Was a murderous thug;
He buried his victims
Wrapped in a rug;
He shook hands with the devil
And royalty too,
Then joked with the pastor
whose credentials were few.
Now he’s on the long slide to eternity
Smouldering with others of that deadly fraternity.
SCOTTISH HISTORY LESSONS
The Romans came
And Brittania stretched
As far as the Antonine Wall
But the Picti in Caledonia
With their faces and bodies painted
Forced them back to Hadrian’s Wall.
Then the Gaelic Kingdom of Dal Riata
Welcomed Columba to Iona,
Who turned the pagan Scotti Christian.
Soon the Anglo Saxons of Bernecia
And the Viking hordes came too
And so the first Kingdom of Scotland was born.
Down the years it was
House of Alpin
House of Dunkeld
House of Baliol
And House of Stuart
In a rule of three uncontested centuries.
James V1 also inherited the Throne of England
And Stuart Kings and Queens
Ruled both independent Kingdoms
Until that fateful Act of Union in 1707
Finished Scotland as a country
In its own right.
Bonnie Prince Charlie tried and failed
At Culloden his protest stalled
And Cumberland his forces mauled
For him there was no other chance
He ran the gantlet back to France.
Now Scotland has its chance again
You had it once, a nation then.
Independent, free, no tyrant’s yoke
For Scotland freedom’s not a joke
Fight like a fishfag, Union be damned!
Your hills, your lochs, your lives… Your land.
“They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.”
― Philip Larkin
“Poetry is nobody’s business except the poet’s, and everybody else can fuck off.”
― Philip Larkin
THE VIEW FROM MY WINDOW
Old women with polished perms on fat heads
Men tinkering with diseased cars
Dogs taking their owners to the park –
Where they converse with their friends
And crap indiscriminately.
The Postman, the Milkman and the Gasman,
Two door-to-door leaflet saleswomen
And a posse of Jehovah’s.
A stray cat or two
And twenty five chimney-stack pigeons.
Then there are all those aerials-
Like one-legged storks-
Looking down on the patched-up pavements.
Where have all the front gates
Absconded to, I wonder?
Frightened away perhaps by all the leering
FOR SALE signs
Constantly peering over their shoulders?
I guess that must be it.
CITY OF GOLD
I walk this city of twenty-six year olds
With their narrow suits and three-o-clock faces
Their heads full of twitter-speak
And their pockets full of aces.
Cast die to self and follow number seven;
If I say a prayer for redemption
Will I get a free bus ride to heaven?
HI HO SILVER LINING
Hi ho silver lining
The timbre in your voice is already declining
The light in your eyes is no longer shining
The fire in your belly
Has already turned to jelly
But the love in your heart
Won’t let us drift apart
We are younger nor anyone
And livelier nor everyone
And we plan to be around till the party is done.
MY LITTLE CHICKADEES
It’s that time again
When the school holidays come round
And all sane adults go to ground
To avoid the pavement madness
Of the two-wheeled angry hordes
Swarming like demented wasps
Buzzing in and out, turn about
Up and down, round and round
The world flapping in their wake
All seeking somewhere to have their cake.
Perhaps W C Fields was right;
When asked his views on kids he cried
It all depends on whether they are boiled or fried.