Tumbling After


Ridges,
where the grass
has muddied up,

and been sunk in
by hurried
downhill feet;

where blades curl
at the footprints’
brown shell-hole edge

and bend
against the sky’s
new blueness,

like white horses
thundering down
on a cold, wintry sea.

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5 thoughts on “Tumbling After

  1. love this piece, and all the others have read thus far. There’s such a precise voice in them that really gets to the heart of the matter. Also love the big monkey – but that is a different matter. By the way, have you ever read at the Shore Poets over in Edinburgh?

    • Thanks for your kindness G. As for reading at Shore Poets… no… I’ve never done any public reading. For long enough I couldn’t get past the notion that the writing was the thing, and how it looked on the page… Almost like painting or sculpture…that, and getting wrapped up in the writings of some Imagist poems and the proems of Francis Ponge accounts for the attempts at precision. I have ventured onto Soundcloud on a couple of occasions to clarify when writing in Glasgow dialect, but that’s about it, when it comes to actual readings! 🙂

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