By the Watter - by
Daurk nicht, smuith swaws, wund’s pine,
A peedie bait wannerin awa –
Sey, watter, the lave o my wizzen.
drunkenness
A Memory of Death - by
Nineteen fifty six was a momentous year,
/ The year of Suez…
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?
/ -…
Wasp and Bee, or What Now, Moralist? - by
From high endeavour
/ On his bright wings,
/ The wasp is fallen
/ To evil things.
/
/ From deep…
Ane an’ be Dune wi’t - by
If folk wad be cautious when takin’ a drappy,
/ And mind they maun eat as weel’s drink to be happy,
/ They’d be…
Le Bateau Ivre (The Drunken Boat) - by
an extract
/
/ Sweeter than the flesh of sour apples to children, the green water penetrated my pinewood hull and washed me…
A Baroque Scot’s Excess - by
Sir Thomas Urquhart, Knight
/ found a puddle
/ outside the Cat&Mustard Pot
/ sat
/ and waged pitiful tyranny
/ against the phlegm,
/ vibrato and tears that bespoke drink
/ on a…
Drunk Autumn Midnight Below Victoria Embankment - by
And the sky wet as a loose tarpaulin.
/ I’m walking but not home.
/
/ I’m taking the air. It tastes
/ sweet, like rust.