Poetry Map
We all know poems about Scotland but can the shape and nature of Scotland be drawn entirely in poetry? StAnza has set itself the challenge to see if this is the case. Find out more about the project and how to submit your poem by clicking here, or browse the poems using the map. Latest poems are listed below.
Poetry Map *Global for #StAnza21*: poem no. 388
Grianclach – Sun Stone
Midwinter solstice at Newgrange, Ireland 2020
Old bones sleep in frost,
waiting for the turn,
the clockwork
tick-tock-tilt of the earth.
Stone cold sunbathed,
a dagger of light
prying open winter
a precious chink.
Letting in that sharp edge
of hope, a lilt
swelling the womb.
Beat of wings
against the heart’s windowpane.
Fleeting breath, a promise,
air and warmth,
voices unfiltered.
To reach out,
to touch and not draw back
like the beam
tracing the dusty floor.
Gerry Stewart
View our full map of Scotland in Poems as it grows »
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All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.
Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 387
Lewis Chessmen
Geama Toiseachaidh
Margaret, the Adroit, weeps
Over the slaughtered Walrus King
and pays homage by spellbinding
her warriors
they put to sea, but flounder
to rest for centuries
on Camas Uig beach
A cow finds them
Geama Meachan
Battles rage
Carved in Norway or Iceland?
British Museum v. Museum of Scotland?
Struggle won by the “Museum of the World”
and lent back to a defeated nation
as “Ambassadors of Scotland”
Geama Deireadh
In a foostie drawer in an Edinburgh home
Beserker is found, wild eyed, biting his shield,
bought for a quid,
sold for a million
sleekit and deceitful
he conceals Check,
threatens a Kingdom
by lying to a Queen
Siobhan Walsh
View our full map of Scotland in Poems as it grows »
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All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.
Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 386
St. Abbs and the Wrasse
The day was fine and
there was joy
he held it aloft for me to see—a Wrasse.
Sun shone through its webbed spikes
a crown on a glaze of reds, reflecting;
The old sandstone cliffs.
Salt corroded harbour bollards.
Roofs of red pantiles.
And a phone box perched sentinel on the path.
He knelt
bowed his head to the sea
and lowered the Wrasse back to be
a jewel beneath the surface.
The day was fine and
the joy three-fold;
his for the catch,
mine for the witness
and the fish—
for the sea.
Ruth Gilchrist
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All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.
Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 385
Black Cuillin
On the ferry, Skye experts had advised that
the Black Cuillin range was best viewed
from the windy road to Tarskavaig
but the low cloud and rain today
make it impossible to see their splendour.
There are only fields, which could be anywhere
except for the woolly lava flow of sheep,
which envelops our car and slows us
almost to a stop.
We trail behind the daggy rumps for miles
the meandering routes of individuals overridden
by the determined direction of our leaders,
invisible to us, but taking the road we’d planned.
The rest of us, flock and car, mindlessly following on
with one dog rounding up the distant stragglers,
as we merge into the bleating and the mist,
shepherded along
at the gentle pace of the island.
Jane Lamb
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All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.
Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 384
Topplin’ the Mannie /on Ben Bhraggie
Paddit benorth o' Inverness, Eastle seaboard bound
Spy the Duke on Bhaggie Ben askew o'er steenie grund
Gazing athourt to aither sea as far as teary e’e can see
Blaudit the day, bane on the brae
Nae dint o shame he'll e'er dree
The vaunty Laird a clan chief ance wud fend ilka ane o crofters
But deil he dic'd at Westminster begowk'd his sons an dochters
A Judas kiss to hielan clan, Macbeth is ev'ry noble man
knife-stickit Scots the back o' Scots, sauld the flock an left the shotts
Man owerthraw'd his countryman
Hag burns on shame-reek'd sypit land, bronze crottal haltit growin
Ling pit-past a waving hand, gurgle-burnie stoppit flowin
Daeless mist blurs o'er the moor, tears blear o'er wretch'd poor
Tae fleet or burn tae crulge or turn
Foul fa' wha sent the fog tae smoor
Twa centuries on, the sheep lang-gane replaced wi’ moor-groosed leisure
The ghillie's world itsel replaced wi’ gowfin Preppers pleisur
The real Hielands squat in repose o’ dreichit fachie bungalows
Drachie morn, dark'nin dawn
Scots wha hae wealth as their foes
The Laird cannae affard to bide when billionaires come leukin
An juist as those afore him died the Laird gets his ain hidin
Naebody drank the merrie foy o' the Chieftain's treason'd boy
Like a curling stane creepit, sloomit an sleekit
The malafousterin o' the hoi polloi
An sae the tattie howkers howk aboot the Mannie’s rimie feet
An Mannie shoutit ‘Keep the heid! I wud cantily lie and sleep
But what good is to topple me, caw canny fae ye plan's ajee
Fae efter me, there's a queue tae feed the baggity beastie's mou
Wi pow'r, pow'r wrestl'd aff a ye’
As dries the scart by outstretched wing the Duke still casts a shaidae
but whither land or o' that ilk prescribit tha' they awe ye
They awe by awning a' ye ken, they awe ye women an ye men
It gars ye grue tae see it true
Tha’ Clearances will ne'er en'
Jilly O'Brien
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All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.
Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 383
When The Deer Come Down from the Moorland
As the last candle is dimmed from mass
a mile away we pass into Birkwood
One black dog on the hill called Barney
ghosts through the gate
Our feet find knots under the snow, soft
chests of heather, hidden rabbit doors
and there we come upon the saints, still
as a cloud, steam on their crowns, casting
a memory: a ballroom, a hall of skulls,
then Barney comes down and they scatter
leaving a single note of snowfall,
a hymn distilled to its most hidden part.
Olivia Rafferty
View our full map of Scotland in Poems as it grows »
For instructions on how to submit your own poems, click here
All poems from our Poetry Map of Scotland are subject to copyright and should not be reproduced otherwise without the poet's permission.