No fellow-travellers - by
The stones face each other
in rows like booth-style
compartments in old trains.
graveyards
Nichts o the Lívin Deid - by
Kirkyaird, nicht – the hoastin yird
Astir aneath a smit-smuir shrood
Flowers - by
I wanted to write an elegy
/ without flowers. I know they’re a requirement…
Ossian’s Grave - by
In the Highlands of Scotland I love,
/ Storm clouds curve down on the dark fields and strands,
/ With icy grey mist closing…
At the Tomb of Robert the Bruce, Dunfermline Abbey - by
In any other country
/ Your tomb
/ Would have been worn smooth
/ By our devotions
/
/ But here the notice says:
/ ‘Please do not touch.’
/
/ They should have…
Reelig - by
I do not know
/ Who sleeps here
/ Beneath this mound before me
/ Under the skies of Reelig
/ Below the Fraser pines
/
/ But a Laird…
Laugharne Churchyard in 1954 - by
Three thousand miles and nearly half a year
/ Away from a drab November afternoon, hysterics
/ Of friends forgotten, and also the plain…
Passing the Graveyard - by
I see you did not try to save,
/ The bouquet of white flowers I gave;
/ So fast they wither on…
Last Lauch - by
The Minister said it wad dee,
/ the cypress buss I plantit.
/ But the buss grew…
Poppies - by
No great triumphal march
/ For lads like you;
/ No pasteboard victory arch,
/ No grand review.
/ In…
Left Her Lane - by
Aiblins she thocht he’d hap her doon
/ In the old kirk-yaird ayont the toon
/ Whaur the kirkspire shadows his faither’s stane…
grave dust - by
The night I got grave dust on my hands after dusting off my mother’s grave / I was lent a…