Field Days - by
Old Davie still did much farm work by hand.
/ Tae thin neeps, ye gae up an doon thae rowse.
/ Leave…
work
The Job Interview - by
You’ve already admitted that you came unprepared.
You’ve already admitted that you need them
more than they need you.
Luck is not chance - by
Luck is not chance —It’s Toil —Fortune’s expensive smileIs earned —The Father of the MineIs that old-fashioned CoinWe spurned —
Discharged - by
When the fighting days are over, And we’re finished with the fray,When they draft us back to Dover To be put on pension pay;You may think we’ll be in clover But remember this, my son,When the fighting days are over, Then our fight has just begun. It is hard, there’s no […]
In Days of Darkness - by
Two days before your death, you wrote / There is not much to report from here.
Buddy, Can You Spare a Rhyme? - by
Buddy can you spare a rhyme, the time, / a line for Paisley?…
The Well-Spring - by
Since the former priestess’s departure / a sea-change has taken place.
My Father, Dreaming - by
The train glides through a world of frozen white,
/ low mists swirl and smudge the mirror of the Clyde,
/ Helensburgh stretches…
Digging - by
fallen in a heap
/ again
/ why do i keep
/ falling in a heap?
/
/ i got plaster
/ i got bricks
/ i got a…
Every Woman - by
Who can gauge our range or pace? Every woman, / a signal tower, an illusion, a ship bearing dead ahead.
Book Dusters - by
It’s like painting / the Forth Bridge / without the fresh air / and fear / of drowning.
Early Morning, West Hartlepool, 1963 - by
(from the photo with the same title by Don McCullin)
/
/ A pipe fitter’s mate at the gates of dawn
/ Is wrenched from…