Just as any truly accurate representation of a particular geography can only exist on a scale of 1:1 (imagine the vast, rustling map of Burgundy, say, settling over it like a freshly-starched sheet!) so it is with all our abandoned histories, those ignoble lines of succession that end in neither triumph nor disaster, but merely […]
Da starns are da map I unrowl
Let Arthur Wharton come back from the dead
To see the man in black blow the final whistle.
We need another word
for badminton.
November Friday mornings when the weather’s
/ foul Glaswegian, see me out my bed
/ by half past nine, racing the traffic to…
In memory of Alec “Spangles” Hunter (1936 – 1995)
/
/ When they found Marciano’s body
/ strapped in the crashed plane seat,
/ someone said…
The good ship Friendship sails between Glasgow / And your far, your golden, coast. / May fierce friendship forever flourish…
Remember when you turned cartwheels / in the schoolyard. / And danced down the length / of the fallen tree,…
Although we favoured football as a rule,
/ PE was comprehensive at our school.
/ Coached in a bit of this, a bit of…
The receiving player must catch and sprint / through a rush of hot blood and adrenaline, / the ball held…
I found netball and then it was the mad white blur of fourteen pairs of white socks, ten ponytails, an…
Triple goddess, three heroines in one / Rippling through water fluent as a selkie, / In your wake star-bubbles glitter…
