Stuart A. Paterson


The clock says 8.15 but nature disagrees
& seems convinced we’re in the Pleistocene,
the Eocene or, at the very least,
Kirkgunzeon. From Sandyhills the road,
the rolling fields, the clustered humps of trees,
the very age itself is swathed in seas of
grey we half expect to see occasionally
parted by long necks of sauropods,
stirred into swirls of milky depths
by half-glimpsed, gargantuan flocks
defying belief, quantum physics, death,
borders blurring into more than fog.

By Beeswing it’s lifting, cows are cows
again, rhamphorynchus no more than
tattered, droukit crows, cottages blinked
into Monday morning normalcy, car
headlights visible, the road a road,
no need to fear the haar-happed elder gods.

It’s half past 8, Dumfries waits
at the bottom of the Long Wood, sad,
slumped, wishing for mist, the past,
something bigger & more real than this.

Copyright © Stuart A. Paterson 2015

Stuart A. Paterson, born 1966, has been a past recipient of an Eric Gregory Award & SAC writer’s bursaries. Returning to Scotland in 2013 after 14 years of working in social care in England, he received a Robert Louis Stevenson Fellowship from the Scottish Book Trust in 2014. ‘From Here To Kirkgunzeon’ will be included in ‘Border Lines’, a collection of Galloway poems to be published by IDP later in 2015. He’s just been appointed the Scots Language Society’s Virtual Poet-in-Residence.


About sunnydunny

Poet, publisher, gardener
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2 Responses to Stuart A. Paterson

  1. harryowen says:

    A superbly spectral, echoing poem. Stuart Paterson is a special poet.

  2. sirenoftherocks says:

    Thanks for the kind words Harry.

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