Letters to Glasgow - by
Heading north is a leap of the heart.
On the map on the phone, the blue dot
is a pulse that crosses the border.
Place: Glasgow
The Knot - by
At Loch Lomond they were king and queen to me,laying out their bounty on the braeafter the queasy ride from Glasgow, wechildren making sick-stops on the way.Tumbled out, we sprawled at the water’s mouthwhere light ate shade and made us ravenous.With a flourish, Her Majesty untied the clothto set the parathas free. She did, she […]
Before You Were Mine - by
I’m ten years away from the corner you laugh onwith your pals, Maggie McGeeney and Jean Duff.The three of you bend from the waist, holdingeach other, or your knees, and shriek at the pavement.Your polka-dot dress blows round your legs. Marilyn. I’m not here yet. The thought of me doesn’t occurin the ballroom with the […]
Death in Duke Street - by
A huddle on the greasy street – cars stop, nose past, withdraw – dull glint on soles of tackety boots, frayed rough blue trousers, nondescript coat stretching back, head supported in strangers’ arms, a crowd collecting – ‘Whit’s wrang?’ ‘Can ye see’m?’ ‘An auld fella, he’s had it.’ On one side, a young mother in […]
What the Clyde said, after COP26 - by
Think of me as a long level
liquid ear gliding slowly by.
I heard the world’s words,
the pleas of peoples born
where my ships once sailed,
Glasgow Sonnet i - by
A mean wind wanders through the backcourt trash.
Hackles on puddles rise, old mattresses
puff briefly and subside…
Crith-Thalmhainn - by
Tha cian nan cian a-nis bho thàinig
gainneamh a Sahàra a Ghlaschu,
is tha creagan Leòdhais tòrr nas sine
na Tursachan Chalanais,
Dream Cities - by
I
/
/ Glasgow, late September and the city I spoke of
/ in another country …
The Theatre Royal’s Gorgeous Transformation to the Hall of a Thousand Lights - by
As fast as Glasgow burned its theatres to the ground
/ it built them back again – we couldn’t do
/ without our…
Trèanaichean - by
Soraidh slàn leis na trèanaichean orains a
/ ghiùlain sinn eadar Baile Ghobhainn ’s Partaig,
/ Sràid na Drochaid is Ceann a’ Chnuic ’s…
Gasometer - by
You are an iron guard or talisman,
and I hear that those who talk of eyesores
you have consigned, bless you, to the bad place.
Some Old Photographs - by
weather evocative as scent
/ the romance of dark stormclouds
/ in big skies over the low wide river
/ …