Tuesday, October 13, 2020


I’ d only just stepped outside,

when he hopped towards me

like a small child,

greeting his mother.


not daring to move,

I said hello,

what do you want?

he tilted his haloed eye


and cocked his handsome head,

before bursting into song,

like a rendition of Nessun Dorma,

his crisp tone

speared my heart,

leaving me in awe

that he trusted me enough

to deliver such beauty

in such a captivating way.


Blinking  upwards

he almost smiled,

and repeated  his song

before he flapped his wings

and was gone,

leaving me humbled

that he sang especially for me.






Three glorious fields of mud,

alive with happy porkers

snuffling, wallowing, digging,

they trot with wiggling tails,

burrowing into deep, five star straw,

relaxing in welcome sunshine,

but often shielding themselves

from bitter winds in their sturdy igloo dens.


Little do they know what joy they bring

on a dull day with leaden skies,

when they poke out those snouts,

or dance with joy when the sun warms their backs


such happy, creatures, nurturing young,

delightful, squealing little piglets,

that should be going to town with their

handkerchief sacks, draped across their

backs, like pigling Bland.


An adult head, is only just visible

as she wallows, in a glorious well of sticky wet mud,

shutting pretty eyelashes as she doses

and dreams of more sunshine and breakfast tomorrow


such is the life of the happy Kinloss pigs.




Have you ever looked into

a seagull’s eye and thought,

what do you think,

what do you see?

As candy floss clouds

waft silent and free


The tide laps the hulls of the

 loose tethered boats,

a soft, restful sound

at the end of the ropes.


Creels brightly coloured

form places to hide

for sparrows and wagtails

while herring gulls glide,


teaching grey youngsters

to fly and to feed,

it’s time to break free,

but the babies still plead,


“come back mum to the quayside”

we don’t want to go,

we’ll just sit here whistling,

til you tell us no.


She’s back with a fish

that she wants for herself,

but the youngsters scream loudly

and grab it with stealth.


Poor worn out mother,

breaks free to the sky,

have you ever looked

into a seagull’s eye?






Patsy Goodsir ©    28. 07.17










Wednesday, September 04, 2019

Sadly I lost my old boy back in April.   I wrote this poem about him ages ago.

               I KNEW YOU WERE WAITING

Some were loud and noisy, standing
with paws gripped to wire,
noses forced through mesh.
Strange miaows from Snowshoes
“please get me outta here”

All endearing, all homeless,
but something lured me to the end of the aisle.
I stopped but couldn’t see you,
yet knew you were there.

I entered your pen where you snoozed, nose into tail.
Had you given up on life, or were you simply exhausted?
You raised your kind head, sniffed my hand
and stole my heart, the old boy, found by the dustbins,
with an “estimated” age.

For four months you rested and slept,
until you blinked at the warming sun
and took a tentative step into the garden,
your haven, where a ridiculous friendship
has been formed with an enormous bird of the sea,
who treats you with respect, 
as you feign the stalk of a predator,
before rolling over and pretending he isn’t there.

When you sit by the window, the sun filters through
your pink, translucent ears, and your grey and white coat
bristles like frosted fir trees.
No more rescue centres for you, my little friend, my confidante
and all because I stopped that day and looked for the one
I couldn’t see.

I knew you were waiting.

Patsy Goodsir

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


I can't believe it's more than a year since I last posted on here.

How did you end up without your clothes
on a quiet back road where nobody goes.
Choirs of daffodils, are singing out loud,
remembering the days, you once stood proud.
A click of the shutter, your beauty shines through,
Oh how I wonder, what happened to you?