Colouring in This is what I have learned in the streets of my town which is made of stone. There are thirty seven steps. At the foot, in a cold iron pot, are flowers, soft and velvet as the inside of my cat’s ear. They tell me: these are blue. They say: the sky is … Continue reading ‘Colouring in’ by John Foggin
Tag: John Foggin
Two poems by John Foggin
A pibroch for (MacCaig) [ ‘History frightens me.../ If only I come to be a word with brackets round it / a word drowned in a footnote / a word’ Norman MacCaig : ‘Backward look’ 1984 ] pibroch – because it sounds right, Celtic, and somehow remote He’d not be doing with that; … Continue reading Two poems by John Foggin
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