Bert's Bounty

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some poems & short stories By Robert Dennistoun \ email any comments to




Westburn Village ©

Westburn Village by the Clyde,

in the land where the vandals need not hide

Local Grocer, Oh so pally,

Sells ye anything fur a swally.

Under age drinkers fear no more,

We’ll get somebody to haun it oot the door.

Buckie boattles in a heap,

Broken gless it lies fur weeks.

Electric flats once so picturesque,

look at them noo -  whit a mess.

Electric flats up for rental

Livin’ in them drives ye mental

Eleanor and Alastair must get a mention,

Twenty-one years flat detention.

how did they manage to keep their sanity,

living so long in such profanity.

graffiti artists by the score,

Say the word an we’ll do yer door.

In Westburn as doggies must, doggies do,

Ga’un in the hoose, wipe yer shoe.

Whacky baccy in yer nappy,

Jist a blaw keeps yer mitner happy.

If ye need a polis oan a Monday,

A hope ye sent fur 'im oan a Sunday.

Leisure centre with a seat,

Ye know the one, its in Mclver Street.

Westburn village by the Clyde,

in the land where the vandals need not hide.






Ode To Westburn Bus Shelter ©


Wid the powers the giftie gie tae see a

bus shelter as ithers see.

Two in the mornin where we’ll meet

There's a shelter in Mclver Street,

Sip Of Buckie, sniff O'glue,

smash some boattles, We’re a right noo.

Safe sex in a shelter,

sure it beats the Helter skelter.

On the grun, on the seat,

Always keepin tae the beat.

Condoms here condoms there,

we just flick them In the air.

 Whit's that yer hintin you jist seen Bill Clinton.

Mug a pensioner six o’ us.

Wait a minute there 's a bus.

So raise yer glass an gies a toast,

there's a polis, he must be loast.

wid the powers the giftie gie tae see a

bus shelter as ithers see.




Being a Scot ©

It’s the pipes and drums

And a drink that’s not rum

The hills and the heather

And volatile weather


Its about jock and jean

And hello man how have ye been

A wee get together

Fine time for a blether

It’s when some think yer thrawn

And your just sure where yer gaun

Being one of a race

That hates to lose face



Its when having a litte ye make a lot

This is all part of being a scot








Here's to the Lads ©


Here's to the Lads, bless them all Bless them all,

Here's to the Lads, large and small,

Bless them all.

Here's tae the lad, ah make him his tea,

ah make him his dinner,

Then he tells me a goat a winner.

Here's to the Lad, shock horror he's in a daze'

Ah've jist spent aw his money  oan new claes.

Here's tae the lad, Bill Clinton he oft thinks ae,

long as he remembers, ah'm nae Monica Lewinski.

Here's to the Lad, he's never ony money '

he's never oot the pub, aint life funny.

Here's to the Lad, three in the mornin, feelin frisky, '

Been up the pub, drunk plenty whisky.

Here's to the Lad, five past three fast asleep,

It didnae take much, tae put his gas in a peep.

Here's to the Lad, as memory recalls,

wis the first tae discover Viagra falls

Here's to the Lad, gaun oot fur a ball,

Always takes me tae Westburn Hall

Here's to the Lad, a jist thought ah' d mention,

he's lookin furrit ,tae getting his pension.

Here's to the Lads, bless them all Bless them all,

Here's to the Lads, large and small,

Bless them all.


Angry voices ©

Angry voices break the silence,

Angry voices, sounds of violence,

Angry voices, soon the beatings,

Angry voices, now the weeping,

Angry voices, king billy and the pope,

Angry voices. Land of no hope.




You are to me ©

You are to me as a rose is to others

A symbol of nature in full bloom

Emanating her beauty for all to see

Yet saving something special for he who tends and cares

You are to me as a raindrop is to a petal

The essence of life in a long hot summer

So cool and refreshing

Yet so vital to me


The Flu ©


Hello good morning, how do you do?

I'm sorry to tell you, i’ve got the flu,

Head bumping, throat gouping,

Nerves jumping, stomach louping,

There's only one thing left for this old body,

Get to bed with very large toddy






A hard man of his time ©

He strode the streets of crime

A would be hard man of his time

With a sneer, sometimes a grin

He never thougth twice about putting the boot in


He would stab and slash

Nothing too low to get cash

He would torture kick and maim

No one was safe he had no shame


He would strut and pose

As up the ranks of crime he rose

Like a mediaeval lord

No one dare question his word


Then in the street after a rammy

He lay begging for his mammy

He gasped and did splutter

His lifeblood flowing he was heard to mutter


What was it he said?

God i think i'm dying

I’m afraid

He was a hard man of his time



Rain again ©


Some cold rain falls from the cirrus,

This doesn't cause any great fuss,

More rain falls from the cumulus,

This can be considered a plus,

Then we have rain from a nimbus.

Falling when you can't get a bus,

Followed by rain from a stratus,

Why oh why does it all fall on us.


Santa ©

Santa must be the world’s first spaceman

He flies through the skies

With the greatest of ease

To deliver presents if you please


He brings them to the house via the lum

I think he must have a fireproof bum

With not a trace of soot on his beard

Always plenty of toys to be shared

Some folk say Santas no true

But he always brings gifts to me, and you

So at Xmas if you bele1ve

Lots of presents you will receive

God bless Santa


The double glazing salesman ©

It was nine thirty a.m. Saturday morning. I was working mid shift that day, and as usual it was a last minute rush to get everything done that had to be done before going to start at ten thirty a.m.

I was upstairs when the dog started barking loudly; a sure sign that there was a stranger around. I listened. Yes! There it was: the sound of the letterbox being rattled.  I thought “it’s too late to be the postman delivering” but downstairs I went, doing my best to quieten the dog.

I opened the door and there he was.  A smartly dressed, and smiling, man with a breifcase in one hand, and some paper in the other.  Quickly, flourishing the sheet of paper, he established that he was a double-glazing salesman for some obscure firm that I had never heard of.  Could he interest me in new doors and windows?

I explained that I was in a hurry, but he pleaded that it wouldn’t take long; a quick look around the house for some measurements, and he would call back at a later, more convenient date.

Reluctantly I agreed, and in he came. Making, as some peopl,e do a great fuss of the dog, he was in and out within ten minutes; “well” i thought “that wasn’t too bad”. He assured me he would call back another day when I was not going to work.

I returned home that evening after the days shift was ended at seven p.m. And as I approached the house some long forgotten instinct began to make me uneasy. Had I left that window ajar? Surely not! After all, I was employed to a degree in security matters.

Whan I opened the door it struck me!  Silence!  Where was the usually noisy welcome from the dog? Then when I entered the house I saw him lying lifeless on the floor. The house had been ransacked; drawers were lying opened; various items were spread around the floor. Obviously of little value!

I called the police. When they arrived they asked immediately if i had received a visit from a salesman of any description. “Yes”, I replied. “a double glazing salesman”. I started to feel rather foolish as the police explained that a con man had been operating in this area finding out when he could pounce.

Ruefully I thought “Well he was true to his word. He had only taken ten minutes. I wonder if he will call back when I am not going out to work”.






A Hot Toddy ©


My son had bought a dog a small black and white bundle of mischeif and fun called Gus. The duty of feeding him had fallen to my wife, and I was alloted the task of walking him every day.

We didn’t always follow the same route on these walks.  Whenever we choose to go along the path that ran along side the river Clyde I   felt more at ease. Away from the busy roads Gus could run about unrestricted.

We had been going these walks for just under a year. Gus was still a pup, full of fun and bounce. We were following the footpath when I decided to go down to the rivers edge, just where the weir spans the river.  I wanted to get a closer look at the swans feeding. Gus was bouncing along behind me.

I stopped at the rivers edge just where the weir joined the riverbank. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the small black shape streaking past. Before I could even shout Gus was in the water and running along the top of the weir. How he managed to run so far into the river before being swept over in the waterfall remains a mystery

He disappeared under a hissing, foaming cascade of water. I stood numb with shock; my mind however was in overdrive. What would I do?  He seemed to be underwater for hours and I couldn’t see him. The thoughts raced through my mind. What if he drowned? I wouldn’t be able to go home, the family had become so attached to him.

I sprang.into action after what seemed to be an eternity. My mind was racing, but I knew what I had to do. I threw off my jacket and shoes and ran into the water.  I had decided that the force of water should sweep Gus, who still hadn’t surfaced, down to where I entered the water.  With difficulty I waded further into the water, heart pumping furiously mind still racing ahead of my body actions. Suddenly I spotted him just under the water struggling to surface. I changed direction toward him. His head broke through the surface, gasping for life   I plunged toward him and to my great surprise I too was under water. the riverbed must have dropped away steeply.

Panic stricken I surfaced swimming towards the bank with self-preservation the only thought in my mind. I stood on the riverbank shaking. I could see Gus still struggling gamely for life under the force of the waterfall. With   clarity of mind I knew what I had to do. I waded in knee deep then stopped at the point I knew where the riverbank dropped. I stood in the water shivering, searching for Gus, and then I saw him inches below the surface of the water. This time I was prepared.  I dived into the foam swimming towards him.  As I plunged my hand under water a joyous feeling surged through me; I had him!

Never had my arms and legs drained of strength so quickly over so short a distance as I had swum that day. We lay on the riverbank retching and spluttering, trying to spit water out while sucking air and gasping. For how long I don’t know. Slowly we regained our composure and stood up, both still shaking.

We started home on very wobbly legs. We must have looked rather comical. People we passed on the way smiled when they saw us but made no comment. The two dripping figures leaving a long wet trail behind them said it all.

Safely home at last, I removed my wet clothes and dumped them in the sink for my wife’s attention. I took Gus to the bathroom where, much to his horror and with a great deal of struggling, I gave him a shower and then had one myself. Cleaned and dried, seated at the warm fire with Gus at my feet, I time to reflect and be thankful.

The door opened. It was my wife. The question on her lips, “Why is the sink full of wet clothes”? Reluctantly I told her we’d been in the Clyde. “Why?” She demanded! I told her everthing that had taken place.  “My god ”she shreiked “Quickly!  A hot toddy!  Where’s the whisky?” She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen

Within minutes she returned cup in hand. “Well” I thought with anticipation “this is alright.” I could already feel the warm glow when, quick as a flash, she scooped up Gus and with almost the same movement opened his mouth and poured the hot mixture down his throat.  Gus bounced down onto his feet smacking his lips loudly

I sat with my mouth open, speechless. “Well” I thought,”Life is full of surprises. And a man can only take so many in one day.”



Superstitious ©

It was Saturday. I had been at the local derby football match between Rangers and Celtic. A group of us were walking home discussing the afternoons events.
Tim, a lifelong Celtic supporter, suddenly burst out saying, "Ach! Football players are just a bunch of superstitious idiots!"
He was mainly referring to one of the goalkeepers who always hung a shamrock in the back of the goal net before the game started. Immediately there were murmurs of agreement; everyone, it seemed, could quote instances of players with some rather odd mascots or some off-beat personal superstition.
Once again Tims voice was heard above the others: "What difference does it make if i spill salt, see a black cat crossing my path, or draw number thirteen in a raffle? Let’s be honest," he continued, "crossing my fingers will not change my luck or alter circumstances one little bit!"
Before anyone could reply for or against the thrust of his logic Tim, keen eyed as ever, spotted a ladder propped against the side of a house " Look!," he said, "See that ladder? Watch this then. I will walk under it. What difference do you think that will make to my luck or circumstances?"
He darted forward under the ladder at exactly the same time the industrious houseowner, who had been busy on the roof with paint and brush, stepped back unsurely on the ladder. His foot slipped on the roof. Instinctively he let paint pot and brush go and grabbed at the ladder with both hands. Alerted by the cries of his friends Tim, looked up just at that moment when the contents of the paintpot cascaded over his head and shoulders.
That was certainl;y the first time in his life he could fairly be called a bluenose.





Forever ©


There’s snaw on the dyke
but the memories are warm
we went for a hike
and watched the bees swarm

In the sky high above
swallows swoop and dive
our thoughts of love
enjoying the moment being alive

We lay ‘neath natures bower
the colourful butterfly
flits from flower to flower
to tease then flutterby

I loved you, you loved me
as we lay on the grass
never two as happy as we
love came for ever to last



Famous ©


Ross had just moved into the district. His father had been promoted in his job so this meant the family had to move house to another part of the country. Ross would move to a new school.
He was almost nine. A new school! The thought of it filled him with dread. Gone were the happy days spent with good friends of the last few years. His thoughts were mixed with different emotions. Why could his father not refuse to move? Then they could stay where they had been so happy. Would he be able to make new friends like the friends he had known in the past?
He slept restlessly the night before starting his new school. He was wakened early by his mother who, knowing his fears and doubts, had decided to go with him on that first morning. Reluctantly Ross went along the road with his mother, feet dragging and heart sinking to his boots, wishing that he was back where home really was.
Then they arrived. Somehow the new school didn't seem very much different from his old school. However it was filled with strangers. In class his mother introduced him to a grey haired old lady, his new teacher, then his mother was gone. Ross felt like crying as he looked around at the strange, unknown faces. The teacher told him to sit beside a red haired boy with a freckled face. As Ross sat the red haired boy stuck out his tongue. Ross stuck out his in return. He wished that he was back safely in the school he had known so happily with his friends
The morning dragged with his thoughts miles away on happier times. When the bell rang for playtime everyone rushed out except Ross. He was alone. Slowly he walked out to the school rails and wistfully pressed his head against them, staring forlornly in the hope that he could see his mother.
He felt the ball hitting his back, then heard the voice. It was red hair and he was shouting for Ross to kick the ball back to him. Ross tried to turn round and in a panic he realised he couldn't move his head. It was stuck! Ross struggled. He couldn’t move. His head was jammed between the rails. He shouted tearfully to red hair to help
The next thing Ross knew he was surrounded by what seemed to be everyone in the school and then he became aware of a gentle voice telling him not to worry. It was the janitor. He would get him free. Ten minutes later the janitor, now joined by the headmaster and most of the teachers, decided this would need expert help.
Ross heard the siren. Surely not for him! First day at a new school! He would have to run away. He would never live this down.
Within minutes the fireman had jacked the rails apart. Thankfully he pulled his head free. There was a loud cheer. Ross couldn't believe it. People were clapping his back then he heard someone speak his name; "……that’s Ross. He's a new boy, just started this morning……" Everyone was crowding round. They were asking him a million questions. Ross went into class, his head whirling. Red Hair came up to him and Ross heard him say: "my names Alf!" Ross heard him telling everyone that they were pals. Thankfully Ross agreed. He was feeling better already.
The next playbreak Ross was surrounded and everyone was asking questions. Ross was famous. Everyone wanted to hear his story. The new school wasn't so bad if everyone wanted to be his friend. The next morning Ross jumped out of bed and gobbled up his breakfast. Anxiously his mother asked if she should go with him. Ross said no. He could hear alf shouting at the gate.
Ross ran out to his new friend. He couldn't wait to get to the new school and all his new friends.


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