John Brewster: Three poems

Three poems by John Brewster


Mother pearls of earth,
shy-stalked nuns at winter prayer,
tears of polished milk.

A Lark’s CV

In one flowing dive
I tip the green tremble
and whisper of rushes,
twirl over cornlight,
brush by the window
of daydreaming Amy,
circle the farmhouse
and plunge into song.

Sad Girl On A Beach

Flowers pressed silent,
stones holding their breath for hours;
the foam agitates.

She reads poetry
out loud, from her heart’s soft lips,
sad girl on a beach.

The sand dunes whistle,
birds freckle the whitened sky;
all is thistledown.

Copyright © John Brewster 2014

John Brewster is a published writer in English and Scots.
His work and writing services can be found on his website at

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Judith Taylor

(after Su Shi, 1037-1101)

Ten years dead: why is it only
now I see her
sitting the way she always did
at the mirror, making-up her face
as if I were taking her out somewhere?

Separate worlds in the one room.
We weep for each other
but cannot speak. Spirit,
let me sleep again.
Each time I wake I remember

the long way to your grave.

Copyright © Judith Taylor 2014

Judith Taylor comes from Perthshire and now lives and works in Aberdeen. She has had poems published in a number of magazines and is the author of two pamphlet collections, Earthlight (Koo Press, 2006) and Local Colour (Calder Wood Press, 2010).

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Joan Lennon

herring, harvested

precipitous, night-netted from the sea
and all their urgent choreography
left hugger-mugger in the hold

taken on to the dawn
to the gasping quays
to the grasp and knife

guts in the basket at the god’s right hand
they are lightened into flight
from farlin to creel

till the tall one layers them
rosettes in the dark
and only the salt remains

Copyright © Joan Lennon 2014

Joan Lennon lives and writes in the Kingdom of Fife, overlooking the silvery Tay.  You can find out more about her books at

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Mark Williams

Noman Finds the Exit


I am talking nobody’s listening.
I am walking nobody beside me.
What do I care, that I have no-one.
I’ve found the exit and I am free

Oh, car owners of this fair city
Pull to the side now and leave your cars.
Join with me, my stout and worthy ones.
It’s time to shake off all your cares.

The Queen of England doesn’t mind me,
always ready with a regal wave
but the rest of you when I appear
turn up your noses and look away.

In the dead of night you’ll hear me creeping
below your window while you’re half asleep.
Ignore at your peril my pearls of wisdom.
Crawl from your beds and walk with me.

Do not wait until you are persuaded.
I’ve found the exit. I’ve seen the sign.
In these slow shoes, I’ll keep shuffling
while I’m on my feet, while I still have time.

Copyright © Mark Williams 2014

David Mark Williams lives in Castle Douglas, south west Scotland. He has won prizes for his poetry in the UK and New Zealand. His debut collection, The Odd Sock Exchange, will be published by Cinnamon Press in 2015.

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Dora Wright

The Martlet.

The Martlet is a tiny bird
a bird that has no feet
not the most exciting bird
that you would chance to meet

It sometimes doesn’t have a beak
I don’t know how it eats
It’s bad enough to have no legs
never mind no feet

Copyright © Dora Wright 2014

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Mariam Kadhim


‘The Art of Joyous Living’
‘The Secret to Success’ 
– The cliché hooks
Of self-help books
Leave us dispirited

With content unoriginal
With covers dull, yet garish
Their playful claims
Of ‘No More Strains!’
‘Your life will never be the same!’
Make their public show

Some are written with good intention
With wit and sense and reason
But their lessons stay with us only
For the best part of a season

Still, en masse, their buyers
Have gained insight
Not so absurd
They’re conscious of the power,
The Sublime
Of written word

Some may find this suggestion
Perplexing, or just darn drastic:
End this futile soul-search
And pick up a good classic!

Will they give your life meaning?
Make you new?
One can never tell
In today’s era of spin,
Of lie, then win
It’s essential you start with Orwell

Is it peace? Ambition? Humour?
Is adventure what you lack?
Bin the new-age garble
Try Freud, Wilde, Kerouac

Set aside your Great Expectations
For these pioneers of litt and manifesto
Enrich lives with Great Ideas
Not buzzwords like Hey Presto!

Let’s not debase our solid wood
With: ‘Happiness in 7 Stages’
Open up the Great Works and discover
The timeless wisdom in their pages.

Copyright © Mariam Kadhim 2014

I’m a 22 year old, sporadic poetry writer. I grew up and live in Glasgow. I’m in my final year of university, studying for a degree in French.

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Sheree Mack

Young Girl
After Paul Klee

Tonight, she finds the sea low, edging the pier.
Nothing’s moving but the night of her dress.

A sickle moon drifts over the water-coloured scene,
burying her in overlapping autumn leaves.

Creamy half-moons stencil her face. Tissue-paper thin skin.
Mouth open, lips downwards, as though

whispering a secret to the sharp billed egret. You told
me it would be like flying.

Eyes everywhere, she floats towards the dark,
her fire splitting softly in two, like an ember.

Copyright © Sheree Mack 2014

Sheree Mack, a North-East writer working on her third collection of poetry, is looking forward to the publication of her second collection ‘Laventille’ with Smokestack Books in March 2015.
Website link :


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