Robin Fulton Poems

The gravestones still weigh the same.
No-one has altered the dates.
...

Behind convolvulus and seeding grass
we park.
We see not one scuff or rip on the Strait
...

If it weren't for
this red tweed jacket
I bought in Brora
...

Snowflake grinds against snowflake.
Grass creaks like old furniture.
...

God said: Let the dark be dark.
Let the stars shine properly.
And let darkness with no stars
...

The elements are always there: water and straw,
beasts with warm noses and ignorant eyes,
shepherds satisfied that they have found
...

If God had stood there, high-antlered,
eyes jewelled for a second, fearful of
my car´s predatory noise yet giving
...

The bridge holds because it gives way.
Grey wires, planks weathered white
give to father´s tread, which I try to match.
...

The thunder has lost its memory
but it goes on mumbling,
fish in their element
...

The chestnut they said had stood for seventy years.
Its whiteness in May, redness in September,
thin scrolls of long fingery twigs,
...