P the fat pigeon nibbles grain. quasi-chaff intended for the sparrows.
In your sleep When vulnerable And fighting Yogurt demons, I creep to your door and Gently Turn the handle. I don’t do anything more than look, Than watch In […]
The thing about the Sgurr is that from below it looks frightening.
It is the big night. Haggis hot neaps and tatties all prepared. Adequate single malt. 1970’s middle-class, middle-age, middle of the road affluence. Stands prepared memorised […]
We find our way down the cliff, Past Asters And sphagnum, Heather And clover; A muddy track Provides the route. Over style, Past kissing gate, We don’t pause. […]
I can feel As well as Hear The fluttering Of their leathery wings;
I love you today And tomorrow But Who knows what will follow;
Whirligig; The only music is the wind And the waves Lapping on the pier.
They blend Like cheapened whisky Into a Standing morass of islanders. Talking, Chatting, Mulling over the weather.