Stevenson’s Edinburgh - by
Robert Louis Stevenson,
/ the author in his jimjams,
/ wrote about the New Town,
/ its draughty parallelograms…
Place: Edinburgh
Craiglockhart - by
Sassoon, the elder, Sunday golfer; / Owen, bookish, gangly, pale – mingling / with the queue for the refectory.
Gone but Not Forgotten - by
On leaving
/ you playfully punched
/ my left
/ shoulder.
/
/ The sensation
/ remains
/
/ But your
/ voice fades
/
/ The sensation
/ remains
/ But your
/ image fades
/
/ I
/ short of breath
/ tremble
/
/ I think
/ you’ve
/ cracked
/ a
/ rib.
Six O’Clock in Princes Street - by
In twos and threes, they have not far to roam, / Crowds that thread eastward, gay of eyes…
Embro: Southside Ditties - by
Tune: Ti, ti, ti, ta (wi’ apologies tae Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony)
/
/ I
/
/ Duddingston Loch
/ Skate ower…
A Month on the Mile - by
On day 1, explore Edinburgh Castle sitting proud: / find the modest crown of a far from quiet country, /…
To Edinburgh - by
Stone above storms, you rear upon the ridge:
/ we live on your back, its crag-and-tail,
/
/ spires and tenements stacked on your spine,
/ the…
Embro to the Ploy - by
In simmer, whan aa sorts foregether / in Embro to the ploy, / folk seek out friens to hae a…
Edinburgh - by
If they should ask what makes the stuff of us
/ We should call up such idle things…
From a Window in Princes Street - by
Above the Crags that fade and gloom
/ Starts the bare knee of Arthur’s Seat;
/ Ridged high against the evening bloom,…
Staying In - by
I watch the city shrug its clothes back on.
/ An appaloosa spatter gathers scent
/ that hits the brain the way it hits…
from The Wee Raggit Laddie to the Laird of Blackford Hill - by
Stout Laird o’ Blackford Hill, let me
/ But gain your honour’s lug a wee,
/ I fain wad let your lairdship see
/ …