Glasgow Sonnet i - by
A mean wind wanders through the backcourt trash.
Hackles on puddles rise, old mattresses
puff briefly and subside…
Place: Glasgow
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
/ …
The Bargain - by
The river in January is fast and high.
/ You and I
/ are off to the Barrows.
/ Gathering police-horses twitch and fret
/ at the Tron…
Trio - by
Orphean sprig! Melting baby! Warm chihuahua!
The vale of tears is powerless before you.
Whether Christ is born, or is not born, you
put paid to fate, it abdicates
under the Christmas lights.
Good Friday - by
Three o’clock. The bus lurches
/ round into the sun. ‘D’s this go –‘
/ he flops beside me – ‘right along Bath Street?
/ -…
Glasgow Street - by
Out of this ugliness may come
/ some day, so beautiful a flower
/ that men…
Glasgow - by
Sing, Poet, ’tis a merry world;
/ That cottage smoke is rolled and curled
/ …