Searching for ‘The Stories Dunbar is Telling Me’: Part 1

Treasure Hunting with my Camera


Walking round the town of Dunbar I find:

serpents with forked tails and green scales that flicker tongues at my ankles.

Toys breaking out, searching for adventure elsewhere,

in Focabers? Pitlochry? Or Preston Pans?

Or maybe stowing away to County Donegal?

God Pan, companion of nymphs, turned to stone

by spangley mermaids with jewels for nipples,

as a gannet stares blind at the sky, with the bluest lined-eye.

Rusty locks guard empty houses with handles of crystal that sparkle

while sightless windows blank stare towards the shore

at a praying woman, head bowed, who kneels by the sea

Or does she?

Blue doors rust and flake, battered by the wind

beside shocking pink doors in mellow red sandstone.


There is serendipity in this town of writers

and sea farers

There is a treasure trove here for lovers

of the extraordinary.