Poetry by Lynn Valentine

               SomeDriftwood CC


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Journey home

Snow on the tracks, a warm train,
a buzzard cuts the sky in two.
                  My book open, not reading.
A passenger moans on the border
between sleeping and waking.
                  My book open, not reading.
I am neither north nor south, trapped
on this train at a place called here.
                  My book open, not reading.

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A Dog in Assynt

If I could I would carve you
deep into the great rocks at Cul Mor,
follow the path where we often walked,
start chiselling your wise Labrador head.

While I work I will share a snack of crisps
with the wind, ‘Pringles’,
the kind you liked. I will slurp
from muddied puddles, my toast to you. 

I will shape the curves of your smiling mouth,
indent your eyes with smoky quartz,
hang your bravest dog badge up above,
try to sculpt your velvet ears, your very kisseable ears.

Passing tourists might mistake you for a god,
‘for what’s a dog but God spelt backwards’.
I will tell them you were more loving than that,
more stubborn than that, far better than presidents or kings.




Lynn Valentine writes between dog walks on the Black Isle in the Scottish Highlands. Her work has appeared in anthologies and online in places such as the Scottish Poetry Library blog and Ink, Sweat and Tears. She is a previous winner of the Glasgow Women’s Library ‘Dragon’s Pen’ award and has been placed in other competitions.