some aspect of photography.

Our group leader, Geoff Gardner, encourages us to comment on the pros and cons of the photos which is helpful in allowing us to judge different aspects of the activity like lighting, framing, cropping, and other features of in-camera decisions and post editing processing using our chosen software.  
A.H. Editor


 Bill Grosart:  Down low and close up

John Ferguson:  Just passing through

Geoff Gardner:  Painter’s palette, anthurium

Geoff Gardner:  tulip tree


Bob Douglas:  Kirkgate above Currie late November

Yeshe Dorje:  Winter on Holy Isle Scotland

March 1st 2020 St David’s Day

Prelude to poem ‘March 1st, 2020, St David’s Day’

This poem was written last year, just before the World Pandemic 2020 exploded in the UK, during a time, when all we had to worry about was ‘differences of opinion’! That still remains, of course, and for me, my ongoing ‘fight’ is over ‘styles of gardening’ which impact on our environment and the wider picture.

For nearly a decade, I have come up against a regime, driven by an allotment Committee, whereby diversity and heritage is not celebrated but, indeed, has been virtually obliterated! Order and uniformity is enforced, with apple and pear trees cut down, bushes removed, glyphosate used to kill weeds, and generally a ‘scorched earth’ approach, the idea being that each plot-holder can ‘start afresh’, with a blank canvas…

I have my own triangle-shaped, half-plot, with two Morello cherry trees, apple, plum and pear trees and, my pride and joy, a beautiful Cydonia quince tree! I have a cultivated blackberry, red, black and white currant bushes, six blueberry bushes, and gooseberries too.

There is a small pond: new people are not allowed ponds now! I have frogs, an earthworm rich soil, a visiting fox, blackbirds, long-tailed tits, robins, great tits and the occasional pigeon! I can’t ever leave this piece of ground, as the Committee will cut down my trees! I am passionate about my style of gardening and know that increased diversity produces the greatest abundance.

My plot is an oasis amongst devastation. Those who have suffered badly from this regime have left. I’m holding out for as long as my health and strength can manage!

PS I’m looking for a toy-boy who likes gardening, romance would be nice, but, if they are of my way of thinking, I would like them to inherit my piece of paradise, to continue fighting for our beloved green spaces!

March 1st 2020, St David’s Day  by Ianthe

Sister- sun’s warm touch soothed my left shoulder,

Deep, comforting heat…a gift, now I’m older!

Served to remind me of jewels, still to unfold,

Bright, longer days, some relief from the cold…

And, yet, daffodils nodded their yellow ‘Hello’

Bees sought mauve crocus beneath branches below.

I beamed, as I walked on this rain-sodden earth

Revealing its bounty, declaring its worth.

Harvesting broccoli, rhubarb, leeks and sorrel

Caught Mr Blackbird scutter low, by the laurel.

Robin perched on a twig, stretched out his fine wing,

Long-tailed tits gathered, flitted, enjoying their sing,

On turning, to glance down amongst parsley and sage,

Was frogspawn clear-glistening behind the wire cage!

Couched down in the pond, Marsh Marigold mingled

It brought a flush to my face: my gloved-fingers fair tingled!

I smiled, as I heard the ‘wreckers’ break glass,

As this patch of land maintained its own Class,

Undisturbed, full of life, “Hell! … Just pure Heaven!”…

Counted spent summers here, at least ten years, plus seven!

All this planning and building, the soil and its treasure…

The hours of watching, listening, the joy and the pleasure,

Fruitful promise, sure harvest, delight and surprise,

Were all there…unfolding…in front of my eyes.




Stephanie Jones

Stephanie Jones is a world-renowned soloist and chamber musician who specialises in classical guitar performance. She is currently based in Germany and studying Konzertexamen at the University of Music Franz Liszt with Prof. Thomas Müller-Pering.

Why I Love Glasgow/London

My name is Hilary Harris – since retiring from my catering business after 25 years, I have been fortunate to undertake some spectacular world travels. I have photographed some great images to capture these memorable journeys ::: but most surprising of all, is the beauty right here on my own doorstep on the south side of Glasgow. I’m ashamed to admit that this was largely undiscovered by me, until lockdown forced me to pound the pavements and I am truly inspired  by what I see right here, on my daily walks. Silver linings and all that!


My name is Robbie Jack.  I am a photographer and live in west London.  I have been working on a series of photographs taken over a number of years with the title Why I Love London.  Another project has involved taking photographs of my dog, Here’s Fidden.  I’ve had him for the past three years since he was a puppy.  I started taking photos when I was 10 years old – 60 years ago.  In my professional capacity I specialise in theatre, dance and opera.  The following project has been shot on an iPhone.  The amount of equipment I use for my work would make the shots of London prohibitive, therefore the use of my phone for the following photos.



Photographs submitted for the
University of the Third Age Photographic Group Edinburgh.
Subject:  Black and White

Yeshe Dorje: Friends. Nikon D5100


Bill Grosart: Bartek Dabrowski. Canon EOS 5D Mark IV


David Russell: Giraffes on a Wet Day. Panasonic DMC-FZ 1000

Ron Smith: Ironwork. Panasonic DMC-FZ 200


Birgitta-Debenham: B & W Inverted. Panasonic DMC-GX7



David Edwards: Sawmill East Lothian.  Pentax Optio E10


Geoff Gardner: Union Canal Boathouse. Canon EOS 5D Mark II

John Ferguson: Prisoners of Power. Nikon D7200


Contemplations on no coming, no-going
This body is not me,
I am not limited by this body.

I am life without boundaries.
I have never been born,
and I have never died.

Look at the ocean and the sky filled with stars,
Manifestations from my wondrous true mind.
Since before time, I have been free.

Birth and death are only doors through which we pass,
sacred thresholds on our journey.
Birth and death are a game of hide-and-seek.

So laugh with me,
hold my hand,
let us say good-bye,
say good-bye, to meet again soon.

We meet today,
We will meet again tomorrow.
We will meet at the source every moment.
We meet each other in all forms of life.

Source: Living and Dying in Peace


Multiple morbidities:
the term they use to capture
all the ways that nature
fashions for us how to die:

The cancer didn’t get him,                                                                                           
but the diabetes did;
that unpredicted stroke;
the virus lying dormant;
and infection in the throat;

Or perhaps some unattributable malaise
accumulated down the years –
the persistent aching emptiness of love –
finally let him get away from all that was;

And the multiple morbidities
are offerings of flowers.

Angus was born in Glasgow, grew up in Galloway, and was educated in Edinburgh and Dundee. He has had a career in education which included 25 years as an international school teacher and administrator in Spain, China, Nepal, Indonesia and Zimbabwe
Since winning his school poetry prize in his youth, he has had an abiding interest in poetry and his poems have appeared in various publications.  He returned to Edinburgh in 2008 and spends his time writing, doing voluntary work, and addressing conferences, seminars and symposiums about the patient experience of cancer using his poetry as an aid to communication. He has recently published a collection of poems,Lights in the Constellation of the Crab and House Clearing by Moonlight, in aid of Maggie’s Cancer Caring Centres.– See more at:



Times of Tribulation – April 1st – All Fools’ Day, 2020    

Photo Yeshe Dorje: Musselburgh Harbour

Spring’s stance hung, chilled; grim sky surged, grey,

‘Fool’ ventured down to the Prom that day

Took chosen, odd path, chanced route, least trod,

Vain trampling, awry, o’er matted green sod,

Clambered high bluff, breathless; traversed bleak tops,

Below, vast-spreading river…above, lean lonely copse,

‘Tis “Thirty-two days syn March began”,

Familiar, stark words for a Chaucer-fuelled fan?

More than a month, of sly, creeping terror,

Unrushed in response, sprayed droplets in error.

“We should have distanced ourselves, from the start!”

Instead, we are only just learning ‘our part’…

Frail Earth breathed still, strange, quiet, so unreal,

Beyond, “Mother Mountain”, her dark gifts conceal?

Warm zephyrs connecting ‘like souls’, to far lands,

Sending songs of condolence, ‘cross gasping, cracked sands.

Now, cocooned in our spaces, with birdsong for clocks,

We network with loved ones…receive food in a box!!!

‘Nil hugs’ and no kisses, no quests…for a while,

Clan connect, knowing glances, solo stranger’s scared smile,

Bright rainbow as symbol, for lives held in treasure

Propped-up ‘Teddies’ in windows, augmenting our pleasure,

Lark thought, that this April was “Surely no joke?”

Blind ‘Hope’ channeled daily, uniting, safe-calling-together, strayed folk.

Ianthe Pickles
Lives in Liverpool
Worked for 37 years as a full-time Primary and later Secondary/Special School teacher and college tutor.
“Writing (especially poetry) was often a release during emotional and turbulent times in the 1980s working in an area of severe deprivation and unemployment in Liverpool. 
When life gets out of control, writing can often help it make sense.”