Three poems by M.E. Muir



First Foot

M. E. Muir is a Scot now living in London, former teacher and consultant, some of whose work has recently been published in eg Dawntreader,The London Grip, Ink Sweat & Tears, Porridge, and of course Morphrog, with a first collection EX SITU from Dempsey & Windle, which can be viewed at



Dive through the blistered oyster racks

five fathoms deep of blue tubed breath

green samphired water snakes curl

beyond the mussel beds so the thrill

of danger and the scent of salt blasts

out the path of the venomous blue shark

to reach the bounds of what I can not do

where the unknown falls off the edge

into the mitochondria of one infinity

rubbing their faces in the sludge of no-history

get to do un-doable find treasure trove

of sod-you independance as the minke whale

caresses me and the shout of seaweed kelp

and peacock’s tail wrapping around my waist

makes physical the freedom of exactly who I am.


© M. E. Muir


Instead of mackerel on my line

I get a lesser spotted dogfish,

catshark, rockfish,

zoofull of flipping action,

dogs, cats, rock, shark,

whose rough abrasive skin

is sandpaper pumice on mine,

no joy to toast

on the fire I have burning

on my bit of beach

where his mermaid’s purse

is lying abandoned

emptied out of life

as he will be

when I manage

to extract my hook

and collect my regrets

to salt and pepper

my tomorrow.

© M. E. Muir

First foot in sea, hearts open out

grow high and deep and lusted after,

the salt eats off parental guidelines,

habits of dress and language,

makes shouts legitimate;

sea elevates, floats skywards

flying through cumulus,

motors beyond Old Harry rocks

stacked up at Purbeck on the Dorset coast,

and dances happy through a long half term

of first salt hair, first foot in sea.

© M. E. Muir