Dawn McLachlan

@deemclachlan.bsky.social

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Poet, author, bookseller, allotmenteer - for hire or loan. Won some poetry prizes. Account is stuff from a small rural town in NE Scotland. #FridayPoem She/Her https://dawnmclachlan.com/

Last Train By Dawn Mclachlan They missed the train, and then they missed another, and another. Every time the rails hummed at the approaching tide of arrivals and departures, their hands gripped tighter. Together on their bench all life seemed to flow around them. Breaking to part as if around their tiny island. I watched them for a while caught in the warm wake of their feelings, yet cold in the depth of them. As the last train heaved its great bulk to a standstill they rose together and parted as if swept away. When the train rolled out from the station I gave him a tissue, and took my seat. The journey is long Through the stations of our lives Always mind the gaps
Speaking Back By Dawn Mclachlan She's so mouthy They said Never shuts up They said Brought it on herself They said Asking for it They said But in the silence that came after In the healing time There was a brewing Of words And when they returned They were all mouth And teeth And cold intent And knowing They carried ideas above stations Where the road ran fast and slick Like tongues Bringing horizons closer But she never forgot The time they said Her voice brought the blame
Exit Wounds II By Dawn Mclachlan Bring me sunshine Bring me remembrance of things past And sweet things yet to come Bring me the time that heals All wounds Show me the blue birds over And the sunny side of the street I am done singing in the rain Bring me so much lemonade That these lemons run dry Bring me all the silver linings And show me the sun coming Over the hills In the darkest hours Just before the dawn Bring me that bowl of cherries Because today has none
Penelope's Web By Dawn Mclachlan I am wrung out by fading hope and the cruel deceptions of Time Shall my husband live forever in the tapestry of sailors' rhyme? When the salted sails of rumour blow and the wind whispers his name As the lonely night falls like the rain I will dress my weeping hands again If he returns he'll find me aged Frayed by grief, unlaced by want bent and branch-like at the loom Shrouded by memories that haunt In the long and tangled hours Fingers oakum raw, bloodied and in pain As the lonely night falls like the rain I will dress my weeping hands again Safe here in our olive-boughed bed In the sweet blue blanket of eve Unthreading warp and pulling weft praying for a homecoming breeze I am slowly turning back this clock returning cloth to skein And when lonely night falls like the rain I will dress my weeping hands again © Dawn McLachlan
A black and white cat smiles while sitting in a pink bed shaped like a crown.
George is a large crow who lives at Huntly Castle. He likes to chat and eat my biscuits.
Cullen beach, Moray coast
Exit Wounds by Dawn Mclachlan I expected more in the days after I expected the wound to feel raw and torn fire and brimstone I expected the pain to vice my heart with fear and loss I expected the horrific void to swallow me whole but in the numbness as I took my place settling in the rising tide of anticipated grief there was just a deep blue breath of cooling melancholia I expected more in the newness of the injury but there was just the light and i walked into it
Power, cut By Dawn Mclachlan There were raised hands and voices Before she fell like wind-blown lines Into the evening blue And all the world forever changed With such rapid power loss She lay in fearful stillness Gathering dampness in her bones Later, when all was white And clinical brilliance They asked “did you see stars?” The words would not come but In silence she remembered The torn jasmine Casting scented constellations Across the summer lawn And nodded
A common toad toadlet. You can see the warty looking skin.
УЕТ, І The incomers do not believe in me And yet... I am here I walk alone along the roof of the world Where the bright blue belly of the sky is pierced by crags And jagged peaks snag the clouds I brush frost from my fur And shake falls of snow from my shoulders The climbers do not see me And yet... I am here When the moon turns the slopes blue and silver And stars rend the fabric of the night With their scattered brilliance In dazzling mornings, I taste the oncoming springtime On green air rising fresh from the valley I know the mountain And the mountain knows me The travellers do not believe in me Yet I am Yet, I By Dawn McLachlan
A large crow hops along a section of ruined castle wall hoping for biscuits. Clearly he has done this many times before.
Blossom a haibun By Dawn Mclachlan We walked up the last hill. I knew the old man would say that it wasn't fair horses had to risk slipping pulling that weight just for him. He need not worry, they were steady and true, tossing their plumes with admirable grace and elegance. He always loved walking that road. The stubby trees garlanding the kerb with petals in late spring. He'd sing - "cherry pink and apple blossom white, the poets say..." as we ran and whirled around him beneath the windblown cascade at imaginary future weddings. The trees were heavy with their confetti that final day. It seemed fitting we should pass beneath them on our way. I wanted to stop and dance again, but it was far too late. The sky seemed too blue On a day that called for rain Petals in black manes
Two oil paintings on a wall. One is of a path through a field of rapeseed and the other a completely blue seascape
Postcard By Dawn Mclachlan Beyond the yellowed net and sun-bleached curtains the river of the restless road flowed past a room too hot for sleep and too remote to leave Stranded on this island of fuel and Fate she waited In the drawer beneath torn Gideon verses she found a postcard curled and unsent crisped by age no one had ever wished they were here He said it was a beginning but all she felt was the end
A watercolour painting of cloudy blue skies over a countryside scene.
The Look By Dawn Mclachlan I know it now as I knew it then the look that turned pleas into pebbles that gathered on my tongue and in my throat Muted by such cold stones pressed home with the glare of othering my words remained unsaid But here closeted in a space beyond sight they hung like winter coats waiting for the right season concealing the way beyond revealing another world
Nocturne 26 By Dawn Mclachlan A storm broke the night into silver shards of jagged brilliance that pressed darkness back into the trees Before the downpour came we stepped outside and felt the air electric raising hair that only cool sheets could settle Rising from damp and fitful rest we found a bruised morning veiled in mist from the torn bellies of clouds still snagged in the forest canopy Far up the valley the storm lingered like an argument In the thin early light Tattered butterflies settled upon us seeking refuge from the rain
Nocturne 83 by Dawn Mclachlan Fast on slick black roads In a night that tasted Like lip gloss and bravery Don't let go Lean into the electric night Heartbeat like the static Of the tuneless radio Sodium light pulse Tearing out sleeping streets Into the endless deep blue Whipping stars in branches Above the hollow ways And the sweet cool wind Like a baptism
Having little time We squeeze the bottle too hard And miss the sandwich *** Image shows a half prepared sausage sandwich on thick white bread. Sadly the tomato sauce has mostly hit the worktop instead of the bread.
A poster advertising the North Scotland Garden Show in Turriff, Aberdeenshire. Post shows Dawn Mclachlan holding large beetroots and a picture of her allotment. The show runs Friday 12th to Saturday 13th. Dawn will be taking at 12.30 and again at 3pm
A composite image showing Dawn Mclachlan with her veg, her poetry book, and her allotment. The poster is advertising a talk to be held within an event on June 13th in Turriff, Aberdeenshire. Dawn’s talk will be called “The Plot Thickens”
A red-veined sorrel plant goes from wilty to upright in a matter of minutes.
The late Anthony Head in character as the librarian Rupert Giles in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Cautionary Tales By Dawn Mclachlan I walked on broken glass And hot coals Because the eggshells I'd already traversed Weren't enough for you
Up the summer lane Under a sky bruised by storms Hares are running free
Image shows a monochrome print of an etching of a hare.
Behind the lupins The allotment reaches out In fertile expanse
Earn the right by Dawn Mclachlan I don’t have to love you or give a fuck for blood or time or promises made and bound in ink on paper in rooms of licence I don’t have to lay myself down or stand myself up just for time and aged tradition on the hills of deathly principles where others died I don’t have to slay for you or live for you through boiling grief and loss raging from the fever of youth to the cool rest of time I don’t have to But I will
Two small hills across a body of water. There is a burst rain cloud above the hills drenched in light. From the cloud there comes a rainbow.
A poetry book entitled “June Somewhere” by Dawn Mclachlan is resting on a painting. The painting is a deep blue sky and sea and the cover of the book matches the painting.
Plainly it’s a cardboard Jesus and the metaphor could not be stronger
A poster saying “This year one Seed Forward and Greener Huntly are bringing FREE seed banks to 21 Aberdeenshire libraries! Help yourself to some free veg seeds and seed tatties and get growing! Find out more about one Seed Forward on www.oneseedforward.co.uk Join the veg growing conversation on the Greener Huntly growing hub www.greenerhuntly.co.uk/growing-hub
David Bowie is holding a paperback classic while pursing his lips. He’s wearing a bomber jacket and blue jeans and is barefoot. The poster says “READ” in capital letters at the top.
Scottish £10 note. The front has a portrait of Scottish scientist and polymath, Mary Somerville. The reverse depicts a pair of otters
The cover of a poetry book by Dawn Mclachlan. The title is “June Somewhere”. The cover illustration wraps all the way around the book and is an abstract seascape using only shades of blue to represent a summer night. On the back is the isbn, a little about the author, and the author’s photograph taken on a good hair day.
Mouth to Mouth Into the absence in me, the gasping hollow of my being- there, breathe your love. That is where I need it most. Ann Tigone
Nocturne 93 By Dawn Mclachlan Wrapped in blue night And silver banded light On unfamiliar sheets I watch this new presence Past the flowers And the plastic And the whispers of nurses There is the first sleep And suddenly it drowns me With fathomless depth Of all the hopes and fears Of uncharted oceans In the warm silence There is no pain And all noise has ceased Because the world is brand new And full of such dazzling possibilities
A pile of handmade bookmarks printed with summer flowers and swallows in blue ink.
An almost cloudless blue sky over a snowy Scottish street scene.
A small announcement There will be no more Friday Poems for while because I'm busy putting the final touches to a poetry collection that will be published in May. Watch this space for a special pre-order offer!
Incantation I By Dawn McLachlan Light the candle Shield the flame Push the Dark away again Long the shadows by the door Cold the step upon the floor Feel the way the night now lingers Frost that stretches icy fingers Soon the Winter will return Close the lesson to be learned Light the candle Shield the flame Push the Dark away again
Incantation II By Dawn McLachlan Light the candle Shield the flame Push the Dark away again Gold the light beneath the door Bright the step upon the floor See the way the light now lingers Green that stretches out her fingers Soon again Spring will return Close the season to be turned Light the candle Shield the flame Push the Dark away again
Eggshells “Don’t speak of it Ever You’ll only upset people” People Person In this way I limped into the future With my mouth shut Every step fearfully placed On the egg’s shell And the cracked glass Of an imagined upset And the possibility of blame Finally finding a home Until the tumble And the avalanche And the roaring wind When the filthy veil ripped away Forever The blame remains homeless But these eggshells won’t carry Witches anymore
A cat with green eyes stares out from under a bed. He is so black that his fur seems to absorb light.
Walk with Me by Dawn Mclachlan Walk with me again When green things nudge at the dirt And the snowdrops rise Talk to me of other lives And I will remember you Walk with me through ancient ways And tell me old tales While the bright new leaves unfurl Talk to me of happy times And I will remember you
Happy Ever After By Dawn Mclachlan Once I was a jewel Polished and treasured Beyond all measure Held to light Aloft and bright In ivory towers Pedestalled Until the cracks of the fall Stitched in red like spelling mistakes Dust gathering turning Purple to yellow Unseen and unheard But in the memory of time Insistence weeps Once I was a jewel
A screenshot of a Facebook post. It says “Also, guys, you know when you're on holiday and you have to walk down that street full of restaurants and the way ahead is full of people calling out to you and grabbing at your sleeves and trying to steer you into their places? Like that, only instead of food it's penis, and instead of one avoidable street on holiday it's everywhere, and some of them will also now shout in your face that you're too fat or old for their restaurant. That's what it's like. For the entire rest of your life. Picture that, and understand why we get so angry when people tell us to "lighten up".”
Seed by Dawn Mclachlan In this capsule there lies a story An ancient tale of seasons passed and golden glory Plant spent bloom faded past time weathered to hardened skin that speaks in hushed whispers of the tale within of soil and rain and sun and oncoming seasons chorused through by insect hum and another year that's yet begun It tells a story of a fragile seedling that survived the odds and springtime's needling as it stretched for the sky revealing our hopes and reasons why we dream of the harvest After all our shared challenges in the long slip of time there now remains this seed and in the circle of this eternal tale of battles fought and won within this small hard casing is the story yet to come
First Snow By Dawn Mclachlan That night I watched the snow falling like feathers and dreamed of torn angels In the light of morning the children came to throw themselves into the white falling into the breathless silence between the tumble and the tears
Nocturne 83 By Dawn McLachlan Fast on slick black roads In a night that tasted Like lip gloss and bravery Don't let go Lean into the electric night Heartbeat like the static Of the tuneless radio Sodium light pulse Tearing out sleeping streets Into the endless deep blue Whipping stars in branches Above the hollow ways And the sweet cool wind Like a baptism
June Somewhere By Dawn Mclachlan There were days back then when we thought Spring endless in the vivid green of the newness of the world fresh with bright discovery tumbling into Summer's heat Seasons ran as seasons do turning green, to gold, to brown and in the deep cold of time Winter snatched joy with cruel speed But in cornflower blue with sweet meadow scent of perfect memory somewhere it will always be June
A white and black cat with wide eyes. He has cream on his pink nose.
A snowy scene of Scotland over a church and rooftops and out to the hills beyond.
A napkin with a picture of Father Christmas on and the wording “merry Christmas, I’m home compostable”
Tattoo of a red cabbage, a snail, and a cabbage white butterfly on the inside of a white forearm.
Trudging through deep snow to get to a green polytunnel
A snowy garden with a trail dug through the snow to a bare apple tree.
A snowy medieval ruined castle behind a Victorian lamppost.
A wintertime view of a rural avenue lined with bare linden trees and Victorian lampposts.