Poems

By Dave Goulder It was a long, wet year
 But still she looked for summer
 Grown weary waiting for the sun
 She saw the sodden fledglings fasten to the trees
 And corn lie flat in fields.

 Each of her seven years 
 Had summers to remember
 Long afternoons in waterfalls
 Journeys

By Dave Goulder 
 A croft, squatting
 among high rocks.
 The sea alarmingly close.
 Stone man and son work
 to restore an old building, while
 pigeons feed greedily on
 a cultivated patch, a rare square
 in a desert
 of bog and stones.
 Crack! The shotgun’s sharp report.
 Pigeons scatter. All

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