Bakings is The Bakehouse’s new online literary magazine – poems submitted by invitation alongside recordings of featured poets from previous Bakehouse events. Trawl through the site to find fine poetry from Scotland and beyond alongside film poems and illustrations.  Items are in the order of most recent first, or use our index to see a list of items arranged alphabetically by author.
Alphabetical Index by Author

the bar : John Glenday

that morning, from our bench by the ranges,

we followed a single north sea wave

driving upriver, too far away to touch, 


too close to bear, and at the bar, because 

the shallows gather there, watched how it rose 

above itself, proud and triumphant, as i did once,


until the wind, that white blade carding

the winter from the firth, cut through,

feathering its crest to a brief astonished haze


then sent it withering back towards whatever 

it had always been, or where it came from.

Cave Painting : Kitty Donnelly

Pass me the horse hair brush steeped in colours of earth.

I will paint you our beginnings.

In sleep, you flee from leopards, bison, wolves.

Harness their dream-spirits,

tame them on the walls, and you’ll rest fearless.

Your loss is charcoal-black;

your anger – a quiver of hematite

arrows; the calcite-white of your silence/a curtain between us.

Daughter, we can’t linger in this cave-light.

Time’s a virus plundering our settlements.

We must immortalise our hands

in ochre, umber, malachite.


Kitty's collection The Impact of Limited Time is available from Indigo Books:

Imagine autumn : Owen Lowery

Last night I listened to Basie

explained as an artist of space,

content to leave open the breath

required for music to live

and flourish. And then I thought of you

and autumn and the clear renewal

of air charged with an edge of cold,

a way through the gold

and red of the next change. Us

on a brighter day than this

with dazzle wincing off the wing

and the water, song ringing out

from otherwise cathedral quiet. Indulgent,

yes, but a chance to merge

into something more than the same old

walls and weekend roll-call

of dogs and cars and children. The notes

come in clusters, remote

and closer, when imagined branches alarm

and pierce their own calm.

Make you out : Owen Lowery

That we miss one another doesn’t go

unsaid but as easily could. I squint

until I can make you out from the glint

on your glasses. Half on your side, you slow

a rush of a day down to the remote

roll of lethargic waves. What it all meant

slides now as you home in on the gentle

and show me so much I already know

about the days ahead. Your voice is low

and soft, neither near nor far off. The screen

is one of your woodland walks as you lean

towards me, as close as distance allows,

and we do what we can. You’re still glowing

long hours on, unextinguished in my mind.