Aquafit - by
November Friday mornings when the weather’s
/ foul Glaswegian, see me out my bed
/ by half past nine, racing the traffic to…
communities
The road to nowhere ወደ ምንም የሚያደርስው መንገድ - by
ችኳይ የሚመስለው
/ ፈጣን የሚመስለው
/ በውልውል መኪና
/ በፋሺን መጫምያ
/ ወይም በባዶ እግሩ
/ ሸው እልም የሚለው
/ ይሄ ሁሉ ምሁር ይሄ ሁሉ ማይም
/ መንገዱን የሞላው ክታችም ክላይም
/ ሲመላለስ እንጂ ሲደርስ አይታይም፡፡
/ …
Coal - by
In the blunted night of the coal shed,
/ without a torch, my fingers dig
/ among the coal for the coal.
/ Hear it scutter…
The Harp of Renfrewshire - by
Contemplating a map
/
/ Annals of the trilled R, gently stroked L,
/ Lamenting O of local literature,
/ Open, on this, their one-page book,…
Gearraidh na Mònadh á Smeircleit - by
Taigh Fhionnlaigh,
/ taigh a’ Bhadlaich,
/ taigh Aonghais a’ Cheanadaich,
/ taigh Aonghais ’ac Dhòmhnaill,
/ taigh Alastiar Ruaidh,
/ taigh Dhomhachainn,
/ taigh an Ruaidh,
/ taigh Dhòmhnaill Eachainn,
/ taigh Sheumais Shlàdair,
/ taigh…
Ullapool - by
You know you’re in Ullapool
/ when the little town is a sea town,
/ lorries roll from the docks,
/ a gaggle of girls buy…
Bonspiel - by
He saw the weather written on the pane
/ as he buckled on his gaiters,
/ shouldering the hammer to walk the lane
/ spooked with…
O Wildwood Bouquet! - by
I’m going to round off this head of kale
and pack it sweet beside
the yellow slips that are my butter-breaths.