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Festival Poets


Neil Young

  • George Gunn website

Parting Shots

Neil Young

Parting Shots


Always before

she stepped through the door

my mother would give her hair

a last shot of spray

then a few shots more

with her headscarf on



she might as well,

she was holding the can,

the wind might tousle

her forehead curl,

you never could be too sure.


This made no sense

to anyone else.

Of course.

Which might have been the point.


No-one required it,

no-one prompted

this small act,

it was inconsequentially her own,

not work or a chore. And yet

it had a completeness – the way

she’d give the hallway too –

accomplice to this ritual –

a good-luck blast


and only then

step to the door

through lilac-simulacrum air,

more fit for the day.

hugh mcmillan.jpg


Jo Gilbert

I’ve a hankerin.
A recht hankerin
for french toast,
the wye you makk it...

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hugh mcmillan.jpg

The Poetry of Sparrows

Hugh McMillan

I was in a beach bar,
a bit drunk, when two sparrows
sped between branches,
fretwork and the slack

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hugh mcmillan.jpg

Julie McNeill

Julie McNeill

No more music now,
not a note shall flow
from that small house at Yesnabay
just south of Skara Brae

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hugh mcmillan.jpg

A Swan on Loch Calder

George Gunn

They come here in the Voar
to go to Iceland
white & loud & tired
& all about the lochside...

Read More
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