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Tag: Scottish Writing

‘Stand in the Light’ by Elizabeth Rimmer

January 15, 2016January 16, 2017 ~ Tom Bailey

Stand in the Light Stand in the light. Allow the wild things to creep out of the shadows. Welcome them all, the wet bedraggled things, the ones all spit and claws, the one who weeps and hangs its head, the one who stares, and says ‘Make me.’ Stand in the light. They are yours, washed … Continue reading ‘Stand in the Light’ by Elizabeth Rimmer

Two poems by Colin Will

September 25, 2015 ~ Tom Bailey

Blame Dr Beeching Trains no longer ran on the branch line at the end of our road, and the station had burned down years before. So your threat to throw yourself off the footbridge was a gin-inspired gesture even I saw through. It was true, that after months of trying, I had given up on … Continue reading Two poems by Colin Will

Two poems by Niall Campbell

July 21, 2015 ~ Tom Bailey

The Water-Carrier I want to be the worst of this profession, the one who makes it home half-empty, tipping more air than water from the ringing pot, and so late back the town’s already dark; Oh no, they’ll say, that’s not the way of it, and I’ll know their heaven’s brimful and undrunk, their lips … Continue reading Two poems by Niall Campbell

Three poems by Marion McCready

April 7, 2015February 23, 2016 ~ Tom Bailey

Degas’ The Tub            for Vicki Feaver It’s the way she lies abandoned, Jezebel, to her liquid bronze bath; hair dripping over the lip of the tub, as if recovering from a marathon or from giving birth. Like the post-natal bath I had in the shock-white hospital – blood streaking the … Continue reading Three poems by Marion McCready

Two poems by Richie McCaffery

February 27, 2015 ~ Tom Bailey

  Legend The cricket club is a cow-field away from our house, yet local lore says a cricket ball knocked so far for six in the 1950s smashed one of our bay windows. I can’t say if the ball was returned, if it even crossed the players’ minds that evening in the pub, of someone … Continue reading Two poems by Richie McCaffery

A poem by Roy Moller

January 7, 2014May 28, 2014 ~ Tom Bailey

  Ballad of the Cast-Off Cards Binned now, we lie beyond your slumber, beyond the fishbowl prospect afforded by your spy hole. We fell before the shrill hinge and heavy spring were wedged free open on to solemn stairs scaled by the stuffed sacks on scrawny backs, and white hands pushed into your privacy beneath … Continue reading A poem by Roy Moller

Two poems by Brian Johnstone

April 22, 2013May 28, 2014 ~ Tom Bailey

  Gable Long gone, those derelict tenements, half-demolished, a row of parlour walls stacked up like sample cards for someone's granny's wallpaper. Their slivers, flapping in the wind, goodbyes. Unlaid, their fires all died, burned shadow black into the grates that stamped each wall with absence, empty as some broken jug which stood once – … Continue reading Two poems by Brian Johnstone

‘Plotkin’s cat’ by Colin Will

March 6, 2013June 12, 2015 ~ Tom Bailey

Plotkin's cat The neighbour’s cat gave birth under our bed. As good a place as any, we thought, in the old empty suitcase father brought home after the war. Four black-and-white smudged kittens wriggled blindly in a smell of birth. We wanted to pet them, my brother and I, and I remember a hand, his … Continue reading ‘Plotkin’s cat’ by Colin Will

A poem by Brian Johnstone

February 4, 2013May 28, 2014 ~ Tom Bailey

  The Commonplace The jar will long retain the fragrance of what it was steeped in when new. Horace They're there in every shipwreck, every trench, stacked in serried ranks or shattered by some trauma in the past that whispers in the ear, the way the thumb prints round the rim speak volumes lost but … Continue reading A poem by Brian Johnstone

‘George Aiken’s Map, 1846’ by Jean Atkin

January 25, 2013September 14, 2015 ~ Tom Bailey

  George Aiken’s Map, 1846 As if these paper islands were crumpled in a ball and crushed and hurled into backlit rain and rolled before a filthy wind - she wrings the sheet and smoothes it with strong palms, as if next she’d iron these wet and whalebacked hills - as if a capsized gale … Continue reading ‘George Aiken’s Map, 1846’ by Jean Atkin

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