Monday, December 2, 2013
And let the evening grow old around us.
Final vestiges of light flitter past,
the shutters bathed in vermilion glow.
You sigh in your minute chair,
and your father's heart melts.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Monday, December 10, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Drop me a comment on this new poem below (and/or the new one above).
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Back tae th’back o the playgroond.
An ah’m tryin a wee shimmy oer the baw
n the baw gets kindae stuck in the mud n that,
n later when ahm eatin’ ma tea an Ma’s poring oer me like ahm goin aff ma sell by
Ah gets tae thinkin’ aboot whit ma English teacher wis talking aboot the ither
Talkin aboot mettyfurs.
Ah’n ah think, as ah chew slowly oan ma mince n tatties, that ah may jist hiv done
Ah may jist huv goat it – cos surely the way the baw stuck in the mud like that
wis jist typical ken,
an that in itsel’ is a mettyfur for aw the things ah want tae go right at school -
bit tiny wee pieces o misfortune end up bawsing it aw up.
Hunners ae years later,
as ah sit doon tae ma tea (it isnae mince n tatties the night),
Ah think eh aw those years ago, wi’ the baw an the mud n the kick-aboots
every night withoot fail (there wis nothin else tae dae…).
An ah chew methodically oan my lasagne (which is pure lovely by the way)
an it happens again! A lightnin’ bolt moment!
The feckin’ mud stickin’ wisnae the mettyfur at aw…
Ah think tae masel an reach for another beer wi’ a wee tear at ma eye –
the mettyfur wis the stunted shimmy.
The failed shimmy itsel’.
Of aw the things ah’ve ever wanted tae dae since.
Aw those wonderful things, fancy-free and fu' o grace
and jist like the mud that held the baw up,
there was a’ways some wee piece o misfortune that stopped me
bein’ aw that ah could be.
That bloody stunted shimmy.
Monday, October 10, 2011
But I am your keeper…
To swim, yes swim, once more,
Indulge and immerse in passionate eyes.
To drink body-weight and think ‘what for’,
Stripped in this place, no space for lies.
Eternally holding mirrors up to yourself,
In a place devoid of calm, to find some peace!
This, home from home, soakwoundedanimalyelps;
Bathe in becalming liquor, dream of golden fleece.
A dream for dreams sake perhaps,
Or a fired imagination to never be quenched.
The subtlest of questionable connections lapsed,
And yet and yet and yet...
I am your keeper.