Haunted Houses - by
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
Mood: Grief & Sorrow
The Masque of Anarchy - by
As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
a book of tears - by
Artist’s book
Jock, to the First Army - by
O Rab an’ Dave an’ rantin’ Jim,
The geans were turnin’ reid
When Scotland saw yer line grow dim,
Wi’ the pipers at its heid…
Glasgow Sonnet i - by
A mean wind wanders through the backcourt trash.
Hackles on puddles rise, old mattresses
puff briefly and subside…
When Day Is Done - by
Sorrow remembers us when day is done.
/ It sits in its old chair gently rocking
/ and singing tenderly in the evening.
/ It welcomes…
When Will the War Be By? - by
“This year, neist year, sometime, never,”
/ A lanely lass, bringing hame the kye,
/ Pu’s at a…
In Memoriam - by
Private D. Sutherland
/ killed in action in the German trench, May 16, 1916,
/ and the others who died
/
/ So you were David’s…
Psalm Eighty-Eight Blues - by
Lord, when I’m speechless
/ when something – not just sorrow
/ but under that – a dull, numb, nameless dreich
/ about the heart I…
Things - by
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
/ There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
/ committed or endured or…
The Guest House - by
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Favourite Place - by
We would be snaking up Loch Lomond, the
/ road narrow and winding after the turn at Tarbert,
/ and we’d be bending branches…