Catriona Yule

Catriona Yule is an Aberdeen poet and writer. An English graduate from Dundee University, she has had poems published in Aberdeen District Council's The Book Of Poems and in an anthology, O' Mice An Men published by Arrival Press.

Poems

• Insider
• Shedding Skin
• Reminiscence
• Daydream from a Bus Window

 

INSIDER In December 1980, Mark David Chapman murdered John Lennon in the presence of his son Sean. He is serving a 20-year to life sentence in Attica Prison. Numerous psychiatrists have been unable to diagnose his condition.  Me – a Pied Piper children and lepers I raise their honeycomb dreams my name seraphic carved in history pool-side at South De Kalb in the day there are nightmares mother curls up like a foetus father's muscles laugh at my weakness I pick her up off the floor assembling the fractures the joke of her body he stands and sneers at us staggering, one upright one crumpled gives him a high all battered and bruised creeps into my bed I stroke her face now I'm inside I've left her now the little people will take me along with the freaks thursday angry magazine shot me lennon's face phony like Beelzebub sergeant-suit seething decrying the Lord i put on his record spat at the grooves as i rock to and fro i will save the children as i rock to and fro i will save your souls today I saw Sean shot John in the back the little people tried to stop me Return to top

 

SHEDDING SKIN You don't look to see my face, crumbling in the rain. Don't know that I breathe you again and again. Though I'll soar Red Admiral, you've drained me of colour, caging a moth that will cry like no other. You don't care for fragile wings, hovering on your fence. It inconveniences you to think about the skin of something else. Is this what you always planned? So stark black and white. Can't you search for something deeper than the girl is not right. I can't re-spin the silken film that blushed upon my skin. Can't change the dates that history bled to leave you out of them. You won't look to see me face crumbling in the rain. Won't know that I turn back again and again… Return to top

 

REMINISCENCE An awkward fall and her patchwork bag cascades into oceans of memory. A mirror broken in two, Half the survivor, the other irreplacable. I collect the pieces for the fragile owner. With trembling fingers, she gathers herself. From a silver compact, she loosens a powder puff as if to correct the face. A pressed flower from her notebook: Midsummer Eve streets bathed in cherry blossom sprinkle of rain kissed our brows. We board the train and she sits by the window, gazing at the deep fields. With both arms, she holds her bag, tightly. Return to top

 

DAYDREAM FROM A BUS WINDOW Muted by the silence of the booming city I stare from the window as the din fades into dawn. Like a creature of granite with dull, cracked jaws, I long to sparkle like a swan To be clean and bright To glide through a golden age To stroll on cobbled lanes and ride on trams But you slip through my mind like the sea recoiling. I search for the old waves but the tide comes crashing in. Return to top