The love of Scotland produces poetry talent for the Gathering

Published on Friday 17 July 2009 22:18

THEY came from Brazil, Ghana and many US states in honour of the Gathering 2009. Today, The Scotsman publishes the winners of the poetry contest held to celebrate Scots from across the world gathering next weekend to celebrate the Year of Homecoming. A panel including Edinburgh Makar Ron Butlin and Alexander McCall Smith judged hundreds of poems with winners chosen on liveliness of expression and originality. Jenny Gilmour, co-director of the Gathering 2009, who was also a judge, said: "

Winning Poems

The Football Match (Under 12s)

The group of parents wish their kids

good luck and then they go away to the

side lines to wait for the whistle the

manager shouts Jim don't ask Pip what

his favourite food is Henry watch where

you're going Pip don't ask the lines man

if he's a wizard because he's got a

moustache and warts it's 15–2 could it

get any worse I guess it could the ball

John! The ball! Don't fall! The final whistle

I need a new team

Liberton Primary School, Edinburgh

The Gathering (12-15s)

The sealed bids accepted

the for sale signs were taken down and overflowing furniture vans showed up.

Teas were brewed, plants were planted and shells filled.

No. 1 – Mrs Tulloch – floral wallpaper

Too many cats to feed

Her lawn a football graveyard for expensive free kicks.

No. 2 – The Fergusons – A "Homes & Gardens" garage

Buffed-up bikes parked neatly in a row.

The car waits patiently for the yearly trip to Gran's or a late tennis lesson.

No. 3 – Mr & Mrs Tweedy – she is Mrs Tweedy Pie because of who she loves,

He is Mr Tweedy

Because of his tweed suit.

No. 4 – the ? – a base-camp for estate agents.

It's sold done up,

Then the cycle starts again.

No. 5 – The McDonalds – booming base that could shatter walls,

Neat flower beds of daisies and old beer cans.

The car bares a scratch and the garage door a dent.

Someone's lost their ball and another cat's escaped

Mr Ferguson's chain has broke

I think I better help.

The Gathering (Mo Dhachaidh) (Adult Winner)

From away offshore you can smell the land,

the thyme and the myrtle sharp on the wind

blowing wild over the island, scouring the low land of trees.

The small houses hunch shoulders of stone,

thick-skinned yet vulnerable.

All the gravestones face the sea,

provider and destroyer, carrier-away of dreams to the far south

on gull-shadowed white wakes under a high-torn sky.

My song followed the whale, far to the south

where stars wheel in unfamiliar shapes

and the moon is upside down –

and from away offshore you can smell the land,

hazy with gum and tea-tree, sharp on the wind

fresh after salt-burnt months.

And now from a hard hot land the songlines stretch back,

gracenotes in a million heart-held glimpses, scents and senses,

and the cries of the effortless terns.

My songlines are spindrift, white-strung on lapis under a fast wide sky.

My songlines are sheeptracks, scarring the machair, criss-crossing the old ways.

My song is Mo Dhachaidh. My home.