Finola Scott’s work can be found on posters, tapestries and postcards. She is widely published with poems in Ink, Sweat and Tears, The Fenland Reed, Lighthouse, New Writing Scotland. She won the Uist Poetry, Dundee Law, The Blue Nib Chapbook competitions and was runner up in the Coast to Coast pamphlet competition. Stanza Festival commissioned a poem for a multi-media installation. Red Squirrel published her debut pamphlet in October. You can read more on FB Finola Scott Poems.

Matryoshka Dolls

We sit book ended
on the sofa
cooried close
my daughter and I
 
Feel Mum, swollen she turns
towards me, her belly
a ripening pod.
 
Inside my child, cells divide
   and divide.
Curled crouched, coiled
my child fuses and swell.
 
I cradle her cocoon
and feel in my daughter,
her daughter dance beneath my hands
practising for later.
 
I cup once familiar flesh
hold another's foot curve, heart.
Practise.
 
 
In 'Much left unsaid' pamphlet published by Red Squirrel Press

Wake up call

you haul me from dream drifting
snug in your tousled bed
I hear your early-rise kitchen clatter
 
I'm a lay-a-bed, day-waster, sloth
you remark
dark dressed in the doorway
 
I want our mornings to release
day's perfume not this peat,
earth-soiled Pu'erh tea you proffer
 
aged, brackish, it slaps my mouth
you say I'm drinking time
I taste rot
 
 
 
 
 
 
Published by Ink, Sweat & Tears

Wild Swimming,  Eaglesham

Out through the village, don't stop at the coaching inn
for beer to quench this blue-sky heat. Your slaking
will be different. Like you, the Romans marched this way.
longing for southern shores and the cool relief of baths.
Above Ballagioch Hill buzzards swirl, wings stirs air.
 
The moor is a sieve here, pierced by lochs and dams.
Need long gone for that chain of Falls to power mills,
the clatter of shuttles in dust filled rooms forgotten.
Like the fishermen and trout, you shall have your pick
of water. Today the clear shallows of the High Dam tempt.
You're ready - costume tight-gripping your skin beneath
starched cotton, towel & apple in the bag, feet in Start Rites.
 
No seaweed, rock pools or eye-nipping brine. Only the glint
of fresh water all-day sun warmed, damselflies darting, and
the memory of Covenanters who dared to pray under this heaven.
 
Slip off your dress,
                press through the shining water lilies
 
 
Published in Well Dam by Beautifil Dragons Collaborations