Category Archives: POETRY

Spring Is Failing

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Spring is failing.

And it’s not just the forecast

Crooned by the weather person

Or the news headlines saying –

‘Scotland still without power,’ – it’s failing!

 

It’s failing the birds

And the hibernating animals,

Too scared to wake, too tired to sleep.

 

It’s failing the people;

Stung from the gas boards who rub

Their fat hands over fat blue flames.

 

And as the meter’s tick, tick, tick, empty –

Spring is failing.

 

 

And still the snow dances,

Falling from the sky like confetti

On a stone man’s wedding,

While the red breasted bird

Salvages the last piece of fat

From the half moon, hanging by a rope

out back.

Spring is failing.

 

 

 

Refugee

 

Dawn breaks with a whip of fire across the ocean.

The boatmen rise and fall upon the waves as morning takes its first breath,

and the boatmen sing.

Down below in wooden boxes they peer through wooden lines.
They breathe;  stretching cramped limbs as the cusp of  the morning  creeps through cracks,
and they pray.

The song is everywhere, echoing through the morning wind, diving into

The tumbling waves then spat out as salty spray that rises in a vapour

towards the sky.

The dead are everywhere, and buried deep in heaving arms, a brother, a child,
A too little. A Too late. They locked the gate and tried to save them; save them all.
Save themselves.

Clouds fall into the ocean and the afternoon melody becomes enclosed

within a circle of grey and white hazy mountains. A theatre of fog.

The song escapes.

A sound falls from lips as cracked as the pavements she fled from. A groan
that rocks the boat from the inside out, rising up, crashing against the roof.
Dripping like blood.

Caught amongst the flapping wings of the sea birds, the music takes flight

And it circles and hovers amongst the stickmen, floating on a

Streak of mist, facing heaven’s door.

Caught amongst barbed-wire fears, they surrender to a promise;  written
In another time, on a scrap of paper – with another language. Lost.
They surrender to the sea.

The boatmen weep and wave goodbye and the song becomes a hymn,

And the shrinking sun dips peacefully upon the sorry sea,

As the day dies and the boatmen sleep.

Soft Impression

I wrote this poem using a magnetic poetry set that I picked up from a charity (thrift) shop. I found the process of scattering random words across my writing bureau, and then carefully selecting the words that sparked my imagination both fun and challenging. Magnetic poetry  is a great way to think about words, to explore theme and to construct something meaningful out of word chaos. You could also do this by collecting interesting words from newspapers and magazines, or writing inspiring words on scraps of paper that you hear someone use on a bus, or in the supermarket line. Pop your words into a jar, adding sticky words such as and, it, or, as etc. and have fun.

 

Growing Form

I wrote this poem during my MLitt year at the University of Stirling. The plan was to select one of the many sculptures in and around the campus and write a creative piece based on that sculpture. This was aimed at children between the ages of 9-12.

Growing Form is an acrostic poem; a visually pleasing as well as challenging form for younger students. I also increased the word count on each line of the poem to incorporate the theme.

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Growing Form

Gargantuan,
Rising up
Out of Shangri-la.
Waking the whispering world,
In melancholy maddening moans that
Night cannot conceal; his silhouette unravels.
Gathering height, he reaches, cutting sky with

Fork like antlers until the stars collide – like
Orion. He awakens the hunter. Down the cosmic fire
Rains upon the earth, blazing scorn and fury, and the
Mighty beast bellows. He gathers up the river and runs.

 

 

 

 

Shackled

I published this poem in Untitled 8 in November 2017.

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Shackled

I am separated. Segregated-
An inch away from vertical blinds
And the switch to turn of the Sky.
To shake away the World Wide Web
Of fabricated lies.

I am separated. Segregated –

A mile from the world outside,
Hidden behind grey vertical blinds.
Dry from the rain,
Fighting the pain of oppression.

I am separated. And bleeding from the outside in.

I am separated. Segregated –

Peeking through artificial lines,
Looking for the ordinary kind,
The crowds of mankind,
Unveiled and unmasked, separate and free

Instead of shackled to the reign
Of her majesty – To the so-called face, of a modern race
Of dumbed down, media choked,
Free folk. I am chained.

I am separated. Segregated –

Pained by a society –
Rich in lies and Tory piety, flying toward
Mars in dream boats –
In hopes of a better land.

 

 

Letting The Outside In

I published this poem with Anti-Heroin Chic on 25th May 2017.

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I’m Letting the Outside In.

The double glazing is stained with winter splatter.
Porridge is cooling in a retro bowl and my bare feet –
Baking from the heat of a sun kissed puppy
Who is baking on a vertically striped carpet.

There is a reek of yesterday’s shenanigans at the burn
Wafting from tartan collars
and the air feels.

Music ripples through my rib cage

There’s washing hanging, half-arsed, on radiators
While a new load spins in the machine.
The sagging rope in the back garden
Is empty. Waiting for the weight of winter warmers

Honestly soaked,
to be nipped with plastic tipped pegs and a satisfying sigh.
I’m letting the outside in.

Three squirrels scurry along the naked trees across the way.
And me
I’m resisting the need to weed the garden
I’m letting the outside in.

The above photograph is my oldest dog Mille, she is a 6 year old chocolate lab.