The Shepherdess - by
The staves steady under foot; she knows which to
avoid. A creature of habit, the kettle warms.
prose poems
A Memory of Death - by
Nineteen fifty six was a momentous year,
/ The year of Suez…
Hedge Sparrows - by
You don’t see many hedges these days, and the hedges you do see
they’re not that thorny, it’s a shame, and when I say a hedge
I’m not talking about a row of twigs between two lines of rusty
barbed wire, or more likely just a big prairie where there were
whole cities of hedges…
Summer - by
Summer climbs the mountains.
Flowers overcolour and blanch.
Men leave the sun and sit,
tree-tented, by the cold creek.
Paris – Forfar - by
From the window of the Hardie-Condie Café, I see the ghost of a …
Lost Films - by
3
/
/ The third film was in Beijing when Antony and I decided to hit the hutongs one last time on the…
Reading at the Kibble Palace, Glasgow - by
for Richard Price
/
/ The poet kibbled among flowers: acanthus and lilac, the extremely unglaswegian hosted beneath our palace of glass, twined…