Peter Strugnell Poems
Comments about Peter Strugnell
The Russell Burn
Oh the cold air of the Kishorn burial ground,
and the ghost's there everywhere you turn,
the cold and the damp seems to follow you down,
to the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
The Burn, the blood, and the porcelain shard,
an aching mitt and another lesson to learn,
I numb the hand and the ghost of the churchyard,
in the brackish waters of the Russell Burn.
There's a heart as cold as the Wester Ross,
there are ties that bind like a highland fern,
there's a sullied figurine nailed to a cross,
and the brackish waters of the Russell ...
A Golden Thread
It feels so right, i can't believe my luck
I go carefully, with a full cup
you're my heroine, you make me stronger
just when i feel, i can't go on any longer
sometimes a breeze, and sometimes perilous
our story continues, and it began thus.
And when in life, i would lose my way
it was you honey, who would hold me sway