Jim Mackintosh

Jim Mackintosh is poet in residence for St Johnstone Football Club which provides him the opportunity to engage and expand on various community projects including football memories, and local schools. In addition to this, Jim has published five collections, had poems included in various anthologies and has recently won awards in the Soutar Writing Prize, the Hugh Miller Poetry Competition and the Wigtown Book Festival Scots Language Poetry Prize.


After Hugh Miller »

New poems responding to Hugh Miller’s legacy

Wed 1 March - Sun 5 March | 10:00 - 22:00 | FREE | The Byre Theatre, Abbey Street, Level 1 & 2 Foyers

Meet the Artist »

Meet the poets from the After Hugh Miller installation

Sat 4 March | 12:15 - 13:00 | FREE | The Byre Theatre, Abbey Street, Conference Room


The Estuary 1914

Mud flats: beginnings of shifting lands
Spring tides and the promise of kisses
Lost in shallows, like elvers weaving
Uncertain of the compass points

Assassin stalks: days moving ancient bones
Distracting the break of honest toil
Upwards through buds and leaves and
Nests embroidered with inherited wisdom

Mud flats: uncertain journeys, tadpoles
Like mini submarines shimmy black
In the lift of silt and missions planned
In the un-timbered trenches of autumns past

Falling crowns: and pebbles, in the tumble
Of shallow waters hurrying to the estuary
Resolute knots of mussels inhaling cool
Through polished shells of shimmered blue

Mud flats: in the splat of engines starting
And men in waders hauling the nets closer
The mesh of ropes and floats, and silver
Bars of salmon lifted from the run of gravel beds

Distant thunder: brushing the lick of daft calves
Where the warmth of summer turns the air
Inwards and upwards to burst the clouds
Into rods of blood and fresh deliverance

Mud flats: in the cold lights of tarry sheds
Of seedlings softly teased between fingers
Then nursed into the damp kiss of earth
To strengthen limbs in quiet reflection

Armies gather: rumours of wood smoke
Chase the mocking response of sea gulls
To bleached limbs of scrawny youth piling
Bicycles, half suspended in the willow herb

Mud flats: where I gaze now and think
Of them in the random graves of innocence
Abandoned bicycles, the broken compass of
A generation and the kisses never collected

High tides overran the summer. Ghosts now, of
Bleached limbs crossing the mud flats, searching
For the wind heaved spot where they’d planned
The routes of unhurried journeys never to be taken


Jim Mackintosh

From The Rubicon of Ash (CreateSpace, 2016)