Scotland, You’re No Mine - by
Scotland, you’re no mine
(you were no his)
and I don’t want you.
Scotland
from Don Juan - by
It may seem a schoolboy’s whine,
And yet I seek not to be grand nor witty,
But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred
A whole one, and my heart flies to my head.
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.
The Bridge Over The Atlantic - by
They took our birlinn, stem and stern-postsHigh as a Venetian gondola’s, and up-turned it.Every tide in the bladder-wracked sea-tongue its keel Bridged, swam the eel-currentRaces that tracked South and NorthInto and out of the Atlantic. And theyDocked our tongues, every man’s that daredGive out a taste of his father’s banter,Effortless sound-shapes an islander’s born to. […]
ripe - by
for experiment: dissect, slice, scrape, magnify what is above (its glories), watch. What are feelingsto this caste (not so pale) of cell wall upon cell wall, death of […]
Demerara - by
Eliza Junor, born 1804, Demerara, died Fortrose, 1861; daughter of Hugh Junor, slave owner from the Black Isle, and an unknown mother, probably a slave, or a ‘free coloured’ woman. Died Fortrose, 1861; won a prize for penmanship at Fortrose Academy. I’ve learned my letters well – my copperplate masts and sailsflow across the page, […]
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…
The Beginning of a New Song - by
Let her new river shine on a day
That is fresh and glittering and contemporary;
Let it be true to itself and to its origins
Inventive, original, philosophical
Sanctified - by
Scotland where can we find you, / where are you hiding your gallus self?…
Strathconon - by
When you took the autumn to London
/ And left me to burrow into winter
/ I said they could pack up Strathconon
/ Box up…
Heart - by
Home is where the heart is / or home is where the art is…