top of page

Finola Scott: a poem



The turning tide

These dark and housebound days I am not sure if I can

thole it anymore: his moods; the coldness and his scowls.

But today is bright, sun sinking early but golden

on winter's arm, a promise: a tease; a hope.

We're on the foreshore, sequins glittering

a path to Arran, oystercatchers peeping to each other


and clouds snagging like hanks of wool. Floating

in lapis satin, Ailsa Craig bumps the horizon


and there he goes, heavy-footed over the tarred rocks.

He's rushing, scattering mirror pools and scaring crabs.

The ebb-tide sand has a dangerous shimmer, bladderwrack

simmers on the high-water line and I puzzle if I can manage it.


He lifts his head, looks round and stops, wind-blown.

Smiling, he stretches his gloved hand to me.



Finola Scott's poems are published on postcards, tapestries and posters and in magazines including New Writing Scotland, One Hand Clapping, PB and Lighthouse. Red Squirrel Press published her pamphlet Much left Unsaid. She is currently Makar of the Federation of Writers (Scotland). You can find more poems here.

1 Comment


Jamie O'Halloran
Jamie O'Halloran
Feb 17, 2023

So much to see and admire here: ‘winter’s arm’ and more. Lovely poem!

Like
bottom of page