Curmudgeon - by
He is a man for whom everyone’s a trespasser.
/ Co-existence? He doesn’t believe in it.
/ Give you the time of day? Not…
pessimism
Foo Mony Cubits? - by
The sun’s been tint for weeks. Deid maybe.
/ Likely drooned. Water’s aaplace, teemin doon
/ gutters and branders, rinnin aff the slates,
/ floodin pavements.
Scotland - by
‘We’ll pay for it, we’ll pay for it, we’ll pay for it!’…
The Letter Always Arrives at its Destination - by
Then I wrote often to the sea,
/ to its sunk rope and its salt bed,
/ to the large weed mass lipping the…
Iam pauca aratro iugera regiae - by
Public libraries / were cherished like Pallas Athene’s temples, / which, for us, in effect, they were.
Largo - by
Ae boat anerlie nou
/ Fishes frae this shore,
/ Ae black drifter lane
/ Riggs the crammasie daw,
/ Aince was a fleet, and nou
/ Ae boat alane…
‘In to thir dirk and drublie dayis’ - by
In to thir dirk and drublie dayis,
/ Quhone sabill all the Hevin arrayis
/ With mystie vapouris, cluddis and skyis,
/ Nature all curage me…
The Pessimist - by
The lift’s braw an’ clear this mornin’,
/ But I doot it’ll rain or nicht,
/ For I’ve aye said things was gyaun tae…
‘When you see millions of the mouthless dead’ - by
When you see millions of the mouthless dead
/ Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
/ Say not soft things as…
Let Us All Be Unhappy on Sunday - by
A Lyric for Saturday Night
/
/ We zealots, made up of stiff clay,
/ The sour-looking children of sorrow,
/ While…