In The Poetry

Washing the Coins

You’d start at seven, and then you’d bend your back
Until they let you stand up straight, your hands
Pressed on your kidneys as you groaned for lunch,
Thick sandwiches in grease-proofed bundles, piled
Beside the jackets by the hawthorn hedges.
And then you’d bend your little back again
Until they let you stand up straight. Your hands,
On which [...]

A Removal from Terry Street

On a squeaking cart, they push the usual stuff,
A mattress, bed ends, cups, carpets, chairs,
Four paperback westerns. Two whistling youths
In surplus U S Army battle-jackets
Remove their sister’s goods. Her husband
Follows, carrying on his shoulders the son
Whose mischief we are glad to see removed,
And pushing, of all things, a lawnmower.
There is no [...]

Tursac

Her pleasure whispered through a much-kissed smile.
‘Oh, rock me firmly at a gentle pace!’
My love had lusty eagerness and style.
Propriety she had, preferring grace
Because she saw more virtue in its wit,
Convinced right conduct should have glamour in it
Or look good to an educated eye,
And never more than in those weeks of France
Perfected [...]

There’s nothing especially advantageous about being a Scottish poet but it means you can rhyme ‘Bach’ and ‘loch’, and ‘moors’ and ‘conifers’, so we have one or two advantages.

Loch Music

I listen as recorded Bach
Restates the rhythms of a loch.
Through blends of dusk and dragonflies
A music settles on my eyes
Until I hear the living moors,
Sunk stones [...]

Washing the Coins

You’d start at seven, and then you’d bend your back
Until they let you stand up straight, your hands
Pressed on your kidneys as you groaned for lunch,
Thick sandwiches in grease-proofed bundles, piled
Beside the jackets by the hawthorn hedges.
And then you’d bend your little back again
Until they let you stand up straight. Your hands,
On which [...]