Poems / Poetry

Within dregged teacups
Silhouetted leaves in scattered profusion
Are drawn into irregular mysterious patterns
By an unknown hand

Will their shapes satisfy the seated listener today!

The translator – searching thro’ compelling creative artistry
- pauses – aware of tangible outlines

Carefully, selectively (in the trust which is strong between them)
- he utters his impressions

Images of the future! – Perhaps

But how many desires are made of gold
And how many teardrops does this teacup hold
 

Gie me the days o’ the Nine-ees
Frae Lochee at brak’ o’ day
Stridin’ the length o’ Riverside
Takin’ sicht o’ Gowrie Bay
Steppin’ oot in Sunday best
Reachin’ oor destination
Doon the steps o’ the railway brig
Withoot hint o’ hesitation

Bile-up cans, pots an’ pans
Rattlin’ on oor backs
Sets o’ auld claes – tichtly packed
In canvas haversacks
Chasin’ a crannie tae change in
In the rocks alang the shore
Syne, gaitherin’ driftwood for kindlin’
For a biley-up at four Read more......

I spy with my little eye
Down by the shore
Fulsome flotsam – effluent galore
Entangled refuse – broken glass
Canine litter fouling the grass
Walking along stony beach
Pollutants within offensive reach
Sewage slapping rock and shingle
On high water mark they intermingle
Seducing whelk breeding ground
With sensuous sweet soothing sound
Consider harvesting in haste
Thro’ contaminating clinical waste
Sharps freely ebb and flow
Nomadic – their numbers grow
They deride
Predictability of each turning tide.

(Dedicated to the Westminster Abbey Company of Ringers – 29th April 2011)

With tongues untied
They were proud
To project their voices
To the crowd
With virtuoso flare
When love was truly in the air

A regal sound
Ringing the skies – touching the ground
Chiming in celebration
Of this royal occasion

Majestic campanology
In attendance – an emotional day

Listeners – far and near
Lent an appreciative ear

Silently at dawn
Bell-ringers memories lingered on
With each tongue-tied voice
Have reason to rejoice.
 

An auld pram
Haudin’ whulks
Creel at her feet
Spewin’ dulce
The east-coast fishwife
Wi’ workin’ will
Ev’ry Seturday
At the fit o’ the Hull

A cuppie fu’ o’ fine fresh whulks
Or, maybe – ave – some teugh green dulce

Delvin’ intae curly shells
Rattlin’, scrapin’ o’er spills

Ane or twa cuppies – did ye say
Is there ony mair ye’d like th’ day?

Paper pokies i’ the hood
Come buy fresh whulks
Nourishin’ food Read more......

Saturday was buster day
Chums eagerly made their way round Boots' corner
Past Greenhills sarasparilla (Black Sass)
Mid Kirk Style outings for a lad and lass

Late 40s - early 50s the old Overgate
Was where they kept that special date
Sitting by the fire to eat
Tupp'ny busters - a weekend treat

Winter - summer - the stall was warm
Coke-fire sparks caused alarm
When chip-pans on top (remember)
Spat boiling fat to red-hot ember
Rocketing fire to boot-lace thongs
(Before retreival with heay tongs) Read more......

The old looking-glass
In simple wooden frame
Smiled reflectively
As if in curious game
A trick of light
Maybe!
But was the image really he!

He sought a silver mirror
Framed with filigree fine
And held her closely
To reflect each laughter line
Softly she responded in truth
Antiquity
Embraced his youth

A jewelled vanity glass
Encrusted with gold
Entrusted respectfully
An image to behold
Of sculptured age
Serene - sublime
Weathering
Sands in time

On Sunday evenings church-bells chime
Heradling bingo-time
Worshippers congregate religiously
To queue and wait Read more......

If I take a walk over to visit my neighbour
I'm always bemused by her beagle's behaviour
He'll run round my ankles - the trick's yet to fail
Then he'll swagger around with a smile in his tail Read more......

My flat is very small
Four metres from wall to wall
Scarcely room to hang a hat
Let alone swing a cat
But I have a pelican - who - what's more
Lays chocolate cream eggs by the score Read more......