Poems

By Dave Goulder 

 What was in his head
 entering a neighbour’s home to spread
 the fluid, then strike the match and watch 
 the classical guitar, melodion and flute
 blister up and burn
 destroying mandolin and lute,
 paintings, records, books; was it pleasing just to see the flame
 devour the

By Dave Goulder 

 Poised on the gunnel
 using the tide swell till the first foot
 fastens to basalt 
 and we are on our way.
 Rain constant as we proceed
 with each stride an adventure
 as boots slip then grip the broken steps.
 Hands seek a dripping rail – 
 an occasional feature

By Dave Goulder 

 South Uist – keeping low.
 Crawling in the rocket range;
 diligent for dunlin,
 find and check nests, weigh and tag chicks
 that lie motionless
 like stones.
 It is their defence.

 My companion is a professional
 and though we note
 other birds,
 his motto remains:
 “The existence of passerines

(Poem / song) By Dave Goulder © EFDSS Music

 These miles of dry stone walls
 That hold in ploughed brown fields and kingly halls
 The dead of centuries in hills of sand
 The stones that bind them
 Are proud, as what lies behind them
 And varied as the counties in this curious

(Song lyric) By Dave Goulder © Harbourtown Music Now that autumn is returning And the garden fires are burning And the summer beasts are learning How to cope with shorter days There I labour all alone Piling stone upon the stone Feeling just a touch of sadness As the summer slips

By Dave Goulder
 Tall stone, fixed in a garish pas-de-deux fourteen weathered blocks, and
 one other.
 A dancing master? A luckless spectator
 or a sad
 fiddler making for home when the Sabbath
 hour was struck? Legend says
 a second fiddler appears, just as the first
 puts down his bow. The