Tuesday, March 18, 2008

An Islanders Poem from Lewis, Shiants

The basking islands. The rocks
like sails or fins or teeth.

High wings are black blades
as the barnacle geese pass.

The blue men from narrations
are the grey seals, treading water.

Our cleated and welted movements go
by beaked clowns, lambing ewes.

Ian Stephen (1955-     )
© 1983

from Malin, Hebrides, Minches (Dangaroo Press 1983)

In memory of Anna Rutherford, publisher, Dangaroo Press


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