Jim Mackintosh is our Poet In Chief. We are honoured to have Jim aboard and his poetic mastery, which will help promote our mission.
Jim is a full-time Poet, Editor and Writer, who is always on the go, creating something and encouraging others to create even more. He is a regular at Festivals and Poetry Gigs who has published 6 Collections of Poetry, the latest being Flipstones in 2018.
Flipstones was the subject of an Exhibition between December 2018 and March 2019, which was the first solo artist Exhibition supported by Threshold Artspace at Perth Concert Hall.
In 2016, he was appointed by St Johnstone as Poet in Residence – the first full-time professional Football Club in the UK to do so. This led to many adventures and collaborations and in particular Jim editing Mind The Time, an Anthology of Poetry supporting Football Memories Scotland and Alzheimer’s Scotland.
He is currently the Poet in Residence of the No Boundaries Project being run by the Cateran EcoMuseum in East Perthshire, which forms part of the celebrations marking the Centenary of Hamish Henderson for which he’s also editing The Darg, a new poetry Anthology to be launched at Edinburgh Book Festival in August 2019.
You can follow Jim on Twitter @JimCMackintosh and his Facebook Page.
THC9 – REMOTE
Writing a new chapter on a field of strangers
in new happenings, a flurry of ball skills,
a jumble of jerseys, sky blues and stripes
that broke ranks from the gods and grafters
down the passing road from Hampden. First
top hats and tail coats on wagons watched
this crop of Scotch sown tactics, pass the ball
into the future with no sense of time, no
grasp their feet were shaping foundations.
This was the shift, the weave into our future.
And you were there cheering but didn’t know,
for television wasn’t invented. Frantically pointing
a remote at this field of strangers, nothing
would change the jumble, those strangers,
those professors hypnotising all your Saturdays.
THC8 – UNNER THE FOLD
in the sports section, twa paragraphs
unner the fold, an oot o the spotlicht,
I saw a photograph o a toosled chiel
impassive, beckonin me tae find him
beyond the January transfer windae
proodly displayin his country’s badge
oan a jersey o pink an yellow bands,
no in a puffed oot boastin way, no
in a hunkered doon ashamed way,
but as it shid be, ain o his nation’s best
a nippy ain tae, wi a hint o Jinky’s weave
a ready capped fir Scotland, his faither
a sugar plantation owner, a player o sorts
but as I listen tae the kettle bile an coffee
steams the inky stains oot ma thochts
Andrew Watson’s gaze turns a sombre like
when he hears the Classified’s, his noble
Queens Park no dae’in sae well noo’adays, no
since he went sooth, gaun fae tanner ba enigma
tae bein swallied up in time added oan.