A Scottish Poem by AnnMackieMiller
MY FAITHER AIRMS
I mind my faithers airms,
strong and chisled flesh
with lines painted,
a map of life-blood
that mark time, place and burdens.
They wer'nae muscley strong mind
but stringy strong, whittled strong
by years o shovelling coal
intae yon great burning monster
that made the jaite.
Tons o coal broocht in big lorries
frae the coal-fields where ither faithers
howked it oot the grund in dark profusion then.
I mind the smell, the heat,
and black stained haunds
adjusting dials and funny wheels.
I mind his laugh ain dae
I asked tae ply the shovel
and couldnae lift the loads
he threw aroon,
muckle heaps o coal piled ceiling high
that dwindled tae noucht alooe his haunds.
I mind his airms pruning roses and turning wood
I mind his hand haundling faithful pipe
and stroking mither's hair
where she sat at his feet by fire.
Aye I mind,
And mindin', miss him still.
Poetry copyright to AnnMackieMiller: Please do not copy