Monthly Archives: January 2014

The bard

The bard of Scotland takes pride of place
The man who wrote with sonsie face
The older he gets, the better he was
His lassie exploits have all been lost.

But he provides the identity
That cannae come from just poetry
To a nation unsure of self
Affirming a past to be upheld.

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My Mother

Her Father and brother appear smaller and smaller
through the tear blurred back window of the Austin A40
the separation of Mother and Father was for her good…

so they said.

The memory scars the heart
dulls the feminine senses.

These graves in the mind
bring her strength of soul.

The wisdom of her times
are transferred by affection and not words of advice.

Her flowered kitchen apron
expresses her love and mind.

Her faith in Christ: her strength yet purpose
are preached by wordless sermonettes.

This is a life that reaches
deep into the unreachable .

No fuss
But chivalrous.

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Glass ceiling

I was born in Green Valley, west of Liverpool, west of Sydney, Australia.
It’s like being born in the Bronx, or Tottenham, or Shankhill, or Govan in Glasgow.
I might as well have been born there too.

Where those of Green Valley’s DNA
Kiss the ground with a bent neck, and are proud to do so
When they look up, their face smears on the glass ceiling
But they can’t feel it.

The only escape is a poor paying job
So they keep saying.

There is no door with a happy label on it,
Or a sign that says “this way to an improved life”.

So here I am in Scotland.
I went through the unnamed door
I think it was called “risk”.

It broke the glass ceiling.

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