Port Bhruachaidh is Gaelic for Broughty Ferry an area I’ve both lived in and had affection for when I’ve been living elsewhere. Today as during most of my lifetime it is a prosperous cosmopolitan seaside suburb of the City of Dundee. But just over a century ago residents petitioned the House of Lords to prevent amalgamation into Dundee. And in 1913 there were some residents with serious clout i.e. Jute Barons. However the petitions failed and the last century is well…history! The pic was taken at Broughty Ferry railway station and the Gaelic name which I hadn’t known before reminded me that sometimes the more you know the less you know! It inspired this poem.


Saxophone music caresses the evening air
and flows towards the river,
tribute and tributary.
Autumn waits off stage.
Summer lingers in mature trees,
holding the moment, delaying the cue.
I’ve come back
and found my quiet street where old ghosts meet.

There’s a little crossroads further along.
It’s one way both ways.
Down streets of quasi-high walls I seek the music.
The bus stop where we near parted is high tec now
and beyond lies the altar of the Catholic Church
where you winked at me on a palindromic day.
I step into the matrix again but know
I can’t step into the same matrix twice.