Filmpoem 57 / Anither Season - by
A filmpoem based on a poem written and read by boxer and poet Ross Wilson.
sport
The Veggies’ Olympics - by
Runner beans are affa fit
Sproots are fine an swack
Fi’baw in the Street - by
Shote! here’s the poliss,
the Gayfield poliss,
an thull pi’iz in the nick fir
pleyan fi’baw in the street!
Nil Nil - by
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 […]
The stars are the map I unfurl - by
Da starns are da map I unrowl
My Pitch - by
Let Arthur Wharton come back from the dead
To see the man in black blow the final whistle.
Meadowbank Changing Manifesto - by
We need another word
for badminton.
Aquafit - by
I join the usual coven in the pool, ladies past
a certain age, warming up their tonsils.
Anither season - by
In memory of Alec “Spangles” Hunter (1936 – 1995)
/
/ When they found Marciano’s body
/ strapped in the crashed plane seat,
/ someone said…
Scotland to Queensland, Glasgow to Gold Coast - by
The good ship Friendship sails between Glasgow / And your far, your golden, coast. / May fierce friendship forever flourish…
When We Were Gymnasts - by
Remember when you turned cartwheels / in the schoolyard. / And danced down the length / of the fallen tree,…
Learning Curves - by
Although we favoured football as a rule,
/ PE was comprehensive at our school.
/ Coached in a bit of this, a bit of…