Poem for the Day

A poem a day by Arthur J Plant

Posts tagged Scotland

May 13

Greener On The Other Side

I once thrashed 
in freezing rivers
flavoured with the rainwater
dribbling off the rich mint
lining the muddy banks
secluded in the intimate folds
of Scotland’s verdant glens.

Now I swim
in the dense streets
pungent with the sweat
rolling off the people
pressing into shops
choking against each other
at England’s endless retail centre.


Dec 23

Christmas Eve Eve

Carols are overrated
family a distraction needen escaped
dreik wet days o’a Scotsmans’s
Christmas Eve Eve echoling
from’th pouring o’a cool pint
to sam bangin sounds
blastin’ fr’m blinking noise bax
some Yankee crap turnin’ a soul inside aut
but ye gat a buddy aun Christmas Eve Eve
an nae saint ‘ll think less of you
whilst you got a pint in yah ‘and.


Aug 23

Dour Weather

I’ll always remember the dour weather
neighbours shaking together
beneath the granite parish awning
in grey light of a Scottish morning
waiting patiently to excuse themselves
chased along by service bells.

I’ll always remember the incessant rain
washing down the village lane
children dancing in the puddles
unconcerned with future troubles
that kept their parents locked inside
scrimping for what they must provide.

I’ll always remember the bitter cold
biting the young, cleaving the old
whistling around my burning ears
a regular measure through the years
charting Winter’s steady route
(as if it’s arrival was ever in doubt).

I’ll always remember the ice and snow
reducing life to a careful flow
disaster stalking wherever you went
ready to introduce Face to Icy Cement
dodging past the snowball soldiers
and engineers constructing boulders.

I’ll never forget the dour weather
each drop of rain an unbreakable tether
taking me back to Scotland fair
and the many moments I had stood there
on the hills, in the rain, looking over everything
waiting for wisdom only chill wind can bring.


May 21

Percipitation

And everyone slogged on,
the flowers creeping above the mud
defiant in the wet fists pounding down
over the slick fields and flattened hills
of this damp dark Celtic land.

The birds still flying
and the rabbits still tunnelling
where the dirt was not so saturated
to be flooding even as they cleared through
on a Saturday being slowly drowned.

The cars splashed onward still,
racing the trains to work and work again,
the planes struggling stoically skyward
while all cows stood aimlessly about
watching the world spin on through.

The workers at their desk
and the workmen beneath their tarpaulin
with the pigeons dryly nestled
beneath the gables above sat, all sat
and are still sitting, watching the precipitation.


Jan 10

Scottish Monsoon

All woollen hides are sodden
as with the flock I stand idly by
beneath the bare winter boughs
of a brave and noble oak
baring up together
in the foul downing maw
of a Scottish monsoon.