Liz Lochhead Poems

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View of Scotland/Love Poem

Down on her hands and knees
at ten at night on Hogmanay,
my mother still giving it elbowgrease
jiffywaxing the vinolay. (This is too

Poets need not

be garlanded;
the poet's head
should be innocent of the leaves of the sweet bay tree,
twisted. All honour goes to poetry.

Trouble is not my middle name

Trouble is not my middle name.
It is not what I am.
I was not born for this.
Trouble is not a place

Some Old Photographs

weather evocative as scent
the romance of dark stormclouds
in big skies over the low wide river
of long shadows and longer shafts of light

Last Supper

She is getting good and ready to renounce
his sweet flesh.
Not just for lent. (For

Connecting Cultures

I am talking in our lingua franca.
Tell me, do you drive on the left or right?
Is your football team the Botswana Zebras
Or Indomitable Lions of Cameroon?

In the Mid-Midwinter

‘Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's - from John Donne's
'A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy's Day, being the Shortest Day'.

At midday on the year's midnight

Sorting Through

The moment she died, my mother's dance dresses
turned from the colours they really were
to the colours I imagine them to be.

Scotland to Queensland, Glasgow to Gold Coast

Friendship is a real boat,
Clydebuilt like the best of them,
pride and strength in every rivet and spot weld.
A vessel to last lifetimes, to carry a bond


for Robyn Marsack

Go take a book down from the shelf and open it.
Listen, this isn't ‘book' but box,
box full of sound you lift the lid on, opening.

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