Saturday 28 April 2012

Scottish Interest poems

Auchmithie road


We all live on the edge
But some of us live
More on the edge than others

The road goes straight
Until it bends
And home just waits
There at the end

The sky's the picture
We watch below
The sea sees more
The rocks just know

We think and look
We tire and sleep
The waves still move
The path's still steep

Life seems different
In this place up high
Living by the sea
Living by the sky

And the road is straight
Until it bends
There's beauty there
Right at the end





A visit to the William Lamb Studio, Montrose


Everyone is always fishing
And the wind so often blowing
Bits of some of life are missing
If not fishing then they're sowing
Wood is twirled and softly curving
Brass is firm and treacly brown
Faces, bodies, looking, learning
Hands of Lamb, so right, so sound





Looking up in Montrose


Here the sky has every blue
Cornflower, indigo, violet too
Every grey and pink and white
A different black for every night
What else on earth can you possibly need
With so much choice above your heid?


Michael Marra's Visit to the Links Hotel (Montrose)

It really doesn't have to be all about hell
I've seen the light and it came from Dundee
Via Michael Marra to the Links Hotel

Was it from heaven to us that he fell?
Soulful and funny and bright as can be
It really doesn't have to be all about hell

He brings quite a singing voice with him as well
Maybe from the bottom of the deep blue sea
He creaks, does Michael Marra, at the Links Hotel

The audience and he just somehow gel
There's never any plugging of the latest dvd
It really doesn't have to be all about sell

When Michael Marra plays the score you can foretell
Happy warm hearts and faces worry-free
Adored is Michael Marra, at the Links Hotel

So up on the deck and ring the loudest bell
Tell it how it is, we love him endlessly
It really must be all about the spell
He weaves, does Michael Marra, at the Links Hotel


My man


My man
They say here
Like the Germans
Mein Mann
He is great
My man
How would they say it?
He works
He is warm
Sehr warm
Like a heater
He remembers
That's a tricky one
Er erinnert sich an
Bloody hell
I can remember it
Ich kann


All poems by Rachel Fox (some time after 1997)

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