I love both of my children, one hundred percent,
Each.
How come?
How does that work?
You are my happiest and my saddest day,
How come?
You are my tears and my laughter,
My once upon a time and my, um, happy ever after,
Hmm, that’s a bit twee,
Sank to the bottom, roared to the rafters,
All with you both,
How come?
How come we laughed, we cried,
How come we saw birth, then died,
Needed truths and lies,
Adventures, time goes, flies,
Where to?
How come?

All hail, a noble rescue,
Ah, Bless you, bless you, bless you.
The seat of so many celebrated,
Rumps of human kind, leave their mark,
A mark on the spare chair.
Van Gogh captured one,
When he would stare, stare, stare,
To see beyond the chair, chair, chair
But no ochre yellow or tobacco pipe so grand,
Matches the framed nylon, brown, tugged and bland,
That supported generations of those who must not stand,
And those who couldn’t.

Glass coach and horses danced from Gran’s cabinet,
Aye patient, fed and watered yet,
And minded moments are cried aroond the room,
Past humiliations, desperations, glint in our eyes,
Shortie ‘n bun pressed to hand,
Another yellow glassed, golden,
Soon to vanish, but oh!
Such grand!
One song, one singer, no need o’ a band,
In this safe place to sit, to nod, to bandstand.
All ages blessed in rooms across our land.

Then Shoo the horses, store the carriage,
Brush the crumbs, God, bless this home and marriage,
The chair journeys home, to the place of rest,
The weans room, by the ‘robe, near the chest,
Waiting for the call that demands supporting role once more,
What? Just a chair dustin’ in the corner by the door?
No, a throne that’s rescued generations across the land,
‘Bring the spare chair doon!’, will be the cry!!
For here, in this home, nae need tae stand.

‘Yes old chap it’s difficult’,
Said a millionaire,
And we are all going to feel the pinch,
Said a millionaire,
Sooner or later,
Said a millionaire,
We will have to give up something
For the greater good.
One less home, he said,
One homeless, I said.
Food for thought, he said,
Thoughts of food, I said.
‘We’re all in it together,’
HIs bucket has a fur lined inner,
I have a hole in mine, dear,
Lies are… what you tell me.
And an Old Lady died listening to,
Dead cold, cold, Dead.
‘We are all in it together.’

When you come in from the cold and wet, And shake off the rain ‘n glaur, And stumble doon the dipper brae, Ach jings! Ah did that yince afore, And when you look around the room, There’s a’ the laughin’ faces, A whole load a freends, ma freend, In a’ the usual places.

There’s a spare stool in the bar, ma’ freend, There’s a spare stool in the bar, So please shine it with yon end, E’er you come fae near or far.

Now loads o’ faces fill the room,

The craik, the gripes, the moans,

The cooncil, fitba’, rugby, common ground, Five star content in their groans,

Rat pack songs are sung all wrong, As with all the Irish hits,

The only thing that clicks in here, Is backs, ‘n knees ‘n hips. Whiles time gans by, yon days in past, Crowds fechtin for their places, Nods and handshakes, pats on backs, Just gid folks, nae need for airs and graces, But what we count as Gold medal fare, Standin’wi’ yer beer glass full,

Is when you sit yer brains flat doon,
On the one spare bar stool.

The spare bar stool has supported all,
Generations across the years,

But many faces are long gone, For whom we shed a tear,

When fower score ‘n thrie gan’ up the hill, And doon came eighty twa’

We stop and look, wi’ gie few words, Respect, the spare stool in the bar.

Bill Fish, Ivor, Fargo, Jock,

All shared the shinin’o’ the wid, A’ thae years o’ hot air,, Often no’ so very gid,

But these folks represent oor past, Many focht for us in the war,

Their friends gave up their tomorrows, So we’d have oor day in the bar!

Some things change, some stay the same, In the room where times stand still, The only thing that challenges change, Are the prices on the till,

But your most welcome to join oor noise, So come on in, frae near and far, But please respect those wha’ went afore ye, Tak yer place oan their Spare stool in the bar.

Nae Mair Blair ‘The Musical’There he is, for it is usually him,
Carrying his Scotland honours three,
Of arrogance, ego and insecurity.
Beyond his pale, in a step too far,
Who is a self appointed pompous noble,
Absent of regal thought, never supped at the humility bar.
Cliched, always, “we are where we are”.
The response to every idea, answer to nothing at all,
“Let’s leave it that, thank you all”,
Leaving a hole wider than he found it,
Faces left floundering, wide eyed, still grounded,
Knowing they are the solution to the chaos surrounding,
The place they are left in, where we are,
The army of a naked emperor, a ginned general,
Over the top, all hearts pounding,
Ours at least.

She,
Is, (I will underestimate, always,)
Doing her own things, quietly,
Always there,
So well,
Always there.
I see it, I get it,
I love you,
I do.

Can you see me?
C’mon,
Try,
Once more.
I mean, really…
Try.
Past the shouting,
I’m four!
Your voice crashes, smothers through,
I feel, smell the breath
Hot and cold
Through my hair,
Past my cheek,
Turn right, offer left.
Wide eyes,
Shut.
Sitting here,
Under the stair.
C’mon,
Can you see me?

What to say?
Breagha.
Translate a Makars language
Breagha is beautiful
A language that sings,
Mostly of beautiful things.
The eagle soars, eyes gorging on this fine place,
Where crashing waters, like veins, carry life to tempting pools,
Pools of such depths, mysteries, beauty, my Breagha,
Lead to the sea washing round volcanoes pushing back to the sky.
The world begins here? Your world,
World of Alba, Sandy beaches, machair Flora, land of the Stuarts,
Breathtaking, the eagle soars,
Breagha, beautiful company,
The eagle shakes the dew from her head, focus on one sparkling gem,
One sparkling gem, beyond agates, cairngorm, smoky quartz, beryl, lazuli,
My Breagha, where the eagle eye lands,
She blinks her eye, agrees to protect and flies, flies flies,
Oh Breagha,
Oh beautiful.
Fly.

The Most Amazing People.

Feck, it’s no’ yer Einsteins, Van Gogh’s , Burns,
Shakespeare, Brunel, or Ma Theresa,
It’s certainly no’ tha erseholes Johnson, Trump, Cameron, Gove,
Patel, May, spineless, greedy, bullies.
No’ the overpaid fitba’ players, ego drowning rugger buggers,
Strutting the streets like they owned others,

OK, all have their place, achievements, we breathe the same air,
Phit a’ aboot invisible heroes,
Ghosting through the streets of our lives,
Barely a nod offered by masses, albeit from innocence,
Innocent unawareness of monumental achievements,
Everests climbed, channels swam, lives saved.

Really? Everest? Na, naw’, no’ really, but just as huge, shoojer even,
Lunch clubbing grannies for decades, home visits to homebound,
Wassim, shop keeper who opened in spite of the vilest names,
Ruth, the bigots fired her home, her passion was greater,
Her support line saved lives, man, saved lives.
Still invisible tae maist, if no all.

Wood sculptor, saved a woodland, opened to thousands,
Passed before it rooted, seeded 300 more wood’s, that’s what trees dae.
George, a human public appeal, wore heart and suit, Cathy came too,
Jees, he furthered science, a local farmer. OK, rugby player in lieu.
In fairness you widnae miss him, less floating spirit, mare he’s loupin’.
Same streets, where Jesse fought the twenty year council war, a champion for public housin’..

Jean, knitted, baked, sang, danced, walked, speechified, sponsored,
The community centre grew, Jean didnae make the opening, rested, passed.
Nae plaque or statue.
Bill, who felt every blow his trainees got at home, fed and watered, them,
Bill sheltered, policed, advocated possibilities, sherriff’s listened t’him,
Tae a real hero, no’a parachutist leased car poseur clocker in.

Celebrations on occasion, all invited, but the ruggers and personalities,
Wer’na there, double booked with colonial approval,
Bending to knees, better than others, it seems Garter, OB and MBE’s,
Nodding through the rails at Buckingham Palace, pass the real ghosts of heroes,
Pass the Jean’s, Cathy’s, Doddie’s, Tim’s, Ruth’s, Wassim’s, Jesse’s and friends!
Spirits of heroes, celebrating ends, we’re not at the end, we’re at the start again.

Times, someone will walk up to them and say ‘thanks, you saved my life’.

Cooree in, bairn, cooree in,
Cooree in tae ma’ breest,
It’s the maist ah c’n dae darlin’,
An’ it’s the least.

Bubble ‘n squeak,
With the spirit, lamp, to give us light
Under a tin roof that kept out the night.
Unstated love that hugged us tight,
Beech’n birch shooshing the air
Blowing in on tomorrows moments,
Tomorrow’s light,
Pump water to the 6 by 4
Blue gas, a florin, rests on the floor
Drink, eat, warm and safe,
In a fresh new world,
And a blessed, simple grace.

When apples fall up,
From the tree,
When it rains frogs,
Scotrail apologies seem sincere,
We hear meeyowing dogs.
Men tell ye what time they came home,
Women agree your bum looks big in it.
One armed man claps a thunder,
Fill the hole before digging it.
Politicians tell the truth, eye to eye,
There’s only meat in Gus’s pie,
Wave your arms, off you fly,
No more bombs on Allepo. Aye?
There is a heaven when you die?
Cut Fruit dining with Klueless Klux Klan,
After you, really, said driver of the white van.
Rich confess their returns were fiction, we’re due tax.
Prime minister ‘outraged’ from his council house in Halifax.
Food banks close, needed homes stay open,
The games legacy is not just for sportsmen.
The sky shines green, the grass dulls blue,
Burnmill flows uphill, one and one ain’t two.
Doesn’t rain in Scotia, Mrs. Cullucoidus don’t bite,
Oor government cares for locals, aye, right!
Theres nae sense in’t, joy in’t.
A tree in oor forest fell today,
Downed, scythe man had the say.
Wrong season, too early, wi’ time left to play,
But fields are bled, he mowed his hay.
Friends asking why?
What do I say?
Nae sense, nae guilt, nae cause, nae blame.
Any truth in the world?
Aye, salt in tears, taste the same.
Cruelly, brother, yet wonderfully, we can say,
Tomorrow, is another growing day.

First touch!
Too much….?
No. S’fine….s’mine,
Sandy!
Sandy!
A new moment….all mine.
Him I touched, third generation brushed,
Blessed I am,
One of the first touches he has.
For sure, s’fine.
Just fine.
For days will come, when he touches breast, milk and warmth,
He will grow on it.
Touches blanket he will warm in it.
Touches toy, he will play with it.
Touches hot, he will cry with it…
Touches cold, he will question it.
Touches sharp, he’ll bleed with it, yet sing free with it
Touches friendship, he will love, commit to it.
Touches hearts, embrace, cherish it.
Touches my hand, walk safely with it,
Touches danger, deal with it.
Touches base, glad of it, remember it.
Touches bridge, cross it.
Touches love, will love it.
Touches new life, he will ask “ Too much?”
Touches wisdom, he’ll use it.
Touches you, he will respect it.
Touches life path, he will run it,
Touches small hand, he will protect and walk with it.
Touches you, when you need it.
Touches tomorrow he will bless it.
Touches his finishing line, he’ll celebrate it.
And when he touches a place beyond……
Be excited, for he’ll smile for you,
And for all the touches ahead of you.

Hold your horses chaps, hold your tongue, 59,
Hear the whistle, your big moment has come, 57,
He’s done this before, naw he’s no’, he’s too young, 55,
Whispered Ercildoune next door, Kings Own, missin’ his mum, 53,
Ah ken, ah says, wains dressed up as men, 51,
Onyway, na’body done it yince wid dae it again, 49,
Are ye ok son, wipe your eyes, ye’ll see the steps, 47,
There, next to him thats face down, oan yer left, 45,
Good God, he canna be fifteen, aye, an’ he’s no’ seein’ sixteen, 43,
Look, his granny’s knitted socks showin’dods o’ bright green, 41,
In the glaur, noo sepia broon’, mud oozin’, 39,
Mon, mon, this is crazy, bloody crazy, 37,
How, whit are ye thinkin’, says Earlston, whit’s in yer heid? 35,
Leader banks, m’man, fae Lauder to yer door, then t’Tweed, 33,
Smells o’ growin’ grasses, neeps awa’ tae seed, 31,
The tumblin’ water hitting’ boulders and weed, 29,
Ducks duckin’, dippers dippin’ an’ herons loupin’, 27,
An these birkies takin’ it from us, as we fa’ like cut grass, 25,
Lyin’ like sheaves, untied, stomped on, flexin’ oor last, 23,
Aye, says, Earlston, ah s’pose,‘nah wonder what m’young sisters daein’, 21,
The muckle mou’ we’d cry her, but sic a smile, lass, 19,
Sic a smile, wi’ a’ cousins and freends at the Earlston Haugh, 17,
Ah cannae wait ‘till we a dance again, ah canna wait at’a’, 15,
Well lad ah hope ye get to spring a reel, like oor Cornets dae, 13,
Woa, now, whits that yellow smoke, that stuff near the coughin’ bloke? 11,
They’re falling, hell, it’s headin’ this way, 9,
Whit dae we dae, wheres the man wi’ the whistle , whit wid he say? 7,
Lauder, ahm feart, ahm feart, aye Earlston, aye, me tae, 5,
Pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep, pheeeep pheeeep,
C’mon chaps, said the whistle man, up we go, over the top 3,
I’m right behind you, way over here. 1,
Bhopp…………………………………………………………………………………… zero,
nothing,
none.

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin’-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o’ a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

But hold good people O’ the Haggis-kind……!!

Our world wi’ Trump ’n May and Erseholes a’ roond,
Oor haggis is merchin tae another tune,
Vegitarian? M’Goad, what on Gods earth?
M’Lord – VEGAN – C’mon, gie her a wide berth.
Gluten free – the Devil is surely havin’ his way!
Pescatarian, Mediterranea, Fruitarian, Flexitarian,
ANYTHING-BLOODY-ARIUM- In my haggis is what they’re trying to say

BUT HALT!!! In the name o’ Tam O’ Shanters Nicky Tams,
Back to God’s given fare…………..

HAGGIS, Your powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no wattered doon stuff,
That splashes in small wooden bowels,
But if you wish gie’ her grateful prayer,

GIE US A’ a Haggis! We a’ shout and howl!
Thanks Rab.
Written at short notice at a writing residential haggis night, (Thanks RBurns) gathered to which a rich variation of demands made on the haggi recipe. Grand evening at Monaick Mhor, Scotlands writing centre.

PLAYING WITH BREAGHA.

Whoa sunshine clap clap clap,

Whoa sunshine clap clap clap,

Whoa sunshine, clap clap clap,

Lets go outside and play.

Whoa mud pat slap slap slap

Whoa mud pat slap slap slap

Whoa mud pat slap slap slap,

Lets go outside and play

Whoa muddy puddle splash splash splash

Whoa muddy puddle splash splash splash

Whoa muddy puddle splash splash splash

Lets go outside and play.

Whoa sunshine, mud and puddle, clap slap splash,

Whoa sunshine, mud and puddle, clap slap splash

Whoa sunshine, mud and puddle, clap slap splash

Lets go outside and play.

C’mon mum!

TRUMP TRUMP TRUMP

Alba, my girl, wild time brooding to be seen,

Huffs and stuffs, moods and broods,

Likes chicken, won’t eat other foods,

Certainly won’t consider eating her greens

But excitement grows when she eats beans,

You know what that means,

Here it comes, mixed with her greens,

Around the bend, Trump, trump, it screams,

Trump, trump, trump,

Plop, plop, plop,

Splish, splish, splash,

MUUUUM, Thats the lot.

Politicians vote for themselves, crop huge reward,
Make rules for poor folks, war fodder,
He frog like smiles at poor folks who cheer back as they get poorer,
Voting for the Pringle pullover dressed chap who opened the coffee morning,
Raising mites for said poor folks who knitted the teapot covers,
With their own scraped homespun wool,
Said politician selects best doyley, drop scone and garden in a tea cup,
He picked mine, nice man that!
Tombola…
He’s picked mine, nice man that,
Said he liked the builders tea, loved the scones ’n raspberry jam,
Nice man that,
D’ye ken him? No’ really, goes to London though,
Swops coffee morning proletariat tales in the members bar,
Members tea bar?
Aye, nae tea, nae real folks, just right upstanding members,
Slavers mingle close to home and far away.
Personally, I’m against it.
But he got us a grant to hire the bus for the Spring trip,
Aye nice man that

Darlin’, you’re a young girl,

You can have your dreams,

I’m your dad,

I have nightmares

Most nights I ‘mare that I can’t

Wrap around you, arms protecting,

From harmful fiends and ghouls,

Who stand, stalk, stare, dirty the air,

On waking you explode your smile,

Crash the room,’Mare dissolves,

A kiss confirms, you’re off, again,

Dreams again for a while,

Go on girl.

Gamda……

She whispered, lone word, Gamda,

Looked up, leaned in, eyes brushed, fixed

Two bright blue in harmony, half smiled, concentration,

The thread of love spinning it’s tale, forever there,

Whenever, where ever we go.

18 months, cocooned, wings spread, lights on,

Always, Anna Grace,

Gamda.

The eyes have it, the eyes have it,
The lies have it, the lies have it,
Motions passed with finely tuned lies,
Smug satisfaction viewed with glazed inbred eyes.

When we said that, eyes and lies, what we really meant is,
That we would if we could but of course now we can’t ,
So we’ll do nothing with no fuss, curiously benefiting us,
And of course my friend is the Chief Executive, that’s a plus.

It’s important to say this, and obfuscate that,
‘One rule for you, one hundred and forty for the flat caps,’
Keep your distance, unless you are me,
Kissing and cuddling caught on the office CC TV

Stand down! No I was standing proud at the time,
Deep down, my research assistant was finding things out,
My apologies! What? That’s not enough, but it’s what we do,
Then back to the job, see what research is bringing through.

‘Well, she was just seventeen,
You know what I mean…..’

She looks at the milestone marker,
Holds her head in her hands,

The long and winding road fades behind,
Fading, blackbird singing in the dead of night,

I’m not lost. She knows. No, I’m not, I’m right here,
Hey roads, come together, it’s the fresh start,

Fabulous new beginning, new mile marker,
No numbered stone, no limit just a helter skelter,

Mum, she’s not a girl, who misses much,
Well acquainted withe touch of your velvet hand,

She will never be a piggy ,leading a piggy life,
Ask her, what she wanted to be, she can work it out,

She doesn’t need be a star of the screen,
Or even, loosely, in the sky’s finding diamonds,

But your right mum, c’mon, let me through,
I’ve got so much that I have to do,

Can’t change the world, but maybe the bit next door,
All past places had their moments, some stay, some go,

I know that only seventeen is the wildflower seed,
When colours will bloom in your own Strawberry Fields,,

I know if your all everywhere, forever beside me,
Watching your eyes, hoping your always there,

No I’m not lost, just paused to look at the view,
Restart the adventure , who knows where and with who,

Well, I’m just seventeen, you know what I mean,
The way I am is way beyond compare,

Yes I’m just seventeen
You know what I mean.

‘She was just seventeen….’
First line in song ‘I saw her standing there’, the first album ‘Please Please Me’.

‘Aright? Cauld oot!
Daen ok? Hingin’ by a threed!
Phoos yer doos? Whuh, just peckin’.
Days gie young yet, Willnae get ony better but,
It’s simmer dim, mind. Midsmmer is the first day ‘o winter,
Wi a rainbow mibbees? Mind nae rainbow wi’oot the rain
That’s the turn’o the year. Aye, ewes aff the hill.
The sky’s fair lowering’. Aye winters no’far at the back ‘o a harvest.
Only a flicher o light left, The day’s slowed, the nicht has the legs,
An’ thons a coorse air. Wi’ a fierce blurt ‘o wind ahint, y’ken,
Canna see a thing. Aye, a big haar
Yer a grandfaither? Aye, wan sinner in the hoose is enough,
Bairn is bonnie? Dinna ask, ye’ll hear no ill.
Shouldnae expect, Ye’ll no be disappointed,
Aye white snaw fa’s bonnie. Aye, ’n turns tae slush
Cheer the new bairn, then, It greets afore it laughs,
Early mornin’s mothers milk, Greeting ’n bleatin’, oan a shoogly peg
Dinnae expect, be disappointed, It’ll keek through the smallest hole,
Whit about Auld Damnation? Freedom, celebration, Auld Damnation,
The reek o’ Damnation in the air, The face o’ the deil at the glass bottom,
Lets keep it secret, just the twa’, Aye if wan o’ us is deid,
Yon Ying Yang, happiness, gloom, Better than a slater up your nose,
It’ll be dark the night. Aye quicker dark the morn’s night.
Dram o’ Auld Damnation, Check for Deil at the tumbler bottom.
The sky’s fair lowering’, Barely a flicker o’ light left.
See ye the mor’n, If we’re spared, if we’re spared.

You’re not lost, you’re right here, beginning of the next step….
Holding hands will keep us skipping along, past the cracks,
There is no present like the time, while things don’t end,
They give a chance to look at, enjoy the view and carry on.

In to ma bosom, son, escape for a moment, it’s all I’ve got,
Life will be unfair, but be just to others, justness pays,
Surprise others expectations, explode a good ‘un everyday,
Whilst not holding final judgement over others.

If you stumble it’s ok, don’t do what men do,
Think twice though before departing, before arriving,
There are selfish people out there making plans for you,
For you it’s always your next move that proves you.

Hospital visits, mum, you looked so well
What was in your head Mum, Oh mum I ‘d have stood with you,
Fight the demons, side by side, Joan Morrison Macleod,
‘You know now not to ask, Rory’,

She would forgive me when asked ‘did I miss her’, I said no,
I meant that I did…..hugely, but it sounded sad said out loud,
Felt sorrow for fifty years, since, I didn’t blame her, it was me,
Oive, oive oive, my boy, come in, come in.

What were you thinking when you said don’t play by the rules of the game
Yet saying goodbye so so suddenly,
Meantime don’t always close your eyes when giving a hug.
You just ran out of hope.

Oh Mum I want to say big things, I love you, I shout it.
Mhairi wished she knew you. You would be happy and proud of my sister.
Even though I may never see it fully leaf.
I hope you know that we will stay with the tree that you planted.

Boris Johnson, a politician, a liar and a cheat,
Supported by millions of facsimiles,
Blowing up his backside, licking his feet,
They are to blame as they equal his sins,
Hypocrisy badge on the family crest,
Along with serpent, scorpion and Etonian grins,
It’s official we lost our beliefs, values and kindness??
Stolen by thieves in suits, greed and blindness,
Speak the language of lies and bent truths,
Manipulation, dignity, justice, trust through the roof.
One for you, one for us,
Throw the poor fodder under the bus,
He’ll forget about you, you can bet on that too,
Sorry old man, what, what, who the hell are you?

How excitin’ is this…..great to be back,
Intriguing insights….and the subtle fitba’ craik
Like big Jim Farry….we’re right when we’re wrong,
Cannae wait for the new releases….seasons new songs

Ah mind the ba’ came Over.…Aye, just turned, back o’ the net
Aye that was then, this is noo Crumbles, why cry ye Crumbles?
My legs went if you tackled me.Why tae they cry you Corporal?
Well, they say, I keep playing with my privates

The centur fur the language of punditry, warm up.

He’s a leader,…..aye, knows where the goal is,
One thing on his mind, that hamstring….. it’s vital, he needs it but,
Vulnerable at set plays….. can be absolutely sensational but,
The talents there, abilities there but….but he’s never there,
Not a lot wrong, through the middle….when he turns up,
Fresh faces, in depth, set pieces…..he will get it right one time,
Household name for sure….Hamish Weir MacCorquodale

Wide off the side….edging it out, usually corner kick it is
Offside here, corner kick it is……..hand ba!!! Corner kick it is,
Good movement, couldn’t get there…..ach, flies through the gloves,
Balls into good areas….took a deflection, it’s an assist,
Looking tight, the league…..4 seasons to get back, survivors from last year,
2 sides fully committed…..they’re hungry, but struggling for form,
He’s a big lad, time waster…..same old, same old. He wants away,
Onto it, brilliant, he’s just a magnet……aye fur leather, shows his quality,

Something in the offing….. aye, game of 2 halves
Courage, Character, Brave, Assassinator,….thats the right attitude
Revenge, fantastic to see …………players take responsibility
This is massive, it’s massive…… brings pressure, scintillating,
He’s come in there, being underdogs….he’s fully committed, it’s vital
Doesnae get tougher, gonna be intense…..well, It’s a derby, first goal is important
Big day for both managers…..deafin aytely more importantly the fans
Big opportunity for him…they cry him the judge, starts from the bench

Almost impossible to play….. utterly rampant, he edged it,
Starts well, precision not power….. failed run, no pace,
He’s a threat….thats what he gives you, it’s a treble
Been sensational, aye brilliant finish,…….it’s a treble,
Can’t afford to give that room, that space…. potential for a complete rout
Need the final touch….. decisions will have to be made
A Rolls Royce player….. he’s come in there, missed a sitter, Dacia Duster,
Got that in his toolbox….claiming for something, same toolbox, always stretching,

Over the piece, you gamble…… you gamble, take a punt,
From behind to lead he comes down on him….aye from the front
Pressures told, won it well, sweetly indeed,…..got it in his toolbox
Top corner, top corner whoooof!!….goal! Edge o’ his sox!
Man, this is exciting…fur sure, it’s whit we a’ need,
Goals fae a’ places, feet, ankles, hauns!….backside, elbows and heads.
Haud oan, there’s a buzz….fur sure, m’pal, there’s something about,
Jings, at last, exciting….aye, run oot o’words, the teams are coming out.

Sair heid, aye, got wan!

Today I hope your blue eyes will settle,
On a flowing river, which threads its way
As the fisher king plays the blues with you,
These resting burns and fast flowing rivers ,
Will take you to the safety of ferry boats,
That will float you to aye-lands that people still call home,
Giving planes a miss, stepping on the shore of surrounded land
That lets you stravaig on arrival, from first step,
To a hill top where you will pause, turn and look,
At the journey complete, the beating lives left behind,
Just for now, blue eyes wide open for the wonder,
Of the beauty of earth, sea, sun and people,
Where I wish you will always be flashing blue eyes
Bonnie Lass,Anna,
Together.

HARMONY GARDENS.

Sitting on Marj and Tams memory seat,
People of nations pass by, ‘times eyes meet,
Silent acknowledgement that we’re of the age,
Where a smile, nod and hello is enough to say,

‘Marj ’n Tam Loved This Place’ whispers the plaque,
Placed there by friend, Rita, ‘They always had my back’,
We had a love for each other ‘till the day was done,
Two years now, what’s left? Now I rest here, my final moment, alone,

Sunshine in Harmony reflecting hello to glancing faces,
Popped along with Rita’s last nod including a final grace,
Marj and Tom’s seat has been the best place,
Reflecting alone has it’s time, now at last in peace, in peace.

AN GARENNIN.

Angus……..

Seventy three of Gods given years
Smell of the sea, first day of summer 1780.
Macleod, of Carloway district, black crofts of An Garennin
Distant Callanish present Gods in a thousand ways,
Brooding, above us silent, stones, listening.

Scraping reluctant land giving little, times just enough.
Families played in work, no moment wasted, every hand lifted for a reason.
Men hunted, children carried and women graft and care, hold the bond together.
Our bond, not stated, no need, for we were, are Macleods, of Garennin,
Gods gifted place where seasons passed, snows took our kin,
Summers brought life, life went on.
Garennin….you can hear Garennin …..listen, not just listen, but hear .
The waves on stones of a thousand thousand years that are ever changing,
Sssshhhhh, sssshhhhhh so gentle changing to the roar of the storm,
Sssshhhhh,
But always the sound of the stones turning, half turns, again, again, again, forever, finding the perfect smooth….
Water, stones , sand…back, fore, back, fore ….wearing …..I know this, oh yes I know this…..
In Gods year 1851 the sounds were the same, sssshhhhhhhhh of the stones, the turn of the waves, turning, turning……the stones, sea, sand still there…always….
But that was a different day…

The vessel lay anchored at the edge of the tide,
A beacon we are told, for the promised land,
Where a promise of peace, decency and dignity can be found,
Damn well these shores, our damned shores where mutton, wool and hollow phrases,
Are traded for our lives, our homes, our people,
Our very shadows of man woman and child……and God forbid even more…..
And families went to this ship amid the sounds of the stones the sand and the seas turning….
Crackling of fire in black houses, dying instantly,
Ringed metal against wood against stone against earth,
As the shallow skips filled with bundles of kith and kin whose backs were breaking,
Under the weight of family that had stayed strong for all history,
But were fading in one turn of the oar…..
Wood against stone, sea and sand turning…
Piercing of all sound the soul of a mother wailing for her past, her blood, her lost heart,
Left with elder kin on that shore….this shore….where, left forever we stood tonight,
This night….for an eternity …..old man, woman too hungry and useless we are told ….we will starve our weans, our future, if we journey…….to journey is a burden.
And we knew we had to stay…. yes we knew we had to stay with these shores…..An Garennin,
With the stones, sand and sea turning speared by the wails of my bairns grieving for the living lost
Cutting through gales….the sounds of my bairns, broken weans wailing at a broken heart,
Cutting through all sounds…..my bairns,
My bairns bairns,
But on the shore, those stones, those sands and Gods ocean are still turning…..
Ssssshhhhhhhherrrr
Ssssshhhhhhhherrrr……

So I am here…still here…I never left this place,
Though I left this mortal coil with a broken soul and the sounds of my weans in my head,
Did they journey, breathe on the new shore?
They will stay with me here on Garennin shore as these stones turn, people will never return,
I stand here for a thousand thousand days and nights staring at the edge of the tide,
Where I see the shadows of, I hear the creaking of….
….and I hear my bairns wailing in the wind.
Forever
Aye……..Aye Garennin.

Nae mare skipping, no’ bother standin’ oan the cracks,
On piss poor council paveys, shoogly drain covers,
Ignored by embarrassed trippers, oops, wi’ pit oot backs,
Trip up hand holding pensioners and ginsoiled lovers,

How do weans play oan the way to school,
Oi, hold ma hand,
Tight, the cars are close by, concentrate hen,
Watch oot fur the adults, say sorry to the two meter tall men,

Of course it’s you wains fault, get oot the road,
Listen to the big folks in the morning hierarchy,
Stop playing, enjoying yourselves, watch oot fur the Parkie,
Dae whit yer telt, keep aff the grass, gies nane o’ that m’larkie,

Dinnae dae this, dinnae dae that, dinna dae the other,
No havin’ fun oan the way to the skill,
Learnin’ skippin’, again, in a ten minute playtime bubbler,
Skip it aff, the lady says, settle down, leave fun oan the grun’.

Used tae skip to school, multi task, singing, skipping’, smiling,
We’ve left a windae behind, of life’s memories, ‘placed by crying?
Grandma says she walked four miles every day, oot ’n in she’d say.
Puddles splashing, wellies glossing, neebors laughin’, aye, every day.

She laughed even when chores were demanded, eggs collected,
She skipped to the barn, shooed the ducks, spoke with Beatrice sow,
Still smilin’, skippin, splashin’, slipping, the last job, the fire kindlin’
Light the morning room, she was aye skipping, laughing now!

So where’s the skippin’ gone, look out of the window, there’s none,
Eyes are down, head stares still, like the dugs lead, hand pulled,
Spitting out breakfast food, on the way to school.
On the way to school,
On the way to school,
On the way to school,
On the way to……….. ( skipped that!)

There were four young ladies locked in the lavatory,
They were there from Sunday to Saturday
Peeing, plopping and pumping flatulantly,
And nobody seemed to care.

In box number one was a lady called Breagha,
Down came her knicker pants, her bum you could see her,
She could smile and at the same time wiggle her posterior
And blame her sister for the smell.

In cubicle two squatted the fabulous Alba,
Squittering – rasp – For Scotland Whilst shouting MUM! Caramba!
Legs singing around the big china telephone,
Oh, not done yet mum, last push oh, a final groan!

In number three was the regal princess Anna,
Sitting her bottom in the right royal toilet panner,
Doesn’t poo or squitter but plops gold nougats and diamonds,
But now and again squeezes out a wee fly one – prrrrrrrp.

Ahh, but beauty and innocence and at all times happy,
Fires off Faye as she fills the day’s number ten nappy,
Still smiles when in action, young enough not to care,
This is fun mum, where am I, what’s going on,
Who knows where??
Anybody there?

Ah’ve been here for ower 70 Years, an’ Ah can mind the day we left
The day Jimmy Shaw rode doon the street
Safe in, wavin’ tae his folks above the shop
Proud as any young man ye’d meet
But aye it’s been a while
But aye it’s been a while

We’ve come a long way, an Ah’ve no been hame
But have thocht o’ you often a’ the same
Some who Ah know are off tae meet their maker
And some who who are hingin’ oan an’ enjoyin’ a wee dram
An some who Ah’ve never set ma eyes oan
You are the fresh corn o’ the dale

But Ah was weel travelled as Ah ken some o’ you hae been
Fechtin wars in foreign parts
African sands o’ gold and in French fields o’ green
But Ah mind yin time in Normandy, where it a’ came back tae me
The bodies lyin’ a’ around, the flooers o’ your forest a’ wee’d
The sense in it Ah couldnae see

But then up went the shout clear and loud
‘Jeddart’s here’ he shouted proud
‘Bonnie Lauderdale’ Ah shouted up Ah full stood
‘Aye, Gala’s here an’ aw’, the pipes and drums they did us proud
Aye but no afore the shout o’ ‘guid auld Hawick’ split the sky
Then Kelsae, Langholm, Duns, Coldstream and Selkirk were shouted high

We as Borderers stood side by side and we thought of home and of you
Sure all Australians but that day Borderers true
An’ Ah closed my eyes for a second and Ah could see the mother and child
On that Royal and Ancient banner of blue
And true on that day some of our brothers died
The band didn’t play Waltzing Matilda

But as Ah write Ah want to know that you, you all here tonight
Arrived frae a’ toons, friendship true
To all ma friends in Lauderdale a special g’day to you,
Ah guess Ah don’t’ know you, but Ah think Ah really do
You’ll forgive an auld exile a tear as he pens this tale
Aye Ah’m awa’, but Ah’m no’
Aye it’s been a while.

Yours sincerely Bonnie Lauderdale

Hush mon,
Hear whats no’ there,
Nae band,
Nae boom boom boom,
Nae stane oan thir land,
Yet,
No yet dugs barkin, weans larkin, freends parkin’, bacon sparkin’,
Tyin’ ties, rollin’ colours, peened hats, kissin’ mothers,
A’done, th’shinin’ boots, leather, flasks and silvers,
Kerchiefs, breakfast beer taken, prood badges, peened wi’ blethers,
Picters dusted, memories ca’ed, excited friends a’ gather .

Noo , ca’ the Band……..
Base, boom, boom, boom!!

Till time is ca’ed,
Oh Sic’ a day!
Sic’ a day mon!

Noo, hush again, listen, hear it,
Nae band.

Till we ca’ again.

Plus Ca Change…

Far north, I sit in, on, a field,
Where once a battle in war took place,
1746,
When in Edinburgh, at the same damned time,
Enlightened men, talking of high things,
In the School of Common Sense, they claimed,
Supped wine and ale through hot air and curiosities,

And now the wind whistles through the stubble of this field,
As I lie inhaling the scented remains,
Of the day where, inches below me,
They fertilise this land at what cost?
Immovable.

There is a whiff, today, of something the same,
In the Capital, polished, bleached seats of reason,
In the, supposedly, peoples home of enlightened thoughts,
While outside, in our war zone,
A battle rages, a war,
People are lost,
And the remains smell of the familiar.

Supping wine and ale through hot air with toothless curiosity.

I prefer Caithness in the winter, dawn comes at a more convenient time.”
A time when grand things can and will occur,
Fine people will collide and good and decent things will be done,
Done for us without looking back at the why, who and wherefore,
For such grace is blessed upon us by friends who don’t need us to know they are there.
There are few of us, scattered like centuries old clan chiefs.
Chief amongst us is you, for I keep an eye on you especially,
Especially because you are heartbeat to me, to my Caithness, beautiful to me,
To me every day and when dusk falls, curiously at a convenient time,
A time I am already looking forward to because I can walk the croft, when dawn arrives again.
Again at a more convenient time.

FOR GREENLAW WI.

Honestly, I tend just to drive on through,
Tae Castrum, Dunce, Orange Lane, Paxton and Berwick upon Tweed,
Places to aim for, but me, nah, seldom resting in Grinlay.
So far nae need.

No till this day, traffic stopped ‘hint a cooncil truck,
Takin’ ages, or so it seemed, just oor luck
Oan Duns road, headin’ up the hill,
As ah say, oan this occasion, m’motor stopped, standin’ totally still.

Ah looked to ma right, and there it was, solid standin’,
Ah’d seen it often, mind, paid nae attention,
Today though it’s demandin’.
That ah gie it thought and consideration,
What had gone on here across the generations?

This muckle toon ha, surely the grandest aroon,
A mark o’ life past in this auld 16th Century first Coonty toon,
When it was Coonty Ha’, then it wisnae, then it was, then 20th Century it wisnae since mair,,
Duns stole it back, title n’aw, people kent high up people, the way it’s aye been. No’ fair.

But this Hall, a piece of auld Greek, sae grand and surely full of grand tales,
A place to gaither, dance, laugh, love and later hold furnit’yer sales,
After haein’ a dook in the underfloor pool, whit? Believe it?
This piece of auld Greece, important? Aye, just a bit.

Along wi twa pubs, a gable kirk, a handfae o’ shops, farmin’ and horseriding,
Tales o Polish sodjers workin’, playin’ fitba, fallin’ in love and, well, some bidin’.
The memorial stone prood at the front, in it’s right place, markit wi’ names,
Those who gave up thi’r day so we could have oor’s, time and time again

Keeping the symmetry o’ this hall, this grand place, the building and folks faces,
It’s everyones responsibility to do whit we can with all good graces,
To savour the voices of days gone by, this centre o’ community,
Treasure this place, it’s stories, heartbeat, give it life with impunity.

As the Castle Kings still echo in the auld hotel,
‘Times drooned oot by the London bus, cups ‘o tea n’all
The organ in the theatre rattles up the close to the Fairbairn hall,
The Blackadder bubbles awa’ tae the Tweed, mother nature turnin’ oan the rise and fall,
Ah hope the new bairns and folks o’ Grinlay know what they’ve got,
This toon ha’!
A huge symbol, best in the Berwickshire pot.

Oh, here we go, the Cooncil lorry has had it’s lunch, finished their break, including a half ‘oor v.a.t and wi’ good measure,
I look at the cars in the queue, wonder if others had noticed this undervalued beast o’ a treasure,
I pull away, mental note tae m’sel, that all places hae journeys, history and a’ o’ lifes fragilities,
Ho! Think aboot it Grinlay!
Yer People, yer Place, yer Possibilities.

Oh, and yer Toon Ha!

LAUDERDALE

What is it?
This Lauderdale?
What is it,
This place?
What is it,
This possibility?

So, what is it?

Well, its the past
Its the present,
Its here and its now
Its the Leader flowing,
Past the trees that bow,
The fields o’ a’ colours,
Gods garden ,y’might say,
Green shoots o’ recovery,
Every year, every day,

What is it,
This grand green place,
Well, look,
Its in every tear,….
Every laugh,……
Every face,

Its the glens,
The cleughs,
The neuks,
The burns,
The woods,
The flo’ers,
The roads that turns,
Like veins where true blood will flow,
To yer hame, to yer loved,
That’s what matters,
You know…!!!!

Its Oxton,
Its Blainslie,
its Dods,
Its Boon,
Its Westruther,
Woodheads ‘n bits ‘a around.

Aye its the places, the toon ha’, church steeple,
But a place is a wilderness……. without us,
The people..
Wains and ma’s,
Grandma and pa,
Brithers, sisters,
Cousins and a’….
Friends o’ a ages,
New and aye bin,
Bakers, postman, polis and servers ‘o sin!!

And happy times minglin’ wi’ tears,
O times remembered, ower yer years,
But wi’ laughter in charge,
We continue tae toil,
Aye spreading oor seed,
Everyday, tendin the soil,
That runs through oor fingers,
Wi banes, blood and soul,

Aye the soul,
O,those who laughed and wept afore us,
So we could live ‘n love,
Hear the mornin’ chorus,
And yince a year escape frae realities,
And salute the young symbol,
O the future,
Oor place ,
Oor people,
Oor possibilities.

Gaither at the toon ha’
And ride a’ around,
Tendin the cairn,
Rightin’ the boonds.
And at the memorial stane,
A’ hushed…. riders, horses, hoonds.
The meenister says,
Raise yer eyes, just a crack,
At the riderless horses,
Boots facing back,
To gie us this day,
For those born, those lived and those past,

Wis it worth it,
Wis it worth it,
Nae doubt…
But ye must aye ask.
An’ raise oor eyes again,
Lift the serious mask.

An breathe in Lauderdale,
An march doon the road for the day,
An think, just for a second, ask yersel ‘n say,
So what is it?
What is it?
What is it?
Wi humility ‘n good grace
Its the people,
The possibilities in this,
Oor place,
Its the glens ,
the neuks,
the cleughs,
the burns.
The woods,
the flo’ers,
the roads that turn

In the soil,
The spirit,
its the hert,
The History,
The stories gan by,
The shroud o mystery.
That feeds the sun,
The greenery
And the scenery
So we stop and ask oursels,
Wi a passin’ kiss
Why?

This Lauderdale?
Well,

It just is,
It just is,
It just is.

Is there Another place,

And moment,

And feeling,

Like this? …….

Nope.

This

Is..
Bliss.

Embraced by this Greek Parosian rock,

I share a space in the smallest of village squares,

Where the heart of this isle beats.

Collectively, chatteringly, powerfully,

Families break bread, sharing all,

Before the big match, the tradition,

Hosts and distant Ottoman cousins travel,

The two year cycle turns, they begin.

A face off.

Intensely, precisely, passionately, carefully,

Skillfully, colourfully, emotionally, respectfully,

Completely challengingly, presenting each other,

They dance.

The island emigrants reel, weaving small careful steps,

Fingers entwined in ribboned sea waves, our home, Ottoman home

The jig and marching line of the visiting refugee clans,

Crossing, claiming mountains, rivers, driven on to Ottoman enclave.

Eyes meet, music booms and cheers rise to the church spires,

We strangers, alert to unspoken histories, tied in watching flattering steps,

Celebrations loom in shared company of jig’s and reels,

Painting our journeys, for sure, here, take this hand.

Such life, such heart, such beauty.

For sure Mr Bogart, like you,

I’ll always have Paros.

Sh, shoosh, shoosh, the tumbling stones,
Heaven here, walking alone,
Sand, seaweed, old fish bones,
This is the way to be,
Secret world, sky to sea,
My people, these places, our possibilities,
Big animal, swaying, watching over me,
This is the way to be.

The Last Doorstep in the Street

The black’nin, the top step bowed in the middle,
Yin big memory stane o’ years o’ in and oot!
Whole clans and orphans leaping on and over,
Hungry workers and starvin’ weans racin’ yin anither.
Neighbours laughs and tears, fa’in a’ aboot.

Wars and famine, rent raids and scally men,
Beady eyed loan sharks, widows, bleary, teary eyed,
Mother clutching telegram, fu’ o’ someone else’s regret,
The whole street knew it was Erchie, like,
The whole street knew the postman’s bike.

Staggering redundo parties, men emptying envelopes,
Starting the screamin’, bleedin’, mendin’.
Bruising stramash, searching the pubs for florins unspent,
A shericking, the only victory for her, for now, back to bruises, jeesoh,
Cross the step, the next chapter, door slams shut, neebors eyes drop.

Moonlandings, Fab Four break, hearts are planted, presidents are lost,
Merry Xmas launched …forever, it’s true, same wi’ ABBA and Waterloo,
The step, held fast, and Mrs. kept it clean, loving the first foot footprint,
Sign of escapism for a while, folks wishing for better days,
No’ asking why a new year wid be different, anyway, who says?

Every year, dusty footsteps thinned, the shiny step still beckoned in,
Life cracked on, people passed, ‘How ye doin?’, no one asked,
Stooped and hopeful, deaf to realities, oiled the step, practicalities,
Last step in the street, where are the folks she used to meet?
Shadows in mind, faces long gone, her eyes narrowed, a teary greet.

Faces flashed by, last glisten in the eye, She fell forward,
Barely moved as she knelt, last breath on the step,
Found sheltering her black bun and shortie from the rain of the day,
We didn’t know her name, the last step in our street, no one could say.
Weird, there was six sets of footsteps in dust as they took her away.

Tuf Shoes, Compass, in the heel,
Timpson shooting stars, boots on the field,
Essentials of English, 10 times repeat, repeat,
Corner shop, MB bars, other sweets,
Flying saucers, Soor plooms, Sweet tatties, Kola Kubes,
Sports mix, pineapple drops, penny chews, sherbert tubes.

Heidie McDonald, ginger white hair,
Gruff, ready Lewisman, he cared,
Mrs Mathieson, teacher, United us, she cared.
Kind ladies in the kitchen, they cared
In the class, Scotland 1 Italy 0,
Mr Wragg – it was big thing to do, he cared,
Now I get it, I get it still, huge moments,
Get it out there, respect, we can care.

Open to adventures,
Dalry pool, bus, noise, wee adventures,
Woolies broken biscuits, threepence a bag,
Edinburgh schools football select, wide eyes,
The choir, the theatre club, art and stories!
SS Canberra, fjords of Norway,
Cruise dad couldn’t afford, yet….
He went all the way. I get it now, he cared.

Background Beatles singing, black and white,
For sure, those times, Astoria,
A shelter for the the flickering Hard Days Night.
Carole Summers and her long blonde hair,
And eyes of blue…..? I wanna hold your hand!
Eleanor Hogg….a smile , a smile too….far
For the Qualy dance. Girls? No, not a clue.
Friends? Really? Where do they go?
Punches, names, kicks, slaps,
What people do and why, the big lesson begins,
Off to the big school,
Moon walk, decimal coins, outdoor success, mountain disaster,
Growing, growing, learning lessons, some never asked for,
For, now I know, it was the end of the prologue, start of the story,
The introduction to that lifelong condition, imperfect glory!

Today, 2 seats along, sat a man,
Of long wispy white hair,
Max Wall sides,
Berghaus jacket, 15 litre sac, sensible shoes,
On his own, alone, with himself,
Clicking with the computer in the museum,
Learning more,
Remembering less,
Affirming anything, everything,
Building his glass case.
Now I see there are only two seats to go.

Politicians vote for themselves, crop huge reward,
Make rules for poor folks, war fodder,
He frog like smiles at poor folks who cheer back as they get poorer,
Voting for the Pringle pullover dressed chap who opened the coffee morning,

Raising mites for said poor folks who knitted the teapot covers,
With their own scraped homespun wool,
Said politician selects best doyley, drop scone and garden in a tea cup,
He picked mine, nice man that!

Tombola…
He’s picked mine, nice man that,
Said he liked the builders tea, loved the scones ’n raspberry jam,
Nice man that,

D’ye ken him? No’ really, goes to London though,
Swops coffee morning proletariat tales in the members bar,
Members tea bar?
Aye, nae tea, nae real folks, just worthless upstanding members,

Slavers mingle close to home and far away.
Personally, I’m against h.
But he got us a grant to hire the bus for the Spring trip,
Aye nice man that.

Absolutely, said the 7 year old newsreader on BBC Scotland,
Absolutely, said the yummy mummy right back,
Absolutely, going to use fresh herbs from now on,
Absolutely, we shouldn’t spend so much on nuclear bombs,
Absolutely, own brand baked beans are fine,
Absolutely, teeth brushing twice a day I say,
Absolutely, the UK government should stop sending cash to water aid,
Absolutely, Gaelic is a waste of time,
Absolutely, my daughter must go to uni, study rare languages,
Absolutely, working from home a must, if I had a job,
Absolutely, making Lapsang for the carer looking after the kids,
Absolutely, looking at Barbadian holidays. Go? If I could I would,
Absolutely, I’d bring back Laura Ashley, local prints,
Absolutely, men should be allowed to travel with the Lions tour,
Absolutely, they need a capitalist break,
Absolutely, maybe a suitably distanced week at Stobo?
Absolutely, they don’t need an extra twenty quid, Universally benefiting,
Absolutely, they don’t know how to use caviar in the food bank bags,
Absolutely, football pundits are worth every penny,
Absolutely, the young dark chap is dishy and cute,
Absolutely, women get a shot now, even asking questions,
Absolutely, we know how to share, men don’t,
Absolutely, I’d tell you if I had vaginal herpes,
Absolutely, I’d share my downloads of Peter Crouch laughing,
Absolutely, my husband collects 6 inch models of Kylie Minogue, they’re neat,
Absolutely, the Prime Minister is a fraud, liar, thief, imposter, mysoginist,
Absolutely, midges are back in the garden, I blame the roses,
Absolutely, banana bread did the thing, broke records,
Absolutely, clapping was all we needed to do, more than enough,
Absolutely, 1% is a big enough raise for these people,
Absolutely, can’t wait for a Prosecco, a wee chablis,
Absolutely, celebrate the end of the covid thing,
Absolutely, eh, what is the covid thing?
Absolutely!
Absolutely!

If I leave the huge ‘I’m sorry’,

To near the last page,

What a monster, a leviathan, it will be,

With warts and teeth, embroiled in wasted floating debris,

Such shame, humiliation, heart stabbing guilt,

Away y’all, tears shed under the family quilt,

Of course I didn’t mean to hurt, or steal or hit,

Just playing the game, I wanted to win a bit,

Broke a heart, cracked in a million places,

Tears like mountain falls stinging grim faces,

Come on, man, shake the dust off last page,

‘Mind the cheers, goals scored, kiss exchange.

Looking back, that old line,’Well nobody died’,

Could be scattered around, truth is, too many cried,

So there will be no huge ‘Sorry’ in a pile,

Just lonely regrets and sorries, receipted, mile after mile.

If it pleases, tear one off the fluttering ticker tape end,

I’ll call your number when you’re ready, time to mend,

When we meet, I hope we can see that there is nothing to say,

Lets rest down, look back briefly, we made our beds, this where we can lay.

Politicians vote for themselves, crop huge reward,
Make rules for poor folks, war fodder,
He frog like smiles at poor folks who cheer back as they get poorer,
Voting for the Pringle pullover dressed chap who opened the coffee morning,

Raising mites for said poor folks who knitted the teapot covers,
With their own scraped homespun wool,
Said politician selects best doyley, drop scone and garden in a tea cup,
He picked mine, nice man that!

Tombola…
He’s picked mine, nice man that,
Said he liked the builders tea, loved the scones ’n raspberry jam,
Nice man that,

D’ye ken him? No’ really, goes to London though,
Swops coffee morning proletariat tales in the members bar,
Members tea bar?
Aye, nae tea, nae real folks, just worthless upstanding members,

Slavers mingle close to home and far away.
Personally, I’m against h.
But he got us a grant to hire the bus for the Spring trip,
Aye nice man that.

It’s Probably Nothing at All.

How are you doing? The waiting room faces ask,
Fine, I say,
That’s the answer that aye satisfies the task,
Even though I’m here, clearly not fine at all,
Soon to be told ‘it’s a virus, nothing we can do,’
Or ‘it’s probably nothing at all.’

How can that be?
Probably nothing at all?
Put down Golf Monthly, Readers Digest, What Food Mixer,
(Who buys these?)
Read the posters on the waiting room wall.

From right to left,

Watch out for meningitis, strike (1) any time,
Keep them up, the cervical tests
Jings, don’t get septicemia,
Meanwhile mind, aye check yer breasts.

Cancer, strike (2) any time,
Smoking kills, watch the signs.

Unsightly rash? STD’s abound.
No, no’ frae the toilet seat,
But frae foolin’ around.

If your losin’ yer sight – Read this!! – the sign says.
Malaria kills in the Borders!!!
Watch the fireworks, where the wee one plays.

Watch yer feet, avoid being crippled
Breast feedin the wains? Watch for split nipple.
Maybe a phobia? Come in, avoid your fears
Dont go deaf..
I say again, keep things out of yer ears.

Dying soon? Thought ‘o organ donation?
Obese? Lose weight..could be your salvation.

Swine flu a worry? Could be deadly
Tinnitus, tinnitus, tinnitus……..a suffering musical medley,

Heart attack? Overweight kills.
Blood pressure thro’ the roof?
Keep taking the pills.

Osteoarthritis, brittle bones
Leave you in the chair.
Alopeacia, losin’ yer hair.

Now I’m cheery, a fine fun filled wall,
All done bar one.
After all these scares, all these hassles.
Whats the last one say?
“Have a nice day out at Thirlestane Castle”.

Why not?
After all, it’s probably nothing at all.

Silence in the hall, shoe shifting silence,

Pay attention class, 1800 less 5, carry 1,

Don’t show the workings

Blurry images fade and dissolve, 50 years ago this day

Cairngorm.

The red tops had their blame say, huge print,

Councillors had their blame day, huge ego’s,

Somewhere parents wept, wailed,

Not possible, not mine, not here, not us,

The world changed forever, lost lives, bone scraping silence,

The Heidy said pay attention, cemented the news,

Sobbing, echoed, hard men didn’t know what to do,

Friends of, said ‘ I was supposed to be there’,

The dolphin leapt, pride in a badge, leading to

Funerals, long trail of lost friends crept slowly in,

Red and gold blazing, graveside straining, recalling faces,

The beginning of 650 years of parent grieving,

Through a lifetime of missed events,

Somewhere Slade would wish us merry Christmas,

For the first time, then for ever,

20’s, a world pandemic, teenties, naughties, 90’s, 80’s, 70’s.

House buying, jobs crisis, miners battered by police,

Prime Minister started a war to save herself,

Billionaires bankrupt the country, bankroll selves,

Corrupt politicians re write the law to suit,

Europe stood by and watched a war in it’s backyard,

A terrorist bomb blew up over a wee Borders town,

Battles of independence were won and lost,

We were food parcelled, as the Rees-Mogg brigade got richer,,

Every year a few words on Facebook,

This year it’s fifty years, why so special?

For us, ‘cos we won’t see the next 50, 21st November 2021 it is,

We will recall, the silences, the parents , the pals,

Our school, now flats, sporting venue,

Education sold for profits, it’s what we do now,

Ainslie, the oasis of safety for many,

From many difficult times, places people that offer refuge,

But shadows left wrapped around iron fences,

Other spaces that fulfilled dreams, changed lives,

We were part of something, even for a short while,

First North Edinburgh then scattered across the world,

Trailing memories with, questions asking why.

Why these children?

Why a leaping dolphin?

Last night a wind fae Lauderdale came roarin’ up the glen,

Bearin’ shouts O’ Cornets past and laughs O’reckless men,

Struck a stane doon on the cairn and cried in Rebel glee,

Come forth come forth my Lauder men, and ride the march wi’ me.

We are the winds O’ Lauderdale, lets mount them up wi pride,

Lets not forget the empty horses, we’re ghosts O’ men that died,

The floods are doon the washin’ burn, the moss is fetlock deep,

Drive on, Wind O’ Lauderdale, while Ercildoune will sleep

RIDING THEM HIGH,
RIDING THEM LOW,
THE RIDERS FAE LAUDERDALE.

Out spoke the wind O’ Lauderdale, ye ken the roads richt grand,

The road that runs down round the toon, across our common land,

There is no man among all the men in this grey windthrawn troop O’ mine,

Can lead ye round yer Borderland, that man ye’ll have tae find.

While horses fretted on their bits and pawed the flints tae fire,

Lauder gathered to the North full faced in their desire,

Come, said the wind O’ Dabs Hood End and spoke Fu’ forcefully,

Lauder, choose yer man to mount and ride, as yer faither’s did for me.

RIDING THEM HIGH,
RIDING THEM LOW
THE RIDERS FAE LAUDERDALE.

Roan mount to the gate they led, foam fleck’t and travelled true,

Aye, we had found leader, he carried the flag true blue,

Then followed the sounds o’ roarin’ men riding up the glen,

Two by two saluted that troop of ghostly men.

Cross common land and Whiteknow End, drink at the watering stane,

Memories shared and futures blessed, a stane upon the cairn,

Heid’s boo’ed tae ghosts again, head off soon the street,

Cheerin oor flag safe back in, wi’ a’ the folks we meet.

RIDING THEM HIGH,
RIDING THEM LOW,
THE RIDERS FAE LAUDERDALE

RIDING THEM HIGH,
RIDING THEM LOW,
THE RIDERS FAE LAUDERDALE.

I drop things, everything,

Then I drop…..

Damn, the pen…..

Banged my head, stubbed my toe,
That pain that rests a second or two,
Before you shout, ‘Jees , whoa!.
Wow, watch the birthday cake go!

Bendin’ down, scrape the bake,
Rebuild the idea of a roundish cake,
Ach no, down go the slices,
On my shoe, in amongst the laces,

Lemon drizzle, Victoria sponge ’n jam,
Naw, c’mon, the rug, ach tripped again,
Damn, like an echo, slow motion,
A movie, hits the floor, the floor, the floor,

I drop everything now, makes me cry,
Old and slowly declining,
I can tell, in the flicker of a good minds eye,
Kids don’t see it clearly, they don’t ask why,

So learn to cope with truths, tears,
For as long as I measure time in years?
People vanishing around, things falling down,
Ach, pens, cutlery, cup, toast, letters, pants,

Symbols of my living, being, doing, sitting.
Having done,

That’s, this is about it.

Three horses,
Oneness, Reason, Compassion,
Sincerity, Truth, Honesty,
The cavalry.

Step up, choose your ride,
Fairness, Authenticity, Loyalty,
Courage, Justice… stay on the near side,
Become who you are, who you can be,
The Art of Existence, never adequacy,

Inspire within,

If the word is ethics, and its meaning is justice,
And grand deeds found amongst us, in our people,
Help us to miss madness, sadness,
Find contentment, gladness.

Stop tilting at windmills, atop an ass,
Time devouring all around us,
Carousel turns, dipping and rising,
I don’t lose all of my races,
As I ride my mounts to my ticker line.
The flag falls.
Home.

If,
If I knew then what I know now,

I’d have kissed you,
Longer, softer, slower and deeper.

These things I know now,
I now know,

Don’t last forever.

Never had the choice to be rich or poor,
But when I popped out, there were, skulking in the background,
Beyond the close up, temporary, smiling faces,
Grey faced, grey suited guys,
Opening but mostly closing, shutting doors.
In my face.

Whiles, they checked out the weight of my spoon.

They directed me down the road more travelled,
Following the herd, reminding me that this is what will be, meant to be,
While, with a sparkled eye, lopsided smirk,
Whispering to a few that,
‘Maybe, just maybe, for you,
There can be a different road, if you behave.’ He frowned.
The man in the suit said he would let me know,
He was optimistic, he said, as he departed.

Further down the road, I heard from someone else,
In an identical suit,
That I’d missed my chance,
So I stopped and asked why?
‘Because, just because, don’t ask questions,
Now, run along, back on the drove road’.
Patting my head, shouting ‘In bye’.

Damn, I stood my ground,
Damn your eyes,
Damn your cowardice,
Damn your suits,
Damn your lies.
Damn your two tailed coin.
Tumbled down the other road as they ran to stop me,
In their grey shapeless suits.
Turning, towards them, looking in their pale eyes,
‘Don’t think about going there, back away,
I’ll pull your suits to the ground,
And trample them into this road.

Ah! What comes after, well, follows
Twenty eight?
Twenty eight what?
You, muse, reflect, wonder, contemplate,
Twenty eight diamond starry nights?
Twenty eight switched on Christmas lights,
Twenty eight, oh! deep breath! near, near misses,

Twenty eight holding hands, with Twenty eight cool, cool kisses?

Twenty eight stolen glances,
Twenty eight taken chances,
Twenty eight, I wish, Paris France’s,
Twenty eight slow, slow inSeine dances?
Twenty eight stolen hours,
Twenty eight ‘I love you’, long stemmed flowers?
Twenty eight your babies’ faces,
Twenty eight Thanks and Graces,

Twenty eight sighs, we’re, unco happy! Even with Twenty eight firsts, fills o’nappy?

Twenty eight ‘glad ye’r all here’

Twenty eight hugs, unwrapped, uncorked, Christmas cheer,

Twenty eight lines, Auld Lang Syne,
Twenty eight glances, ‘I’m glad you’re mine’?
Twenty eight It’s just you and me,
Twenty eight sunrises o’er a sea,

Twenty eight deep sea dives, Twenty eight rockin’ disco jives?

Twenty eight first times ever, Twenty eight Choos, all red leather.

Twenty eight groovy smoochy love songs, Twenty eight lines c’est notre chanson.

Twenty eight? So what does follow on?
It all does,

The adventures are in your hands, Happy birthday!!

Go, sing your own song!

The day records began,
Was a busy day.
Beginning records for everything is a grand task,
And since we began the records task,
“ Is this the highest, longest, wettest that’s ever been,
Since records began?”
Is all we continue to ask.
Jings.

My friends are dying, To remind me,

that,

I have, in the grand swing of things,
Moments to live,
Left,
And they remind me that
One day I’ll be a friend
Who passed, reminding you,
Of your moments,
Left to live…..
Right?

Son,
I saw your grandad’s ankles today,

Hanging, five wrinkles each,
At the end o’ my legs,

I swear he was older than this, when he had them, Or so my memory, albeit fading, says.

(I took down all of the mirrors in the house,
Some years since, truth be said,
Couldn’t fit in them any longer – or wider – ,
I got a fright every night as I stumbled on to bed.)
So as a dad, maybe it’s time to hold a stocktake,
From these heirloom ankles up to my hair.
Freckled legs, wobbly knees, thighs just sitting,

A rounded, extended middle, hiding something down there, Swamped by two great hurdies, mind,

Just as well, I can’t see them, they follow me behind. A stomach you could eat pies off,

Reflecting, that might have been the initial ‘it’s all downhill’ sin’, All overshadowed by D cup, pencil holding mamories, Topped off by three, maybe four rolling versions, Of what is increasingly loosely, called a chin.

Remember though that I love you.

The lines, as a ventriloquist doll, fall down,
From a mou’, with sparkle free molars, just hanging around,
The self made mouser under the off centre nose,
Lead up to birds feet, Buzzards, turkeys, eagles, crows,
That focus the e’en, often disguised by lenses in frames,
Under caterpillar eyebrows, legging in several directions,
The eleven wrinkled forehead frown marks doing exactly the same.
Under a still haired but muckle heid, hats are seldom seen,
Silver for the most part, some say grey,
(Personally, I go for ‘distinguey’.)
Surrounding a thinning fifty pence piece of loss,
Where once lay a crown fit for a king.
The hands bear marks of life, of graft and emotion,
Wrinkled, knuckled appendages, conduits of lifes seven oceans,
Caught you when you fell, let go when you set sail,
Hands, yep, tell the deep story, the quest for the living grail.
So that’s it son, for the most part, all true,

Though you’re cycling, running, swimming and climbing just now, All of this is en route to you.

I know you’ll be excited, so theres little more to say.
Except, it no longer stands for ’D’ye Need Anything?

Yep, it’s all yours, no, don’t say a word, no need to thank me, you are welcome, really,

It’s just DNA.
Love,
Yer Dad.

200 year old poem writ this afternoon, 2.00
We vote, I hope you will, on the 18th September, to see whether what we have is what we want, what we need, or what we might have is what we deserve or to see whether things will ever be the same again.
What about our Royal And Ancient Burgh of Lauder and Lauderdale? After the 18th September. Will it be the same again, either way?
David McLennan.
Neverendum

Efter the 18th September…….

Whichever way we go,

Will Lauder be more Laudery,
Will the Leader be more Leadery,
Will the Burnmill be more…..burny,
Will the kids who play there be more playful.
The A68 be faster, speedier, safer
Will the Edinburgh bus be more.. on time, faster, cheerier.
Oor toon hall be more toonhally, times beerier.
Oor school be more schooly, pupily and inspiring
The kirk be more kirkier, the minister be more ministerial…and a permanent hiring!
The church singing be more on key, More Hallelujah – ey
Will the carol singing be more …fabulous, more caroley.
Will oor Sunday school be more warm and welcoming.
Will taking oor folks up the hill be any more sad, solemn,
Will we still come doon, one less than we went up.
Could oor shelterted housing give more shelter, more safety, more warmth, be more friendly.
Will oor public hall wi’ extended toilets be more open,
Will the new hooses sooth o the toon have more trees, mare speed bumps,
And four by fours wi’ nae mud oan.

Will the soft play in the leisure centre have one for adults?
Will oor common ground be mare common, stay common, still be oor common?
Will the sheep graze more grazier, lazier,
Will the yellow oan the hill be mare yellow oan the broom
Will the peoples voice be more respected,
In the democratic room?
Will common sense be mare….. common

Will the drama club be more dramatic
The fitba’ club be even more than 100 players,
The Golf club have more putters n’ daft clothes and silly arguments over how the grass is cut.
Will the boolin club stop kidding us oan that it’s about bowls not beer?
The History Society be mare hysterically historical
Will the Limpers limp oan,
The cyclists puff ‘n groan,

And…
Will the Mother Tweed be Tweedier,
The smell o’ Jasmine and Rose be sweeter,
Will Hawick be more……passionate,
Will Jeddart still shout JEDDARTS HERE?
Can Galas braw lasses possibly be any mare brawer,
Selkirks banners be waved any mare higher and wavier.
Will Melrose house prices still be second to Gattonside in their ridiculousness?
Kelsaes Laddie be mare Laddier, C’astream be mare streamier,
Duns, Linton and Langholm shout mare shoutier, mare prouder,
Will Yetholms Bari Gadge, Bari Manushi be the only ones who can see into this future?

Will we ever have toilets at Tweedbank Station?

Will Scottish Borders Council get a backbone, shout back at thae Edinburghers
Oor national politicians, for once, put their head above the parapet,
Will we do mare of the cooncils work,
Make Lauder mare Bloomier, brighter, warmer.
Will we have pavements that are free of shi…..shiny litter,

Will the boom, boom, boom of the drum on Common Ridin’ Morn be less boomier?
Will oor Cornet be mare….special?!!
Will oor flag fly less….flagier, less proudly,
Will the right and left be less or more supportive?
The waterin stane still hae water, be mare stanier,
And the memorial be more, or less of a memory, mare hazier.
Will the minute silence be more silent, more respectful, more…amazing!
Will the dance of optimism doon the street be any less happier and optimistic n’ ballistic?
Will the flag still be returned unsullied, untarnished,
And a proud Burgh still be …prouder.
Will Bonnie Lauderdale be sang mare than before….we’ll see!
Will anyone know the real story aboot Jeannies black e’ee.
Will Scotland Yet ring true for Lauder yet?
Will we be oot safer, and even safer in?
Will the Chairman of the Common Riding be even more …..full of it.

So on 18th September………

Aye or nay,
Ying or yang,
This or that,
Same or different,
(Definitely different)
More or less,
Curse or bless,
To live life or….? Shrug?
Remember or forget,
Blame or forgive,
Will you…. Win or not

Will Lauder be?
Will Lauder be….?
Will Lauder be?

Aye, so what aboot oor place, oor people, oor possibilities?
Oor dignity, pride, happiness and civilities,
Maybe time to take some responsibility.

Some say you get what you deserve,
One hundred years ago we lost family who died to serve,
So raise oor eyes up,
We might, we must, we will, we can.

Will Lauder be…..?
Which ever way we go,,
It’s in oor hands.

Alba

Hello, hello, it’s me, yer Grandad.
Boogle-ooo!
Boogle-ooo!
Welcome to this, it still is, wonderful world.
This world, this Alba, this place. Come on in.

I’ve been watching the leaves, my leaves, grounded, rustling,
Leaves blowing in driven shaped circles, once budded, green,
Now fallen, tad dry, yet holding still, some shape.
Leaves, veins, fade from green to brown, ‘times stuck in splashing puddles.

Your buds, new, strong, fresh, explosive,
Sticky red with life promise.

Let the adventures commence, the huge moments,
Loaded on memories of fine, simple times passed.
Mum’s of mum’s, dad’s of dad’s and brothers of sisters.
Fine times, fresh buds, time to blossom.

And, y’know, you have a mum and dad who are good people

While I can, I’ll watch over.

All I ask is simply, beautifully,
A kiss on the cheek on Christmas morn’.
All that goes with it.
Whisper it, lets have Christmas every day,

I’ll give you treats when Mum ’n Dad say no,
And when you have a day off school….it’s a grandad day…
You’ll see,
You have my permission.

I’ll take you to m’breast when the wild winds blow,
I will love you deeply, no one else need know,
But they will, all is clear,
We’ll aye speak and smile on Birthdays, with a guinea.

We’ll have a place that’s our favourite place to be,
Somewhere near a green hill, a bubbling river,
Or a sandy spot by the boiling seas.
And Sandy, yer boy, brother, my hand long in one of his, will aye look after you,
As you will be there for him, he’ll offer his free hand,
His touch, honest and forever, to the finishing line.

Never stop dancing on your own, but no need to aye follow the steps,
The footprints, fashion your own, let go of the river bank,
Wow! Persevere in the true currents of…..well, who knows?
As you flow to the sea, singing to your own notes.

All of this time, Maw ’n Paw watching over.

When people deceive on you, for in our world some may,
Be true to yourself, let them own their shame.
Discover that the good folks are, just, ahead of these rogues,
As they have been I think, with, for me.

So, lets go, and aye ‘mind,
Yer Grandads, aye here, where ever that may be,
For when we’re together,
We can forget the rest!
Boogle-ooo!

Are you kissing her or kissing me?

She sat at the end of the street, he didn’t come but she sat there….

Dont sit , it feels like the end, its the open road, a new beginnng!
Years after I heard my mums story of, in Clydebank, of bombs, tears and minor glories.

Anna Grace Macleod

Ah welcome, m’bonnie lass, Anna Grace, perfection,
Gran’wean four, mind, I’m shaking, I hide,
I shelter, from adult clumsiness, to touch,
My ‘not worthy’ status of human kind,
So I shake with everything and nothing but love,
For you, Anna Grace,

The perfect, perfect image that shakes me,
A tear splashes on the photo that flew through my phone,
You are perfect, m’girl, just perfect,
Have I said that?

Rod and Maija will be there,
Of course,
Cavalry on call, we’ll all be there,
Just, in case of….well,
Strength of circle, love and warmth….and stuff!

Anna, there will be beauty, eye goggling wonders,
People with exploding hearts, hope filled imaginations,
You will be of them, exhausted with ‘we can, we will’.
Very wonderful things do happen!

I will see those blue eyes, diamond sparkle,
Matching running waters leading to rivers,
Where the flow takes you, deep pools, unknown depths,
Grandad says, ‘follow your dreams’, nae shaking shivers.

Mind, the rogues and rascals will jig their dances,
Bluntly, lying and bullying, pushing their advances,
Oppressing your people with lying glance,
Face them down, Anna, no fear, no second chance.
Stand together, Anna, full on and sure of stance,

No knee on your neck, choking out air and truth,
Lying politicians will attempt to exploit it’s use,
Good folks are there, find them, persevere,
You’ll never be lost, new beginnings, right here.

Let’s begin.

Hello,
Thanks for comin’.
From airts ’n places,
Hello again…why the long faces….?
After the times we’ve had,
The adventures found, the journeys,
To the best, the greatest of places.
No need to hang down dog, horsey face, stare at the floor,
Counting the screws in the name plates once more,
Horsey faces? For different places,
We all failed yet rallied and won,
And together chased good graces,
Laughed and cried, laughed again,
When another crashed from The TEN.
We carried each others pieces, put them back together,
When everything and nothing mattered, weathered the weather,
You, just you….and me.
No home, no car, no toys, no TV,
No celebrity, no power, no Julia Roberts voices,
You, me and what we have – our joined up choices,
To love or not to love – that’s what the question should be,
You know the answer,
It’s in the heart,
You see?

It’s in the place that won’t die away,
Sun, cold, storm says all we’ll say,
That I am yours and you’re mine,
Will be ‘till the end of our time,
Time doesn’t end, proof here today,
All fragments, my love, affection
Hey, we did it our way…
Threads of moments, broken apart,
Shattered, broken, ruined?
No never,
Not our heart!

And if any of you have the grace to nod my way today,
From your heart, I want you to say,
That if he did one thing, wi’ no hassle, no fuss,
He knew he had the great fortune to be one, be part of us.
And though pierced by arrows and broken, in two,
Shattered yet mended – we are the glue,
When the house is gone,
Let it be felt, hear our heart in song,
It’s today, tomorrow, forever more,
The laughs, celebrations, life’s swinging doors,
Our heart, our heart, our heart,
Is in all of these places.

So again, my friends,
I ask, with ultimate respect,
Heid’s up,
Why the long faces?

Majestic, screamed silent, by,
Me, holding breath, wide eyed,
It’s gone, in a Royal flash,
Exhale to the Fisher King bird,
Exhale, exhale!!

Whiles ’times, it just works,
The whole o’it,
The line ’n it,
The phrase,
The word o’t,
The breath,
The comma,
The question o’t?,
The wow!’n it.
The tear in’t,
The cheer in’t.
The shadow,
The trip,
The journey.
The leavin’ in’t,
The arriving’ in’t.
Now ye’ve read it,
Tho’, you’ll never ‘a full stop it..’
For why?
Yer secrets in’t.

Be happy this Christmas,
This blissmas,

With peacemas.
And lovemas,

Laughmas,
No tearsmas,

Hugsmas,
‘N cuddlesmas,

Crackersmas,
Gamesmas,

Warmthmas,
Fullmas,

Dreamsmas,
Memoriesmas,

Where e’r you are,
D’you missma’s,

This Christmas?
Happy, peaceful Christmas.

I often wonder how it would be,
To live in a cottage,
On a cliff by the sea,
With a white pailing fence
And a wood swing gate
To a crunchly path,
That crunchles when your late.
And a fisherman gnome,
That smiles,
By a pond, near to the door
Of this place, now I need search no more,
With his friend, Ms. Luverley gnome,
Smiling,
We’d call this home!!

Nod to D McLennan

Efter the 18th September…….2014

Whichever way we go,

Written for the Common Riding Concert 2014 just prior to the Independence Referendum

Will Lauder be more Laudery,

Will the Leader be more Leadery,

Will the Burnmill be more…..burny,

Will the kids who play there be more playful.

The A68 be faster, speedier, safer

Will the Edinburgh bus be more.. on time, faster, cheerier.

Oor toon hall be more toonhally, times beerier.

Oor school couldnae be more schooly, pupily and inspiring

The kirk be more kirkier, the minister be more ministerial…and a permanent hiring!

The church singing be more on key, More Hallelujah – ey

Will the carol singing be more …fabulous, more caroley.

Could oor Sunday school be more warm and welcoming.

Will taking oor folks up the hill be any more sad, solemn,

Will we still come doon the hill, one less than we went up.

Could oor sheltered housing possibly give more shelter, more safety, more warmth, be more friendly.

Will oor public hall wi’ extended toilets be more open,

Will the new hooses sooth o the toon have more trees, mare speed bumps,

And four by fours stay still wi’ nae mud oan.

Will the soft play in the leisure centre have one for adults? Cried a pub?

Will oor common ground be mare common, stay common, still be oor

common?

Will the sheep graze can the hill more grazier, lazier,

Will the colour oan the horizon be mare yellow oan the broom

Will the peoples voice be more respected,

In the democratic room?

Will common sense be mare….. common.

Will the drama club be even more dramatic

The fitba’ club be even more than 100 players,

The Golf club have more putters n’ daft clothes and silly arguments over how the grass is cut.

Will the boolin club stop kidding us oan that it’s about bowls not beer?

The History Society be mare hysterically historical

Will the Limpers limp oan,

The cyclists puff ‘n groan,

And…

Will the Mother Tweed be Tweedier,

The smell o’ Jasmine and Rose be sweeter,

Will Hawick be more……passionate,

Will Jeddart still shout JEDDARTS HERE?

Can Galas braw lasses possibly be any mare brawer,

Selkirks banners be waved any mare higher and wavier.

Will Melrose house prices still be second to Gattonside in their ridiculousness?

Kelsaes Laddie be mare Laddier, C’astream be mare streamier,

Duns, Linton and Langholm shout mare shoutier, mare prouder,

Will Yetholms Bari Gadge, Bari Manushi be the only ones who can see into this future?

Will we ever have toilets at Tweedbank Station?

Will Scottish Borders Council get a backbone, shout back at thae Edinburghers

Oor national politicians, for once, put their head above the parapet,

Will we do mare of the cooncils work,

Make Lauder mare Bloomier, brighter, warmer.

Will we have pavements that are free of shi…..shiny litter,

Will the boom, boom, boom of the drum on Common Ridin’ Morn be less boomier?

Will oor Cornet be mare….special?!!

Will oor flag fly less….flagier, less proudly,

Will the right and left be less or more supportive?

The waterin stane still hae water, be mare stanier,

And the memorial be more, or less of a memory, mare hazier.

Will the minute silence be more silent, more respectful, more…amazing!

Will the dance of optimism doon the street be any less happier and optimistic n’ ballistic?

Will the flag still be returned unsullied, untarnished,

And a proud Burgh still be …prouder.

Will Bonnie Lauderdale be sang mare than before….we’ll see!

Will anyone know the real story aboot Jeannies Black E’ee.

Scotland Yet ring true for Lauder yet?

Will we be oot safer, and even safer in?

Will the Chairman of the Common Riding be even more …..full of it.

So on 18th September………

Aye or nay,

Ying or yang,

This or that,

Same or different,

(Definitely different)

More or less,

Curse or bless,

To live life or….? Shrug?

Remember or forget,

Blame or forgive,

Will you…. Win or not

Will Lauder be?

Will Lauder be….?

Will Lauder be?

Aye, so what aboot oor place, oor people, oor possibilities?

Oor dignity, pride, happiness and civilities,

Maybe time to take some responsibility.

Some say you get what you deserve,

One hundred years ago we lost family who died to serve,

So raise oor eyes up,

We might, we must, we will, we can.

Will Lauder be…..?

Compatibility, riddled with online fallability,
Hunting for tryst and human integrity,
They tell me, virtually, bien sur, absolutely,
‘Ethical living, my kids are my world,
Inspired by grandma, she turls,
All values and beliefs I am,’
No, no surely to cosy nights in,
Keeping fit, marathon mam,
Yeah, with other Greek myths.
JC, are you all Jess Ennis cut outs?
Yah, need to share, but need my space,
Alone for ages, but refound my faith,
Spiritual journeys,
Scream “Oh God!!?” I hope,
Love the outdoors, beaches and hills with the dog,
Beached for a while now, no longer taking the pills,
Hills aside, sounds ideal, settled and calm,
Ambitions to care, share and grow,’
Oh, the perfect man!
Oh, the perfect man!
So ether we do or ether we don’t,
Words fly back, all is grand,
Two days later, ready to go, ‘Citygirl’ clicks in,
Well almost, as computer defaults, as afore,
Says “No!”

What happens under a tortoise shell?

Aye, inside, where the bits go, all gone?

Paddle feet, beaky nose, clip on tail,

One time all there, next time none.

Well connected, Testudinese so grand,

Vishnu halfmantortoise,

Symbol of God Hermes,

We’re not turtles, just fine on land.

Travelling at point two, zero point five K’s,

Bashing each other, 0i! got something to say?

But shining rings hint a ladies age, one other thing,

Under the shell is where we dance laugh and sing.

The rings vibrate to the sounds vibed inside,

Drums, brass and strings, percussion on the side,

Torts all gathered to dance, hop and break,

Watch the rings shimmy and shake.

Hypnotised, watchin’ shaking’ rings,

Spin as Frank, Elvis, Nat, Dusty, Tom sings,

Gathered masses giving it all they’ve got,

Steppin’ back doing the esio trot, the esio trot

The esio trot, esio trot, esio trot,

Giving it backwards, all we’ve got.

Stare at the rings, stare at the top,

Be cool, doing the esio trot

Back we go, electric dance, punk, hokum blues, trance,

Honky tonk, dubstar, garage, soul, acid rock, new romance,

Jazz funk, rap, heavy metal, cajun, bluegrass, hiphop,

Ambient techno, avante gards, Celtic, grime, brit pop,

Opera, bluegrass, reggae, house, blues and folk,

Honky tonk, acid rock, trad-jazz, karaoke talk.

So, not much going down? Look at the rings-a-vibing,

Acid trance, ambient dub, gangsta rap, cajun hopping,

Back-bump-back, bump-back-bump, aye, the esio trot,

Acid house, hokum blues, bubblegum dance, yep, got the lot,

Got the lot? The Esio Trot, shaking the booty, rings on top,

Doing the bumping dance to the New Romance, Rhythm and bop,

Heavy metal, heavy rock, letting the bat out of hell,

Esio Trot time? Squint your eyes, take a look at a the dancing shell.

Would you like to Esio Trot?

Esio Trot, doing the Esio Trot, Esio Trot, Esio Trot,

Doing it right, you’ve got the lot,

Move back wards now, do the Esio Trot.

December, ostrich feathered branches,
Swooshing on the rain shimmering Yew tree,
Overlapping like Tiller girls disguising assets,
Protecting a domain, they alone have the key.

The winter wind rolls the waves, a shaky shield,
In a hypnotic power of nature flawless harmony.
I sit and wonder how that works, the waves,
I stare, the click and clack ’n clack sing loud to me.

Bhuuff, shimmy shake, both sides swell full round,
Neckless, no ostrich, piercing weapon out front,
Pushing through waves of Yew, two spindles hold it’s ground,
Shake the head, huh, breathe in, I’m back, click-clack the sound,

Boudicca, Boudeecca, Boudiccaaaaah, Boudiccaaaaaahhh!
Warrior Queen, Boudicca, see her reclaim this fiefdom,
Eyes see all, spear ready, outriggers puffed to go,
The cavalry behind the feared Queen as she lets us know,

Red breasted shield, Boudicca, look once, go again,
Red breast to your face, worthy of ten women,
Only her, no fawning brothers, the Queen with sharp eyes,
Means business, my place, danger, red warning, petite size.

Only one Queen, one land, with one shield I stand,
None other dare invade, red warning shouts so grand,
I say only once, to you all, near, far,
’Tis mine, this fiefdom, I am Red Breast Robin Boudicca.

Find me whar’ ye daur!

Time.

Just give me more time, if only I had more time,

How much do you need, I asked, time passes?

Time to let it happen naturally, so I can feel some control,

Time and control? It won’t play that game, don’t think so.

I have little left, time that is, I want to share it with him,

Stop wasting this on me then, take breath, breathe it in,

What if I’m not ready and I get it wrong if I say yes.

Then, my fine friend, time will stop, you’ll know, I guess.

Bong jooer lass, said the wee man
Monsieur, vous voudrais quelque chose?
Whit? Aye, jay widlike a bee-yer
A bier? Bien sur, quelle marque?
Naw, jist a bier! Ahm thirsty ken,
Hey big man, said the wee man, whit’s ‘thirsty’?
Jai soif, like swaff, I think
Aye lass goata jayswaff, hey big yin, gies a hand wi these drinks
Sure, whits going on?
Help wi the French, ken,
Jist a beer?
Naw, some wines ’n aw, ’n some biers, fower biers, whits that?
Quatre bier, si’l vous plait,
But whit’s the French? Jings hard work, this travellin’,
Quatre bier, ah jist said it
Whit’s a cat got to do with it?
Jees, nothing, quatre is the number four,
Fower? Is it, ah’ll gie it a try – fower biers please, lass,

Big mans four fingers shot up behind his wee heid,
The barmaid nodded, opened four, lay them down,
See! That wisnae so hard, noo, ah want some wines ’n’aw,
Oh aye, red or white? The big man queried.
Fower tumblers, two ridd, two white,
OK try this – doo van rooj, doo van blonk,
Doo, like a doo, a homin’ doo?Aye peckin?
Eh? Well, aye gie it a go,
Scuse me lass, can ah have doo van rooshes
’N doo van plonks, as well as the bee yerz’
Big yins hands behind the head, two fingers twice,
Squeezed together, point at the bottle,
See, said the wee man she’s got the idea noo, ah kent this all along,
Aye, fir sure wee man, ye did, are ye ok noo?
Aye thanks, lass, fower bottles, fower tumblers, well done,
Yer gittin the hang O’ this,
Mind, hard work this big yin, the big yin nodded,
Whit’s yer name lass? Whit dae they cry ye?
Excusemoi monsieur?
Well, Susiema, thanks for the drinks,
Annoo ye huv a hang o the English,
How much are ye asking fur this lot?
Mind, afore ye do,
Yin for yersel’ hen?

Slainthe!

Hey big yin, nice lassie that, asked her for twa biers at breakfast, she gied me three.

There is nowt as indulgent on the continuum o’ luxurootery,
Than there is when bathing in the reflections and dreams
Of the grand glass sitootery,
A palace o’ mirrors and creaking cane shrubbery,
The only place to hold congress over a the whitabootery

Where fizzed wine can find bubbles sneezed nasaly ootery,
Leading to levels of at times, oh ma Goad, premature blootery,
Genders a’ around failing over too many cocktailery,
Oan ma ‘Mothers Grave nae mair’ promise, ends wi’ ten star failury.

Sharing stories never to escape the secret penury,
Fuelling the energy for endless fa’ootery,
The crystal house reflecting sunshineootery,
Kids playing with Flo’er pots where we weed them rightootery,

C’moan wee wan, gies yer song, play yer trombonery,
Humiliation is short term, yer mammy’s pride is oot o’ the ordinary,
Oh pray Saint Prosecco, my heid is roaring wi’ bubbelry,
Blaw it loud, annoy auntie Jean, make a noise like bagpipery,

‘Wan singer wan song’ bossed by the domestic constabulary,
Echoes around the sparkling gazeboed hang ootery,
A’ clanjamphry join in chorus where a’ ken rhyming wordsmithery,
Ending in the line where we cry ‘For Auld Lang Synery’.

Time to leave, sparking bri-nylon knickers wrapping humongous behookery,
Up on the one legged waltz, that spins roond and roonery,
A room o’ glass that moved our thinking from plain to extra-ordinary,
All hail the crystal palace, fu’ of all senseless buffoonery,
So, hail to the wan in the street, her wi’ the extension called a sitootery!

Sic a braw day, ladies!!

PROBABLY WASN’T YOU. OR ME.

Sitting in an edgy circle of items of tidy furniture,
Our eyes focused on the red rug and laminate flooring,
Front room television on, sound mute, drawing glances away,
No one catching others looks, growing familiarity of shoes,
Straight faced acceptance of the moment,
Fosterers dressed smartly to say goodbye,
Child worker dressed in tired same old, supervisor in suit and clipboard,
Innocent and guiltless sit around, it’s been done before.

It sat in the centre, gaffa tape choking the life out of it,
It’s neck ruffed into a paper flower upon the burnt offering,
Bag for life, nope, black bin bag, no life, thrown on the heap,
Filled with debris of toothpaste, worn plimsoles, crushed facecloth,
Rolled old jeans, pair of socks, two pairs pants, size too big shoes,
Polo shirt at George, the only thing with a name on it,
An envelope with a four line identity,
A photograph of a boy, a woman.

Oh, and a boy, sitting in the circle, have we mentioned him.
Nope, always last to be picked, the goalkeeper of the squad,
Wearing his anorak, elastic cuffs held tight, bitten nails,
Hurting wrists awaiting the next move, next fright,
The ‘thank you for signing, we’ll be off now, say goodbye…’
He mumbles utter nothing, the group stutters something,
He turns to leave another sofa, matching china cats,
But everyone jumps, shaken to lumps, a voice shouts,
No this can’t be right.

For Jesus Christ sake said the child worker, loud, rough,
This boy going, who knows where, A bin bag holding his stuff,
You let him leave, are you sure it’s not the kitchen waste?
What a disgrace we all are to this lad, he rushed out the door,
Faces looked at each others, split second back to the floor,
Clipboard started to speak , then in swung the door,
Christ folks, this is the least we can do, some plastic dignity,
At least it’s white and blue, grips, a marque to see.

Donald, take this bin bag, this Swiss knife, this Swish holdall,
Cut the tape, put all from there to the one with the handles,
From now this bag is where you hold all your bits in,
No fostered child will be sent out with bag for the bin,
Mr Clipboard write this down, boss supervisor, lose that frown,
My sports bag is the least we can do for Donald, thats him,
He pointed at Donald, at, one piece of gear Nike, ‘lets get it in’,
You can sit in the front, these two in the rear,
It’s the start of dignity in living, first piece of gear!

THE BLACK BAG TRIP
KUBLER ROSS TOURS.

Shock

Lasts a flash, flies by,
Fills your head, no space for creative ideas,
The approaching vista squeezing the immediate future,
Flash into the last available brain cell.
In a second.

Denial

No, never, not me, won’t go all the way,
Car crash, not me, long covid, not me,
I’m not falling, no broken bones, hip-hip,
Nobody leaves that there, I never trip, fall,
In a second.

Anger

It’s your fault weans, yer mum an’ a’,
As for the dog, swine dug, bite the cat,
Cat eat the fish, it’s your fault,
Gonna punch the wall, swear words’ve never heard,
In a second.

Bargaining

Oh God, c’mon, let me sort it I’ll no’ dae it again,
Look, if you change this then I’ll dae that but better!!
Change will happen, Oh ah promise, is it a deal?
Is it? Is it? Is it? Will ye? Will ye? Will ye’?
In a second.

Depression

The colour’s blue, fed up and desolate, moody morose,
A sink hole of a recession in the mind,
Paralysis of thought , hollow cheeked reflection,
Long blaw oot, through the teeth in, that’s it.
In a second.

Acceptance.

Ach, that’s sair, but just my shoulder on the flair,
Not so bad, everything can move once more,
Can I get up? Aye for sure, tolerable but sorefully,
Shake it down, rally reorganisation and recovery.
In a second.

ELVIS TRIBUTE?

Uh Huh Huh!

My honey, your’e always on my mind,

And I can’t help falling in love, but for sure it’s now or never,

So don’t be cruel, I know you’re a devil in disguise,

Leaving me all shook up, in the ghetto, near the heartbreak hotel,

Remembering polk salad Annie, ah, whistling Viva Las Vegas,

Yep a little less conversation, with just a burning love,

Ah the unchained melody, the American Trilogy of,

Shake, Rattle and Roll on the jailhouse rock where,

Thinking of the wonder of you, my way, and,

The one legged Elvis impersonator,

Singing blue suede shoe.

My mind is blown, I see you, Bumbleerie,
Beauty captured in a million single hairies,
Proudly standing, shining, wings like fairies,
You don’t flee, you gather. Am I not scary?

Now, who is looking at who, Bumbler?
In your stripped shadow, I sit, humbler,
Should I trap you in my Grandma’s tumbler?
Would it grow your view, or make your grumblier?

Bambini tribe, bee of genus Bombus
This is the science bit, ach aye upon us,
Soft hair, fuzzy, pollen basket on the legs,
Shouldn’t fly, scale to wings, the science says,

Six billion bees where the female sings,
As often as she likes, the bumblette, stings,
Meeting on ZOOM ZOOM with your colonies
Bumblers, it’s your job, save us all from politics,

We need to dance together Bumbleerie,
Create important needed agricultural symmetry,
Won’t poison the world, if you use the art of zoomery.
We may just survive with your beauty and industry.

Buzz on Bumbleerie, buzz on, with millions of Bumblinos,
Pollen, nectar, colours, screams of there’s a huge Bee-oh,
Won’t go away, mutual fear but massive respect-oh,
We are, we think, in charge, but Bumbleerie, you are the answer.

Oh!

IMPOSSIBLE DREAMS IN A LOCKDOWN.

Was my last time, my last time?

I mean, well, was it?

If I’d known at the time,

I’d have whooped and hollered,

Crossing the line,

Celebrating all gone before,

Three minute wonders,

One time I recall,
Four.

Unseen baggage piles by the swing doors,
Breathing, blowing in tonights escapees,
Backs straighten, height heightens, breath lengthens,
Eyes brighten, hearts b-booming stronger.

Good evening Choristers, heads, eyes up.
Sheila, the first eyes up today,
We’ll start with our South African warmer,
‘Freedom, Freedom, Freedom my People.’

Eyes up, he will remind, on the big beam at the back…..
So much hope in that solid, immovable,
Singing boss says, the beam is your friend,
Always there, reliable through to the end,

What do we unlock this evening?
In the choir I’m free of horrible thoughts,
We are safe in the choir, hide in plain sight.
The sepia images turn to colour, in the choir.

No one hits me in the choir, no one wants to,
No one humiliates me in the choir, no one tries to,
No one shouts at me in the choir, kind hello to,
No one curses at me in the choir, no need to,

Oodgereoo Noonuccal, Australian poet said,

Fellowship not favours
Encouragement not prohibitions
Choice not coercion
Status not discrimination – we sing,

Survivors not victims of circumstances,
Daily life and misfortunes,
Choir gives permission,
Loans out it’s aspirations,

Now Carol King, ‘I feel the earth move’,

Jean, gives it all, the Scream standing on a lego brick
Tam, huge, alone, in the choir, piercing alto notes,
Norma, judge of home bakes, safe place,
Helen and Marion, book ends third middle row,
Sisters, never speak, soprano they sing, eyes glance,
Patricia, weeps when choir cancels, her raft of sanity sinks,
Her first solo due soon, oh God oh God, she can do it,
In and among organised, ensemble, safe.

‘..To pull wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather,
Will ye go lassie, go!’

Sandy, backbone tenor, silent love for Diane,
Four along, three rows down, never a cross word,
‘I can’t stop loving you!’,
Sung in silence, in secret, across the tea cup,

Diane climbed every mountain, screamed to the moon,
Yes, yes, yes! I did it, you said I could,
Tam and Jan, limpets on a rock,
All about the Bass and Treble, together stuff,
For the past year Yam Sim, biggest smile in the world,
Brings Thai bites, then home, bullying farmer who bought her,
Choir knows, they try, free the mind, free the beautiful soul,

‘Look what they’ve done to my song Ma,’

The door keeps swinging, smiles ’n hugs given,
Brushing arms, nods noddin’, rows keep filling,
Yer man waves his wizard stick, at the wooden bar,
Lets go, we’ll finish with ‘Whisky in The Jar’,

‘As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains…..’

No bruising, shouting, moist eyes, shaking shame, taking blame,

Tough as nails,

Next week, we’ll learn ’We will walk 500 miles’

Choirs just going to have fun.

Life as we know it, abundant with lies,
Developing into false truth, a care home dies,
Twenty thousand souls, invisible to ministerial eyes,
The bastard PM on a private beach again, lies,
His glass raised to Brexit, wallpaper wedding plans,
Denied 19-Covid goes wild, allows big sport to thrive,
Shaking hands in hospitals, another 20,000 souls die,
No plans for lockdown, PPE, track and trace,
Guffawing , stand on a starving nation, port fuelled face,
Spitting on frontline fodder, who face the disgrace,
Yet blustered his weight around whilst himself being saved,
The oaf delayed it all with Colonial grace, killing refugees,
Ignoring, science, face mask and infection rates,
Restrictions and u-turns confused the populace,
School exams crash as his promises break, like Britain,
Devolved nations don’t exist whilst UK lies persist,
Big plan? – eat out, save the economy, still, people die,
Contracts to Tory chums, billions and his reports lie,
Clueless for Covid 19 – 2, battered the public sector
Confusion, deception, trite slogans and leaks.
Lies and lies, leads the highest excess deaths in Europe,
The weakest in the game, bullying, benefits of private schooling,
So whose doing the breaking?

The wee inbred gang, one eyed sheep following,
Breaking as they go Tora, Tora, bombing,
Ambulance, NHS, social care, Doc’s appointment, living wage,
Working government, the truth – see thesaurus, Johnson age
Energy cap, zero targets , drought, food, heat, education,
Social care, power, dentists, greed,
Money to MP’s. Personal salvation,
Sewage, going through the motions, shit on us all,
Sport to distract from Rwanda, it shames us,
Who next to be shipped off? Watchit! Isms and ists,
You’re on the list, contracts to MP’s, racist ministerialist,
21% raise MP’s – you nurse? Applause, 2 percent is sinister,
A humanitarian crisis, middle class greed administered,
You get Brexit fallout, food banks, a lifestyle choice,
Explained my Tory Lamont MP, spineless fish, no voice,
Volunteer sector saving the government, the welfare state
Threaten the peoples health, its system,
As brick by brick, they knock it down,
Money to money, charities go bust,
Listen for the snap, the crumble, the soggy bottom,
Britain breaking.
Only the beginning?

Ca’ The Yowes Tae The Knowes’..

Unseen baggage piles by the swing doors,
Breathing, blowing in tonights escapees,
Backs straighten, height heightens, breath lengthens,
Eyes brighten, hearts b-booming stronger.

Good evening Choristers, heads, eyes up.
Sheila, the first eyes up today,
We’ll start with our South African warmer,
‘Freedom, Freedom, Freedom my People.’

Eyes up, he will remind, on the big beam at the back…..
So much hope in that solid, immovable,
Singing boss says, the beam is your friend,
Always there, reliable through to the end,

What do we unlock this evening?
In the choir I’m free of horrible thoughts,
We are safe in the choir, hide in plain sight.
The sepia images turn to colour, in the choir.

No one hits me in the choir, no one wants to,
No one humiliates me in the choir, no one tries to,
No one shouts at me in the choir, kind hello to,
No one curses at me in the choir, no need to,

Oodgereoo Noonuccal, Australian poet said,

Fellowship not favours
Encouragement not prohibitions
Choice not coercion
Status not discrimination – we sing,

Survivors not victims of circumstances,
Daily life and misfortunes,
Choir gives permission,
Loans out it’s aspirations,

Now Carol King, ‘I feel the earth move’,

Jean, gives it all, the Scream standing on a lego brick
Tam, huge, alone, in the choir, piercing alto notes,
Norma, judge of home bakes, safe place,
Helen and Marion, book ends third middle row,
Sisters, never speak, soprano they sing, eyes glance,
Patricia, weeps when choir cancels, her raft of sanity sinks,
Her first solo due soon, oh God oh God, she can do it,
In and among organised, ensemble, safe.

‘..To pull wild mountain thyme, all around the blooming heather,
Will ye go lassie, go!’

Sandy, backbone tenor, silent love for Diane,
Four along, three rows down, never a cross word,
‘I can’t stop loving you!’,
Sung in silence, in secret, across the tea cup,

Diane climbed every mountain, screamed to the moon,
Yes, yes, yes! I did it, you said I could,
Tam and Jan, limpets on a rock,
All about the Bass and Treble, together stuff,
For the past year Yam Sim, biggest smile in the world,
Brings Thai bites, then home, bullying farmer who bought her,
Choir knows, they try, free the mind, free the beautiful soul,

‘Look what they’ve done to my song Ma,’

The door keeps swinging, smiles ’n hugs given,
Brushing arms, nods noddin’, rows keep filling,
Yer man waves his wizard stick, at the wooden bar,
Lets go, we’ll finish with ‘Whisky in The Jar’,

‘As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains…..’

No bruising, shouting, moist eyes, shaking shame, taking blame,

Tough as nails,

Next week, we’ll learn ’We will walk 500 miles’

Choirs just going to have fun.

The morning we stopped kissing, Always running to work so missing one was nothing The difference in this moment though was dripping, In eyes down, how, why, I didn’t know, Lips every, I mean every morning as we ran, Special feeling passing love on,

The feeling of wrong was palpable, Palpability, scratched with fallibility, What? A mounting mass of something, I dunno! Would we know, would I know, who already knows? Another pair of lips to caress. Nothing less.

Oh battle weary flapping bundle,

A survivor ten times of other pecking tumblers,

Sits wi’ nerves, in summertime working gear,

Queuing for seeds, berries, eyes wi’ nervous fear,

Loss of opportunity a distraction to others,

Speugs, war worn and experienced, survivors,

In the kingdom of noisy un-murmerated starlings,

Big bully bastard blackbirds, bullfinches, thrushes gargling,

Times the flowing hiccups of the bobbing

Sparkling white breast, on a burn, dippering,

Will be found the speug, though seared by the rare turn,

Of the fisher king, its line, cutting, slashing in,

Speug stays victorious, grey-brown bundling, aye pecking,

House, tree, asian cousin, passer domesticus,

Dear dame, pouting white chest, yer man a crown on,

White under wings and cheeks, proud as Spartacus,

Our speug, our ‘for granted battler’,

Stay alert, flapping, pecking fallen seeds, as others,

Eton the majority, messing on others from high,

Yon big rugby ba’ of a woody doo, no’ just yin but twa bundlin’ by,

As others nervously sing that they are here and screamin’ why,

Nervously fly back and fore and hover by,

Peanuts, fat balls, coconut, bacon rind, seeds and rye,

The food banks of survival,

Peck awa’, peck awa’

I am speug,

D’ye see me,

C’mon ah say, if ye daur!

THE BLACK BAG TRIP
ON
KUBLER ROSS TOURS.

Shock

Lasts a flash, bag bursts, time flies by,
Fills your head, no space for creative ideas,
The approaching vista squeezing the immediate future,
Flash into the last available brain cell.
In a second.

Denial

No, never, not me, won’t go all the way,
Car crash, not me, long covid, not me,
I’m not falling, no broken bones, hip-hip,
Nobody leaves that there, I never trip, fall,
In a second.

Anger

It’s your fault weans, yer mum an’ a’,
As for the dog, swine dug, bite the cat,
Cat eat the fish, it’s your fault,
Gonna punch the wall, swear words’ve never heard,
In a second.

Bargaining

Oh God, c’mon, let me sort it I’ll no’ dae it again,
Look, if you change this then I’ll dae that but better!!
Change will happen, Oh ah promise, is it a deal?
Is it? Is it? Is it? Will ye? Will ye? Will ye’?
In a second.

Depression

The colour’s blue, fed up and desolate, moody morose,
A sink hole of a recession in the mind,
Paralysis of thought , hollow cheeked reflection,
Long blaw oot, through the teeth in, that’s it.
In a second.

Acceptance.

Ach, that’s sair, but just my shoulder on the flair,
Not so bad, everything can move once more,
Can I get up? Aye for sure, tolerable but sorefully,
Shake it down, rally reorganise and recovery.
In a second.

The Most Amazing People..

Feck, it’s no’ yer Einsteins, Van Gogh’s , Burns,
Shakespeare, Brunel, or Ma Theresa,
It’s certainly no’ tha erseholes Johnson, Trump, Cameron, Gove,
Patel, May, spineless, greedy, bullies.
No’ the overpaid fitba’ players, ego drowning rugger buggers,
Strutting the streets like they owned others,

OK, all have their place, achievements, we breathe the same air,
Phit a’ aboot invisible heroes,
Ghosting through the streets of our lives,
Barely a nod offered by masses, albeit from innocence,
Innocent unawareness of monumental achievements,
Everests climbed, channels swam, lives saved.

Really? Everest? Na, naw’, no’ really, but just as huge, shoojer even,
Lunch clubbing grannies for decades, home visits to homebound,
Wassim, shop keeper who opened in spite of the vilest names,
Ruth, the bigots fired her home, her passion was greater,
Her support line saved lives, man, saved lives.
Still invisible tae maist, if no all.

Wood sculptor, saved a woodland, opened to thousands,
Passed before it rooted, seeded 300 more wood’s, that’s what trees dae.
George, a human public appeal, wore heart and suit, Cathy came too,
Jees, he furthered science, a local farmer. OK, rugby player in lieu.
In fairness you widnae miss him, less floating spirit, mare he’s loupin’.
Same streets, where Jesse fought the twenty year council war, a champion for public housin’..

Jean, knitted, baked, sang, danced, walked, speechified, sponsored,
The community centre grew, Jean didnae make the opening, rested, passed.
Nae plaque or statue.
Bill, who felt every blow his trainees got at home, fed and watered, them,
Bill sheltered, policed, advocated possibilities, sherriff’s listened t’him,
Tae a real hero, no’a parachutist leased car poseur clocker in.

Celebrations on occasion, all invited, but the ruggers and personalities,
Wer’na there, double booked with colonial approval,
Bending to knees, better than others, it seems Garter, OB and MBE’s,
Nodding through the rails at Buckingham Palace, pass the real ghosts of heroes,
Pass the Jean’s, Cathy’s, Doddie’s, Tim’s, Ruth’s, Wassim’s, Jesse’s and friends!
Spirits of heroes, celebrating ends, we’re not at the end, we’re at the start again.

Times, someone will walk up to them and say ‘thanks, you saved my life’.

The world became a better, more beautiful place when you arrived,
Another girl, chasing the mercurial Anna, what fractures there will be,
Before, you were in my imagination, of course,
As you were in mum’s tum, and dad’s anticipation,

In 3D, Faye, – I swathe a swirly picture,
When Anna kissed you for the first time,
You smiled, the sun rose in every view,
My stars in my universe exploded,

The world couldn’t be better, we could forget the bleakness,
You’ll do good, bonnie lass, you’ll lead the way,
You’ll smash a few ceilings, be part of the plan to right the wrongs,
Reset the balance, learning how to think, don’t be told what to think,

I have a good feeling, you will be be a kind person,
Lets face it, there is lot’s of opportunity,
When you smiled, the sun rose in every view
So kindness it is, on your way, face another exciting day,

It’s not what you gather, it’s what you scatter.

Never be with people who make you feel alone,
It’s worse than being alone!
Loneliness is such a waste of time,
Whilst at time travelling the world on your own,

Keep an open heart, give another chance,
Never denying your dreams, playing explorers, astrologers,
Marvelling at posters and faces, far away places,
Celebrate that it’s not a one size fits all.

You won’t look far to find those who love you,
We ache to embrace you in every wonderful way,
To kiss, to hold, to hug, to smell, a unique scent of you,
Faye Grace, we’re queuing to be with you,

I found a key to happiness – stay away from idiots!

Darling I hope one day soon, you will take my hand,
We’ll go dancing, never out of step,
Wherever we are you will never fall behind,
I’ll wait for you, I know you will wait for me,

Just a pilgrim on this road, girl,
With a million destinations, crossroads ahead,

Little girls with day dreams turn out to be women with vision.

Grandad

One day they said ‘we will ride,’ Ken,
About time yous grew up, small minded men,
Hidin’ behind history, some o’ it even real,
Inflatin’ mans ego, denying how many folks feel,

Turnin’ oot, smert ’n weel presented,
Lasses spat on, swore at, cursed and resented,
Nae place here hen, it’s history and tradition,
No gentlemen. Time for change, growth and transition,

If it wisnae so awful, it wid be sic a funny notion,
No’ sittin’ down wi the’wummin’ tae find a solution,
Mind, there wis just twa loads for and agin’,
Theres mair dimensions than ever noo’, no just Barbie and Ken

Fechtin’ the corner, staunch Borders Barbie, Ken,
See whit ah did there? Ken’s a’, that’s whit a mean, Ken?
Barbie horseridin’, plooin’, ruggerin’, runnin’ the hoose,
Ken’s daein’ hee haw, committee meetings, hot air blawin’ loose,

Kens, time to face up, nod at the truth,
When yoos are fading’, Barbies will rule the roosts,
No jist sandwiches, pies and pots o’ tea,
Possibly gingham table cloots in the Hut on the lea!

Hip Hip!!

Too many lines to make sense, in the wrong or write order,
I don’t have the vocabulary to right my feelings about this stuff,

I have the feelings, I feel the urges, the mangled pains,
The self guilt of why me? Self pity of ‘it’s aye me’,

Failed o-level and higher relationships at school, fear with doubt,
No better in resits, eyes dipped, nerves flowed out,

Once in a relationship, you start and stop laughing together,
In increments, multiple choice questions, ‘till no answers,

Begin to laugh when we bruise ourselves,
Smile at the floor, Allow yourself just one, ‘are you ok?’

Asked with a startling hollowness, naivity and shyness,
For now it’s all we have and all you’re getting.