aftermath

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The Twin ©

Alexander tae his Da, his Maw jist ca'd him Sandy
Alex tae his Wife, but ah knew him as The Twin.
The chances are, maist likely that you'da called him Stoney
Ithers ca'd him cunt! but wi' a grin

The first time ah clapped eyes oan him wis up in Springburn park
He's the haud a' two wee neds, baith by thur necks
They dangl't there like chickens an' ah started tae get feart
He wud turn thum upside doon tae check thur sex

Jist a lumpa bone and muscle wi' a twinkle in its eye
That wad huv the Royal Navy run aground
He turn't aroon and looked at me, and shooglin' his prizes, sez
"Noo lookie here at what I huv jist found!

These feral Glesga ferrets huv been rummaging the middens
They wur stuck up tae thur airmpits in shite
It disnae bother me at a', a know we've nuthin' hidden.
They're the seventh pair that's been in here the night!"

Trying not to panic, I considered my first question;
"How many of that dozen had he caught?"
I worried, now I'd met him, if maybe he had ate them
And if these wee neds were headed for the pot.

The neds piped up ower their shooders as they struggled
"Ya cunt! Ah'm gaunny get ma Da tae bash ye!"
it didnae get hime riled, he jist looked at them and smiled and said
"ye'd be better getting' somebody tae wash ye!"

He shook with raucous laughter as he threw the ferrets doon
bitch-slapped at their heads and shoo'ed a foot
in his gravel voice he said, "if he's up yet oot ees bed
I'll kick his arse so hard I'll lose my boot!"

Then asked me in for coffee as he offered me his hand
I could hardly fit mine in there for his heart
And one way or another he became my other brother.
Cos he always put the horse before the cart.

 

 

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Waur ©

Waur! Awe, Whair ur wur bonny boats
wi' thur gluttonous glitterin' holds
whair alche-mystic fisherboys
turn't silver intae gold?

Whair wur yur words tae the wise when Jaun
wis windin' us up fae 'ees shanty?
We wur windin' wur whitin' in icy shrouds
fur the Road tae Alicante!

 

For God Sake! ©

Liar blair went up the stair tae heaven.
Jesus wisnae there
He, Allah, and the Holy Ghost had shat themselves
tae hear him boasting,
he was acting in His name and leaving half the world in flames
so as ACL pressed heaven’s bell
they slipped oot the windae and went tae
Helensburgh

(they’ll be back by Friday)

 

 

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I know where I’m going ©

Know this, if I should die this night there’s a coupla things ye must do
Get up the morra and go up and borra a barra fae B&Q
Hudgie me up the riddrie brae, and quick, nae hesitatin’
Cos john’ll huv ees dirt kicked aff an be lyin’ there freezin’, waitin’
Dreep me doon tae airms ay ma boy nen scrape the grun back doon
Nen maybe read a poem or two, an’ if sumbuddy strike a tune
Nen well, an’ good, pit drink an’ food in the way a’ the folk before ye
An’ fur heaven’s sake, it’s a bloody wake, Chase any bastur’ts thit bore ye
Nae minister, juju, or priest’ll speak unless its from ees heart
An’ ‘e says it for free or, believe you me, my spirit will never depart
Nen after the fun is over and done and ye have to get on with your life
Promise me nought but occasional thoughts for my other son and my wife

 

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The day I went ©

One day I went to Taynuilt. I was seated at the bar
With my wee mate Johnny Gillies, imbibing in a jar
The conversation came around to what to do next day
when Johnny G delared tae me he wis "pittin' by the hay"
In life I've worked a lotta joabs, but let me, here, now add,
That the though of "putting hay by" really didn't sound so bad
When I asked him, " what's involved in it"? Wee Johnny G replied
" There's a lorry bringing hay the morn, and it has to go inside"
We'd drunk a drap of uisge ba', and the words oozed oot ma heid,
" If you have hay for 'putting by', I'm just the help you'll need"
The following morn at the crack of dawn I crawled out of my blanket
And struck the road tae Curacao, a fine day, Lord be thankit
When I arrived John's Ma and Da had a healthy breakfast plated
I filled my boots with sausage, eggs, and bacon while we waited
I idly wondered 'just how many bales would I be dragging'
And how much help John's Da would be tae help unload this wagon
A simple long division told me I needn't worry,
After all, 'How many hay bales can you fit onto a lorry'?
John's Faither's in his 70's but probably could heave
A half a dozen bales or so before he has to leave
John himself would be right home, as the lorry'd be arriving
Wi him and me and his Da, that's 3, plus the fellow who'd be driving
The 4 of us would shift this load and be done in time for lunch
But then the truck came up the hill and my stomach muscles bunched
It must have been a hundred feet fae yin tae th'ither side
And 16, 17 feet high and nearly 14 wide
It rumbled over the brow o' the hill, and it lurched like a drunken sailor
Then I bloody well near shit masel when a saw the size a' the trailer
The driver jumped doon fae his cab and sauntered ower tae me
Ma spirits near departed, he wis only 5 fit 3
Ah thought "O Lord Almighty, wid ye ever know the truth
Ah've made this Hell ma bloody sell by opening ma mooth
Still, shit, ah'm fit and strong enough tae shift ma share a' work
And maybe some of the driver's too", but I simply couldn't talk
One by one I'd take those bundles, stack them in a pile
Eventually they'd all be 'by', it just might take a while
I paced myself and banged and barged tae scale this hay-bale ladder
But efter 15 minutes ah wis running efter shadows
My eyes just couldn't focus what with all of this exertion
My lungs had talked my legs and knees and feet into desertion
I squinted through the sweat of toil, I thought, 'I'm doing fine'
But Johnny's Faithers haystack wis three times the size ay mine
We'd only stripped one layer off the skin of this hay leviathan
I felt my spirits crushing in the grip of some great python
The driver made me swap him jobs when he saw my petted frown
He bade me hop up on the top and throw the hay bales down
After another hour or so I was whimpering like a pup
'Cos, before you can throw a hay bale down, you first must pick one up
I suffered several lifetimes in his hell of aches and pain
But we'd finally stripped these hay bales down and built them up again
We stacked them to the attic beams to keep them warm and dry
Then Johnny slipped a bottle oot that he'd been "putting by"
We drank a toast to absent friends, in heaven and in hell
But the next time Johnny's hay comes in; he can bloody well do it himself!

for
John and Jane Gillies
August 2005

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De mock rat IC ©

 

There wis this guy, Foulkes, drawin' dirty looks at the MSP's in their shell.
He'd long been in hook wi' captain Cook and Geordie wis oft on the bell.
He'd lined up too, wi the Islington crew and together they plotted to take
the world to the brink of becoming extinct, and maybe a piece of the cake.
So every time we be-labour a crime wee Geordie pops up on the telly
tae girn and be snide about national pride while he stuffs English beef in his belly.
Don't get me wrang, I'm a proud Scotsman who has nothing but tact for his neighbours;
master or minion. I value opinion, and I'm often obliging of favours
but I've also found that the man on the ground has a slightly different perspective
from the man standing close as he glares down his nose at these obviously mental defectives.
Wee Geordie believes that if Caledon leaves this thicket of neighbourly nations
She'll sink like a stone and leave him alone and he'd have to accept immigration.
That day will be here soon enough, Geordie fears, and he's no as young as he feels
so while he has breath he'll scare us a' tae death wi' his unconvincing squeals.


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A Larum ©

Lord, Almighty, Mickey Boy, may I, polite, enquire
You seem to be in a hurry son, are ye running late for Choir?
Stop a minute, catch yer breath yer starting tae perspire
There's something happened in some hotel; it's jist coming ower the wire
Buyer
Cryer
Drier
Dyer
Flier
Friar
Higher
Ire
Liar
Sire
Tyre
Pyre
I'll maybe finish this later.

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Parliamo Nt ©

 

Geordie Foulkes yer a puff of a man, and a nasty piece of work
Ye seem tae think yersel above our boat
Yer coming tae yer pension, and tae coont it you'll no shirk
Though its us that's payed ye every coin ye've goat
We peyed for it wi our industries, utilities, and oil
and aggregated misery for Sum
While others made their fortunes sharing in these splendid spoils
By sitting down in London on their bums
Up here! We cried! "We canny see for there's too much smoke and mirrors!
There seems tae be a fire doon in kent!

We were trusting you to pay your feu; are we noe in this the gither?
Did you forget the reason you were sent?

You were sent down south to use your mouth defending us from troubles
Unanticipated matters which affect
the safety of our nation. Now I hate to burst your bubble
But you've not a shred of genuine respect
You've sold yourself on untold wealth, thrown families in jail
In the name of democratic liberty
And every single question ye answer oan the telly
is a torturous attack on SNP
"We could never manage on our own" yer mighty fond a sayin'
"And we benefit from being part of Britain"
Well, Geordie, son, yer jist like us, yer only passing through
and it disnae bode ye well tae be sae smitten.
if you would stop your whining for even just a second;
once, cross the party line, then I'll believe
save a single fam'ly fae the clutches of Dungavel
ah'll admit there's mair than hearts upon yer sleeve.

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Further tales of Alex ©

And the party went on all around him as he slept with his drink in his hand
There was mooing and neighing, and squealing of pigs; and that was only the band!

We'd been drinking since five last evening or maybe the evening before
We clapped and danced and stamped our feet as the music kept time with his snores

We knew he'd wake up in a minute so we left him alone to his dreams
The village hall swung from side to side the ceiling creaked at its beams

One or two locals suggested this may not be a safe place to doze
We assured them he's fine, he be up on his feet when he hears the bar's ready to close

He slept through the dashing white sergeant and a strathspey, two reels and a jig
He grunted along to an old Scottish song then he sat up, and taking a swig…………

he sprang to the floor like a maddie, and bowed, it was ever so queer!
With his fingers stuck out from the sides of his head he cried, lets all dance like a deer

This is the wey they dey it in dance halls in Sauchiehall street
Ye waggle yer hauns and wiggle yer bum while scraping and stamping yer feet.

Then he'd everyone daein' the elephant wi his airm dreeped ower his heid
He waddled aboot as if pickin' up fruit and gi'ein' it tae children in need

In the midst of this madness and chaos the bell went and shutters were shut
I wanted to cry, but with heartfelt sigh, and carefully avoiding The Nut!

Ah Sidled up tae Alex's side and mentioned the state of oor plight
His answer was so unexpected it more than made my night

before we'd come in he's spotted the queue and had thought that we might not make it
So he'd very wisely planked another nine cans in his jaikit.

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Pasture ©

to pastured oral icons wed
an' mony mair syne vaulted
us differed here in wended ways
till at this point we halted
right here right now in this here place
let's gamble with taboos
if I tell you the truth about us
Will you tell me the truth aboot youse?
can you and me right now agree
we're more of a like than a part?
acknowledging that difference
at least could be a start!

 

 

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What did he say? ©


It musta been a Thursday, top of the pops was on

I stood at the bar wi’ kenny, well its better than drinking alone

The barman turn’t the volume up tae hear a Bee Gees song

It wis somethin’ tae dae wi’ a submarine sinkin’ in loch long

They’d fell intae a dead deep loch, much deeper than they sang

And mouldy loaves and gloves and leaves wiz the ony thing they’d brang

Ye could hear it in thur voices, They wur obviously touchin’ boatum

Ye could clearly hear the water pressure actin’ oan their scrotums

Nen kenny turn’t an’ says tae me, this song’s a loada crap

If ye want tae know how deep is a loch ye can look it up oan a map

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Ask me ©


You can ask me to keep my voice down and don’t yell

Beg with me, sit quiet, just for a spell

Tell me to stop swearing, just for a bit

Or read the Gas-bill without having a fit

Pass on the mike and stop hogging the joint

Demand I immediately get to the point

You can plead with me, Shut up! For once, just agree

But you might as well try nail a fart to a tree (2)


You can hope that I wash up my plate when I’m done

Wish I would go for the milk when there’s none

Appeal to me not to embarrass the kids

But you’ll have to tattoo it inside my eyelids

Beseech me, entreat me, implore me and pray

I’ll remember the things I was told not to say

I promise right now; I’ll try NOT to forget

But you might as well try catch a fart with a net (2)


You can coach me in manners and fine etiquette

Like checking I don’t leave the toilet floor wet

Instruct me in using a lavatory brush

To do up my zip and remember to flush

But you can’t beat the words back into my head

As hard as you try, they’ve already been said

You either accept or dismiss them as trite

You can’t take a fart back, try hard as you might.(2)

 

 

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Omega –with A Y Pi Ki A ©


I half-wonder if you planned tae destabilise the planet

when ye used yer bunker busters tae peel and cook yer chips

You were trying to split the nations who were trying hard your patience

But your bombs just caused a great big bloody RIP

Jist how far away fae Kashmir did yeez drap your bunker-busters

Wid yeez drap some food and water, even half as much would do

If its half as near the target, but with half the rant and bluster

Then half the world would drink a half to you

But You stole the clothes of gods to decorate the plain-clothes bunker

You created to hide your lies and keep the world @ BAY

But in spite of Fox news network I remember-well the drunkard

Who emptied Texan death-cells with a Y Pi Ki A

For every bunker-buster, and for every A10 cluster

Every single snipers bullet, every rocket or missile

You defy the UN charter and create a case for Martyrdom

That someone wraps around a bomb then straps it to a child


While You steal the clothes of gods to decorate the plain-clothes bunker

You created to hide your lies and keep the world @E- BAY

But your friends at Fox news network knew the coke-head and the drunkard

they sent to war for daddy with a Y Pi Ki A


Like every mad dictator you’ve accounts tae settle later

When the world realises that it wisnay how you claimed

If you understood oor fury that you’ll never face a jury

Ye wid hiv the decency tae be ashamed


but you wear the clothes of gods in the golf-course bunker

Where you hacked and sliced as nature swept New Orleans away

when ye shoulda sent some heavies tae fortify the levies

they were torturing Iraqi's with a Y Pi Ki A

or runnin' roon manhattan gi’en' dollar bills away

They were busy singing Y Pi Ki A

 

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unashamed ©

I’m often seen as weird, eccentric, or just queer
I’ve been called a poof quite often for my verse
But in spite ay loadsa chances, never met a guy ah fancied
(though my eyes’ll turn at any woman’s erse)
unabashed, I call me poet. and proud of what I wrote
and unashamed to call it poetry
I stick it out where it belongs @tollcrosspark.com
Its hingin’ there fur aw the world tae see
If yer likin’ some ah’m glad, if ye love it aw, yer mad!
bit thur's 'hings in there will mibbe hit the spot
There’s things’ll raise yer ire, and there’s things, if ye’d a fire
Ye wid litter-ally burn the bloody lot
Rurrs wurds ur ritten rerr cum ower better heard
In the voice that wis imagined when the deeds
Described therein wur scribbl’t as a jugglin’wordsmith dribbl’t
In his cups or sittin’ laughin’ aff ‘ees heid.
It disnay cost a coin, so ah hope you’ll no purloin it
Or pass it off without attribut'ing
to these bards the bloody pains it took to spill thur veins
for you to print then send to your recycle bin
as ye go and tell the world what a clever boy or girl
Ye’ve been fur finding this (here,
way’a’a show yeez!)
When you could bring these authors fame if ye cut and paste their names
or send an email first, just saying please.

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Winds of change ©


Ur ye no gonnae come?
Naw! Ah’m no gonnae come!
Ur ye sure ye wullnae come?
Uch! C’moan?
Yer actin’ like a wummin
Ah sed ah umnay comin’
Uch, C’moan,
Aye, awright, let’s get goin’

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living ©

Hope is a fine thing to have in a heart
and it’s better if faith’s a near neighbour.
Happy the home where Charity starts
and where nothing comes without Labour
but Joyful the place where the table is yoked
with the wants of a traveller in mind
Peaceful, the sleep of godless folk
embracing all mankind

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