Haunted Houses - by
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
home
Hölderlin’s shopping bag - by
Poetry object
Out of the Clyde - by
A boy once more who learnt the lessons early – / that those who hurt you most, you love most dearly.
Long Lost Lover - by
A yellow dawn breaks on the airport of my childhood
Thick air of spices and warmth and tenderness
Enters my nose and brings out a wave of nostalgia
And here I am, the home of my soul
Don Meuang embraced me like a long lost lover
The Interior - by
A lifetime of work to own a house / then you end up diminished by it.
Heart - by
Home is where the heart is / or home is where the art is…
Stanzas - by
When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, / Let him combat for that of his neighbours.
This Is It - by
Skint, baw ragged, poackets ful eh ma
/ fingers, cannae afford tae burn toast an
/ it’s November. Christmas is close. Av been
/ away bit…
One Year the Door Will Open - by
Door, I have knocked, pushed,
/ licked and, for a year, stroked
/ your veins smooth as varnish.
/ My knuckles are hard, black beetles.
/ We…
The House Where I Was Born - by
The ghosts are easy. I can switch them on
/ like a tv soap. Here’s Pa going up the stairs,
/ flip flap,…
The Stare’s Nest by My Window - by
The bees build in the crevices
/ Of loosening masonry, and there
/ The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
/ My wall is loosening;…
Whithorn Manse - by
I knew it as Eden,
/ that lost walled garden,
/ past the green edge
/ of priory and village;
/ and, beyond it, the house,
/ withdrawn, white,
/ one window…