the licht o empire wis skitterin at the en
the letters o its name wint oot ane by ane
doon the backs an lanes we felt the tremors
an cauld cauld rain dreept ower the causeys
in a city biggit on tabacca an smachery
wi the ridd-het shipyerds hemmerin rivets
in the plates like there wisnae mair time
syne the clyde wid be full o hulks
nooadays its jist wynds an burstit windaes
an a shug comin in an licht brichtnin the stanes
an aye some motor dirlin aneth winkin neon
anither sign o the times or a fadin memry
honest darg wis heeze’t up for gain an glory
in the name o pride an fortune we turnt wir hauns
tae whit we thocht wid be the vantage o workin fowk
but when we were deen wi’t they stripp’t wis bare
the coin o greatness clattert doon the cundies
for the better-aff we had tae kneel afore took it aa
left wis tae sook wir thooms for breid an bap for naethin
else wis left as the empire turned to rouk an spile
© BH, 2026
An inspirational photo from Donna Campbell - a moody Glasgow backstreet - for which I just had to write this poem. The combined illustration uses the last eight lines of the complete piece - the better to work as an image.
Would that not make a fine poster, now? Hmmm…
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