Wednesday, 22 February 2017
The sky we deserved looked down on us at midnight
In the ink-dark town, in its black basements,
Where the parting hours cowered in doorways
With their small dashed hopes like cheap stars
Glistening on the dirty ground.
Sunday, 12 February 2017
Saturday, 11 February 2017
Gillie Mhor, a seadog, twa wiks deid,
Wisna mindin i skrach o gulls an the heave o the deep
Nor profit an loss.
The doundraig neth I faem
Chawed his banes clean. An he rose an fell
Past aa his ages an his growin
As he sweelt roon Corryvreckan.
Billy or Tim,
Ye aa caa the wheel an see fit wye the win blaws,
Think on the Gillie Mhor, aince braw an as streetched as thee.