Finola Scott

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.

Thin ice  Winter Olympics Vancouver  2010

 I say yes   but
 not my idea   
 of  fun   an ice rink stadium 
 packed   with flag-flourishing fans
 while lycra'd skaters whirl-twirl
 below twinkle lights   
 at my side he pitches   low and steady  
 in racy padded anorak   he's not
 my usual     but  
 I fancy him so let him    take me
 to sit high above neon ice slush 
 as the star below  
               swirls twirls   kicks that beat  
 going for gold  .slice-scribbling the ice
 in scything sweeps  the champion leaps
 her lutz-triple toe-loop combination
 leaves her blue dress fluttering and 
 our pulses racing 
 that fast flow free style   . always best
 my heart hop-flips   as his hot leathered hand
 my woolly waist    yes    my choice
 I fancy him so 
    let him    take me
 result    the perfect score
 Published in The Veiw from Olympia '20 

No Room

 A bloody crib
 can't believe I took it
 from that solemn house clotted with icons.
 The routine of prayers,the tick
 tock Angelus of childhood visits.
                      Bleeding Jesus and his Mum
                      watch me spill granny's gravy
                      greasy on her persian rug, stare
                      out from heavy frames spotting
                      how I hide the fatty lamb. Sure to
                      clype to the angels who log
                      all details in St Peter's ledger.
 Now beside Santa on my mantlepiece
 it's just another story of family, faint
 memory of wild travels & adventures.
 As the psychedelic frame dances
 the mariachi through Advent, I plan
 turkey con carne for Boxing Day.
 Peel open those tiny cardboard doors,
 no jack-in-the-box fright
 but a plump baby
 held sure. 
 Published in Belonging  Project  Glasgow Woman's Library  '18 


 So, the darkness approaches.
 I could talk
          of enveloping black
          of the rip and reveal of the veil 
          of stripped furrows & iron earth
          of barren trees, growth numbed
          of days blink-blind short
          of fur and leather on the wing
          of claws' clatter at thresholds.
 Instead I think 
            of the star bright canopy   
            of hoar-silvered morning webs
            of a horned moon hooking night
            of rooms flamed by flirting candle,            
            of velvet nights cooried at the fire
            of each other's skin.
 My arms open 
 Published in Writers' Cafe Issue 3  

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