POEM TITLE The Leaving Hand
POEM
Do not go away from here sad
Bring the goodness of the lobster pot
Out into the world
Remember every mountain you climb
Is at the bottom of the blackness sea of a new peak
The love you found here among the fishermen
Will be captured in the leaving hand
The Judges have now produced the shortlist of the 12 poems going forward to the final announcement of the winners at the presentation on Friday 4th November at the Lobster Pot. People are expected to
Cats & Dugs Doon Blackness brae, thon castle, a big stane ship smirred in mist, slate-grey Firth snarlin at her knees. We could’ve happed-up, gallus agin the hurlin rain, or, stayed in the motor, hypn