Clish
Here's a skin to begin to win on - taut
wi da tug o aathin du nivvir lairnt.
Here's a fraem ta hing a future on - nekkit
ta winds at blaa nae annsirs.
Here's a cushion ta faa, ta faa
ta watch rushin up at de time an agien.
Here' a blast at isna past hit.
Here's a winter warmin up.
Here's da rod tae da empty forest.
Here's da fitprints washd bi da sea.
Written by Christie Williamson.
Published in Chrisite's collection Doors tae Naewye, Luath Press Ltd., 2020, availalbe from www.luath.co.uk
Son, today when I stare at my cupped hands I remember how as a calf she suckled my fingers; that sticky trickle of her rough tongue, how she would follow me around the pen. Later as a heifer, the ener
Hrabal in Dumbarton and Ballantyne's a cinnamon brick amongst the drab unasked-for grey, a half-drunk figure facing eternity and death. How like the town he drives through? How distant now from the po
Master MacZen compared enlightenment to the flight of martins through a stable door, how the bright and shade of plumage embodied that birl from darkness to light. And on another day he compared histo