The Years - by
It was six years after the fact
that I became I
perhaps again, perhaps for the first time.
identity
Wild Rover Lads - by
Mickle we missed, be it confessed,
That brings auld age content;
Blaw the wind East, or blaw it West,
‘Twas there wi’ a sang we went.
Malcolm MacKerral - by
MacKerral, that was one hard winter. Your father died on the moor road,his bag of meal buried under snows.Death relieved him of his load. Raking wilks with freezing fingers,your little sisters crawled the shore,scourged by gusting showersuntil their knees were raw and sore. Your few black cattle, thin and famished,lay and died at the far […]
Wound - by
Take this wound that I offer youkeep it close & love it wellfor the storm may run at Faraidthe surf turn white Loch Eribollbut no wind can blow an organised peopleacross the unknowable oceanor drown their history in the swell we are cut & yes we bleedbut we are time & headland & will healforging […]
Old Tongue - by
When I was eight, I was forced south. Not long after, when I opened my mouth, a strange thing happened. I lost my Scottish accent. Words fell off my tongue: eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit stummer, teuchter, heidbanger, so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma, shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you […]
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
Hello, I am Scotland - by
Who wakes every morning
/ in a brilliant mood as auburn bursts
/ cast filigree nets over foreheads
/ and swingparks and paint themselves
/ on pavements.
Stevenson’s Edinburgh - by
Robert Louis Stevenson,
/ the author in his jimjams,
/ wrote about the New Town,
/ its draughty parallelograms…
Sanctified - by
Scotland where can we find you, / where are you hiding your gallus self?…
Heart - by
Home is where the heart is / or home is where the art is…
Here’s the Weather - by
Fae stooshie tae fankle tae bouroch tae dreck / we’re steeped in the downpour of dialect.
/ …
Gift - by
The greatest gift
/
/ That Scotland – and Ireland
/ Could receive
/
/ Would be a Voice
/ Proclaiming:
/
/ “As from this day
/ You…