Small Scottish seaside towns,
Turning inwards to face the hills;
As if embarrassed by the unholy
Juxtaposition of church, and pub,
Have ceased to charm me.
I have tired, quickly,
Of their bright cuteness.
The big church-Sunday hats
Marry unhappily with
The workless men at the street corner-
Uneasy partners in the seaside gavotte.
I am reminded, always,
When I walk the shore-edge streets,
That even the prettiest petticoats
Lose their appeal when caked with mud,
And hypocrisy.
Nice poem of your Dad's David, but surely it's not just scottish towns. Hypocrisy lives everywhere. Colin J...
A highly political piece, Umm Robert Wylie, Duncan Wyllie, I wonder...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I often think of these small towns. Looking at pictures and imagining how life is can be very nostalgic, not having to smell the armpits or see the litter in the gutter or come face to face with hypocrisy. Being a foreigner I can dream of how life is in Scotland and elsewhere and enjoy my musings. But I often remind myself. We are all human and even though we may live in different places and speak different languages, we have the same feelings, the same concerns, etc.