Feb 282013
 

By Bob Smith.

The Wireless ah the memories
O listenin fin I wis a loon
On dark winters nichts roon the fire
Oor Ecko radio it  sure wis a boon
.
There wis Dick Barton Special Agent
Fa took on aa the baddies
It fair sharpened the imagination
O fowk like us as laddies
.
Paul Temple an ace dectective
As weel as yon PC49
Solvin aa the nations crimes
Their adventures I likit fine
.
Fin I wis a bittie younger
Tammy Troot wis aa the rage
His escapades in the river
Held yer attention for an age
.
Setterday nicht jist efter tea
Ye sat an listen’t ti the story
O a Glesga faimily’s daily lives
The McFlannels wis nivver gory
Scottish Dance Music we aye likit
Wi Jimmy Shand an Adam Rennie
Their bands hid ye tappin yer feet
Jimmy an Adam were twa o’ many
.
Sports Report on the Licht Programme
Gied ye aa the fitba scores
Ye hid reports on the horse racin
As weel as Oxford an Cambridge rowers
.
Jet Morgan an his grand adventures
In the programme “Journey Into Space”
Hid ye jumpin up an doon
Wid he vanish withoot a trace
.
Comedy shows like Take It From Here
Wid hae ye laachin loud an lang
The Goons hid ye in stitches ti
Wi their funny “Ying Tong” sang
.
Their wis ither delights on the radio
Faar ower mony ti write doon
This his bin jist a flavour
O the wireless fin I wis a loon

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

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Feb 212013
 

By Bob Smith.

The whaup. Ma faavrit bird
wi its maist hauntin soon
a soond aat is embedded
sin i wis jist a loon

wi connach aa its habitat
its feedin gruns wi invade
wi really cwidna care a jot
as human arrogance wi parade

wi drain maist o oor weetlans
wi trumple doon oor grasses
why maan wi use up oor lan
jist tae satisfy the masses

we maan leave the whaup some space
fer it breedin an fer feedin
ere’s plenty room fer aa o us
if wi stop ayewis bliddy needin

© bob smith “the poetry mannie”  2013
Image credit: Sylvia Duckworth | Wiki Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feb 082013
 

By Bob Smith.

The roddies in oor toon
Are in an affa kirn
Potholes aa ower the place
Street surfaces nae aat firm
.
Potholies o a descripshun
Fae kypies tae big craters
Gettin  fowk aa weel vexed
Be they teachers or roof slaters
.
The cooncil is cash strappit
O iss we ken richt weel
Iss is nae consolation
Tae a bodie wi a connach’t wheel
.
Noo some potholes richt aneuch
Hiv bin patched bi the “tarry gang”
Bit wi bad wither an the traffic
Iss disna laist ower lang
.
The potholes are a menace
Wi aa the trouble they bring
Be it a puncture o a tyre
Or much worse – a broken spring
Siller fer the Aiberdeen bypass
It seems cooncillors can trot oot
Yet lots o toonsers winna benefit
Jist  the fowk fae oot aboot
.
The ceetizens o Aiberdeen are telt
The 21st ceentury we maan embrace
Yet  the potholes in oor toon
Hiv geen cooncillors a richt reid face
.
Lits aa noo jist hae a think
Aboot roddies aa ower the city
Spen some o the AWPR bawbees
On potholes fit are richt shitty
.
So cooncillors sit doon an think
O the troubles potholes cause
Dinna pit iss aff nae mair
Grab the problem bi the ba’s
.
O coorse there cwid be
Anither wye fit is best
Jist cut doon on car usage
An the roads micht langer laist

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013
Image Credit: Fred Wilkinson

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Feb 022013
 

By Bob Smith.

A’ve ayewis spak the Doric
Sin a wis jist a loon
A dialect still weel loo’d
Fae the Spey tae Bervie toon

Fin a wis at the local skweel
In classrooms it wis banned
Ye were threatened wi the scud
Fit wid hae wairmed yer hand

Bit eence oot in the playgrun
It flowed oot o yer moo
An wi yer freens an neipers
Doric wisna thocht taboo

We canna lit iss language dee
It’s pairt an paircel o oor lan
The Doric an the North east
They aye gyang han in han

A’m  loathe tak in fit a’m hearin
Young fowk canna say “ch” as in loch
Fit’s the warld cumin tae
If ye canna git yer tongue aroon roch?

Doric wirds are mair expressive
Than onything else ye micht hear
Thunk hivvens fowk still spik it
In  kwintra placies like New Deer

The  braw wird  “dreich” a like
Instead o jist sayin “dull”
Or maybe gyaan “heelster-gowdie”
As ye tummle doon a hull

Robbie Shepherd he still spiks it
An a Doric sang he’ll sing
Sin the days o “The Garlogie Fower”
Iss chiel’s bin the Doric “king”

Lits aa fecht fer the Doric
Hae it taacht in aa the skweels
Instead o aa the lah-de-dahs
Thinkin the Doric is fer feels

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2013

Feb 022013
 

A book launch with a twist is set to be hosted by local Dark Fantasy author, Carmilla Voiez.

In celebration of the release of Psychonaut, the second book in Carmilla’s Starblood Series, a special evening for fans will be held on Friday 8th February, at Cellar 35, Rosemount Viaduct, Aberdeen, from 8.30p.m. to 1.00a.m.
This event will allow readers to meet the author, hear readings from both of her novels and taking part in a question and answer session.

Entertainment specifically detailed around the worlds of Starblood and Psychonaut – including acts by spooky-magician extraordinaire Dean Spruce and an intriguing and beautiful burlesque performance by Magenta Lust – will also be provided throughout the evening which will end in party style with music by Aberdeen DJ, Jimsin.

A Goth for over 20 years, Carmilla sold her Gothic Clothing business last year since when she has been writing top selling books which are inspired by the Gothic subculture, magic and dark desires and explore sexual obsession and violence in often hard-hitting ways.

Carmilla finds inspiration in local beauty, stately homes, the Moray Firth and woodlands around the Scottish town where she has lived the past 10 years with Starblood, the first book in the series, being set partly in the beautiful Cairngorm mountains and partly in the city in South West England where she grew up.  She currently lives with her husband, daughters and numerous cats in Banff, where she is writing the final book in the series.

Carmilla’s literary interests also extend to the Aberdeen Writers’ Club which she co-founded in 2011 as a forum where local writers gather to discuss ideas and writing techniques.

Psychonaut has already been warmly received by fellow authors:

“Carmilla Voiez is more of a singer than a writer. She tells her compelling story in a hypnotic, distinctive voice that brings her eerie world vividly to life.” — Graham Masterton

“Psychonaut is a book of mad impulses, inner vision, sadism, escape and belief.  You feel uncomfortable reading it, like Alex strapped to the chair in Clockwork Orange being taught to feel sick at atrocity.  Rather than leave us crippled by response though, Psychonaut bears you through the hurt towards the only paradise we can be assured of … a love past fault.” — Jef Withonef, Houston Press

While there will be no dress code at the launch on 8th February, it will be full of amazing Gothic and Fantasy inspired costumes and will be set off by local jewellery and masquerade-wear businesses who will be on hand offering their unique designs.

Entrance this event is £3.00, which will be redeemable against the purchase price of one of Carmilla Voiez’s critically acclaimed novels, published by Vamptasy worldwide.

Note:  This is strictly an over 18’s event and proof of age will be required for admittance.

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Jan 242013
 

The Return Of Tam O’Shanter By Hall H. Harper.  ( With sincere apologies to Robert Burns. )

When chapman billies leave the street
And drouthy neibours neibours meet,
When frae their shop an’ office biggins
Auld cronies meet at Geordie Riggins’
Tae sup strang scuds and guid French brandy
And oft times talk o’ houghmagandy,
(‘Though truth be tell’t, for a’ their clatter
A carlin widna’ thole their patter).

Then enter Tam fresh frae his wark,
Wi’ spreckelt tie and strippet sark,
Forfoughten, yamp and unco drouthy,
His mou fair like auld brock’s bahouchie.
“Quick lassie, barley bree!” he cries,
Then Souter Johnny he espies –
“Hey laddie, hae anither dram
Tae keep me comp’ny, bonnie man!”

So Tam and Johnny had a drinkie –
A gless o’ amber tinkalinky,
Then Johnny says, “Ye’ll hae anither
To help keep buck an’ saul thegither.”
“Na, na,” says Tam to Souter J,
“Just ae yin, then a’m on ma way!”
“Losh, losh,” says Johnny, “wheesht yer chitters,
Hae a gin wi’ angostura bitters!”

The ‘oors they passed intae the nicht,
By when baith were an unco sicht,
Then Tam minds Kate at hame hersel’
An’ says, “My life’ll be like Hell
If I don’t move my doup the noo
An’ get back hame tae you know who.
She’ll skin my hurdies tae the bane,
Yon glunshy, crabbit, ill-faured dame!”

“Nae bother pal,” says Souter Johnny,
“I’ll help ye spin a tale sae bonnie,
You’ll hae’r eatin’ oot yer mit –
So noo, let’s hae anither nip!”
An’ so the twa fiers had anither
An’ then the same an’ then anither
An’ then anither wan an’ then
They ’greed tae hae the same again.

But meanwhiles back in Laverock Rise
The sonsie Kate sits back an’ sighs –
She’s wash’d her hair an’ done’r nails
An’ watch’d the latest Emmerdale,
Had Chicken Korma an’, furra treat,
Some Athol Brose made wi’ Bezique
An’ couldnae gie a tinkler’s dam’
For the absence o’ the blootered Tam.

Noo back tae Tam wha’s haimewith raikin’
A stottin’, thowless, path is takin’,
Wi’ wan step fore an’ twa steps back,
His pair heid spinnin’ fit tae brak
An’ in his hert, terrification
That Johnny’s weel wraucht fabrication’ll
No swick his guidwife, mistress Kate,
Wha mith be gyte, but isnae blate.

At last he comes tae Laverock Rise,
“Oh hinnie lamb, I’m hame,” he cries,
“Oh aye,” quo’ Kate, “now let me guess,
Yon Britt’ny’s made another mess
An’ bootchet someone’s order up
So now, as ye’re the maister’s pup,
The hale jingbang befell to you
Tae bide an’ see the damp’t thing through!”

“Naw, naw,” says he, “an’ naw again,
I left on time but wid ye ken
I spied, as I passed by the kirk,
A Saturnalia in the mirk
An’ while I tried tae run away,
Auld Nick himsel’ bad me to stay
An’ had me towed up like a linnet,
By a strappin’ lassie in a simmet!”

“Aye, pull the other leg, big Tam
There’s bells and whistles on that wan,
If ye think I up the river came
On a watter biscuit – think again!
I’m no’ wan o’ yer office quines
That’ll fa’ fur a’ yer flow’ry lines
An’ get their wits a’ mixter maxter –
Yer bleezin’ man, get tae yer scratcher!”

So Tam sleekt aff intil his pit,
While sonsie Kate sat wi’ a smirk
An’ lacht at auld Tam’s childy haivers
‘Boot kirkyaird capers wi’ witchie ravers.
But all a sudden her smirkles seg,
She sees Tam’s jaiket on the peg
An’ gasps tae see upon its back,
A pentacle burnt in deepest black.

So maidens, never dout yer maun,
‘Though he may seem baith fu’ an’ thrawn
An’ never speir his fine excuse
When he comes late intil the hoose.
An’ laddies, when ye’re at the hottle
An’ilka tales matched wi’ a bottle,
Just mind the ‘oor an’ don’t be glaiket –
Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s jaiket!

GLOSSARY

chapman billies        – pedlar fellows
biggins                    – buildings
scuds                      – beer
houghmagandy        – hoo’s yer faither
carlin                        – old woman; witch
spreckelt                  – spotted
forfoughten              – exhausted; tired; enervated; worn out
yamp                        – possessing a keen hunger
buck                        – body
losh                          – lord
doup                        – bottom; buttocks; posterior; erse
glunshy                    – scowling
ill-faured                  – discourteous; ill mannered; offensive; shabby; ugly
haimewith                – homeward
thowless                  – inactive; inert; lethargic; sluggish
swick                      – deceive; swindle; bluff; cheat
gyte                        – daft; crazy; mad
blate                        – simple; slow; stupid
bootchet                  – botched
towed                      – tied; roped; caged
smirkles                  – smiles; suppressed laugh
hottle                      – hotel
yanker                    – agile person (not used in the poem, but may be useful in day to day conversation)

Jan 032013
 

By Bob Smith.

A didna mak ony reesolushins
At the stairt o the New Year
Jist in case some o them
Widna be kept a fear
.
If a hid made reesolushins
Tae show a bit o moral grit
A wid mak the extra effort
Tae stir things up a bit
.
Keep opposin the mannie Trump
Ma main aim iss wid be
So fae oor shores he’d bugger aff
Fae his haverins we’d be free
.
A’d fecht tae keep oor kwintra
Safe fae the lan grabbin rich
Chiels fa try tae mak the rules
An democracy try tae ditch
A’d stir things wi the cooncil
Tae see oor money weel spint
An nae lan in the coffers
O fowk faa mak a mint
.
On a far less serious note
Ma gowf a’d try tae improve
So ma handicap it wis cut
An ma swing wis in the groove
.
A’d try tae be aye smilin
Fin fowk an me div meet
An look upon the positives
If the Dons they div git beat
.
Bit ae New Year reesolushin
An on iss a’ll nae bi canny
Is tae wish ye “a the best”
Fae Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”
Image Credit© Anna Dobos | Dreamstime.com

Dec 272012
 

By Bob Smith.

Some fowk doon in Stoney
Woke up tae flooded hoosies
Watter flowin a fyow fit deep
It flushed oot ony moosies
.
Rain cam poorin oot the sky
Rinnin doon fae field an park
The Carron burst ower it’s banks
Faar wis yon Noah wi his Ark?
.
Aroon Brigfield and the High Street
War hames fit wur warst hit
Drains they jist cwidna cope
Wi the watter, gunge an grit
Some local fowk war on TV
Like Alan Smith an Isla Duncan
In Isla’s food caterin placie
Her stock it took a dunkin
.
Ithers in iss bonnie place
Jist sooth o Aiberdeen toon
Showed gran community spirit
Gien grub, an the odd nichtgoon
.
So raise a gless o Glenfiddich
Tae thae gweed Steenhive fowk
As a toast tae aa their spirit
An tae annoy yon Trumpie gowk

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image credit: Judith Pullar

Dec 212012
 

How Sir Ian Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Suz (with apologies)

T’was the night before Christmas in old Aberdeen
Or should I say Whoodville, yes, that’s what I mean
Every Whoodie in Whood-ville
Liked Christmas a lot…
But Sir Ian Grinch
Did not like it one jot!

The town settled down for a long winter’s nap
Except for this one crinkly, creaky old chap
Sir Grinch hated Christmas! It might be because
He didn’t believe in a Sanity Clause

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
But Sir Ian Grinch was pacing instead.
Perhaps Ian’s head wasn’t screwed on quite right.
It could also be he was simply just tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
Was the Whoodies in Whoodville said no to his mall.

Out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
When Grinch said the ancient great trees didn’t matter
“Let’s cut them down and let’s build some parking!”
But the Whoodies thought Grinch was really quite barking.
Now this Grinch wanted granite – a web of it really
With shopping and theatres and parking, ideally.
But the Whoodies said ‘No’ to his project ‘It’s crass!’
We want our trees and our wildlife and grass.

It was his way or no way, he’d not give an inch
So the web was abandoned; this angered the Grinch

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave Whoodville a vibrant and dynamic glow.
“If there’s no web for me then I’ll make very sure
“My money will go and help Africa’s poor”
“That will fill all the Whoodies with remorse
(“And I’ll avoid being taxed at the source”).

Ian was grouchy and grinchy, indeed
The size of his heart was no match for his greed
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whoodies,
And envied their happiness and all their goodies

On Christmas day all of the Whoodies would gather
Down in their Gardens for coffee and blather

Whoodies, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they’d feast! And they’d feast!
And they’d FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would start on Whood-pudding, and rare Whood-roast-beast
Which was something Sir Grinch couldn’t stand in the least!
And THEN
They’d do something he liked least of all!

Every Whoodie in Whoodville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.
They’d stand hand-in-hand. And the Whoods would start singing!
They’d sing! And they’d sing!
AND they’d SING! SING! SING! SING!

The more that Sir Grinch thought of the Whood-Christmas-Sing
The more Ian thought, “I must stop this whole thing!
“Why, for seventy years I’ve put up with it now!
I MUST stop Christmas from coming!
…But HOW?”

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE GRINCH
GOT A WONDERFUL, ACSEF IDEA!

“I know just what to do!” Sir Grinch said with a sneer
“I’ll steal every trace of their Christmas this year.
“I’ll threaten to take my web money once more
“And threaten to give it to Africa’s poor.”

“And while I’m at it I’ll steal all their stuff”
(It seems being a billionaire wasn’t enough)
Sir Grinch owned most Whoodville it’s certainly true
His wealth would have satisfied both me and you
But when the old Grinch couldn’t get his own way
And get his Web built, then he vowed they would pay

He made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, “Why you handsome old goat!”
“With this coat and this hat, I’ll look just like Saint Nick!”
“All I need are some reindeer…”
The Grinch looked around.
But since reindeer were scarce, there was none to be found.

(The reason that no deer were found in the town
Is Grinch’s friend Aileen had had them shot down
Her cruelty and greed caused a Whoodville petition
The people agreed there will be no repetition)

Did that stop the old Grinch…?
No! Not one little bit
“I’ll just need to call on a couple old gits
“If I can’t find some reindeer, I’ll make some instead!”
(I think the poor man must be oot of his head)
So he called lackeys Tommy and Colin to come
Which they quickly did, those poor dears were quite dumb.
And he tied great big horns on top of their heads.
(It seems that these lapdogs were easily led).

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
The old Grinch couldn’t wait ta get oot and aboot.
THEN
He loaded some bags
And some old empty sacks
On a ramshackle sleigh
And he hitched up dogs Tommy and Colin, whey hey!

Then the Grinch said, “Giddyap!”
And the sleigh started down
Toward the homes where the Whoodies
Lay asleep in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Whoodies were dreaming sweet dreams without care
When he came to the first house near to Union Square.
“This is stop number one,” The old Grinchy was there.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, probably had too much sherry.
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.
But if Santa could do it, then so could the Grinch.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue
Where wee Whoodie stockings all hung in a row.

He stole left, right and centre; he got on his knees
He swiped BrewDogs, Glenfiddich and Zeppelin CDs
And just to increase the Whoodies distress
He left unsold copies of Evening Express.
And he stuffed all their gifts in his sacks and then nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Whoods’ feast!
He took the Whood-pudding! He took the roast beast!
He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.
Why, that Grinch even took their last can of Whood-hash!

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And stole all the stockings, he was such a jerk!
Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
“And NOW!” grinned Sir Ian, “I will stuff up the tree!”
“I’ll have theatre seats carved from it, just wait and see
“Down with the trees, turn their wood into chip
“For my web and its theatre” (he was quite a dip)
Then he heard a small sound “This can’t be good!”
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Whood!

Twas Marie-Lou Whood, who was not more than two.
The Grinch had been caught by this little Whood daughter
Who’d got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at Sir Ian and said, “Santy, why,
“Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?”

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick
He thought up a Whood lie, and he thought it up quick!
In that he had practice, his cunning renown
A cunning which had torn Whood businesses down

“Why, my sweet little tot,” the fake Santy Claus lied,
“There’s a light on this tree that won’t light on one side.
“So I’m taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
“I’ll fix it up there. Then I’ll bring it back here.”

So he fobbed off the child with yet more of his lies
The master of false promises, spin, alibis
And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when Marie-Lou Whood went to bed with her cup,
He went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!
Then the last thing he took was the fireplace wood.
His hatred of trees and his greed were no good.

He did the same thing
To the other Whoods’ houses
Leaving crumbs
Much too small
For the other Whoods’ mouses!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair of his head was as white as the snow.
When he packed up his sled he was most ecstatic,
(By this time the Grinch was extremely erratic)
He had all of their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

“I’ll just head to the Gramps and on old Tullos Hill
“I’ll fly-tip these presents” (so much for good will)

“Pooh-pooh to the Whoodies!” the old Grinch was singing
“This year they’ll be no Christmas bells ringing.
“They’re finding out now that Christmas was snatched
“Oh what a brilliant idea I have hatched.
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
“The all the Whoods down in Whood-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!”
“They’ll say ‘Give us a web for we now need it more
“Then food, clothes and shelter would help Africa’s poor’.
“Give us more malls, and give us more shopping!
“They’ll beg for my web – oh those Whoods will be hopping!”

“That’s a noise,” grinned the Grinch,
“That I simply must hear!”
So Sir Ian Grinch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow…
But the sound wasn’t sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn’t be so!
But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Whood-ville!
Ian could not believe
Despite all of his efforts to plunder and thieve
What met his eyes was a shocking surprise
Each Whoodie in Whood-ville, the rich and the poor
Was singing! He shook to the core.
He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!

Somehow or other, Christmas survived!
In fact you could even say Christmas had thrived.
He stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”

“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
“It came without packages, boxes or bags!”
It was as if shopping was not the reason
For people to celebrate during this season.
Even without lots of designer gear
Somehow Christmas had still made it here.

And he puzzled three hours, `till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
“Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”
And what happened then…?
Well…in Whood-ville some of them say
That the Grinch’s small heart
Grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light
He said “Look what I just found when passing through Torry
“Nicked presents, which fell off the back of a lorry”
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
And he…
…HE HIMSELF…!
Ian Grinch carved the roast beast!
Merry Christmas to All, and to All a good night!

Well if you are reading this dear Mr Wood
You still have a chance to make everything good
Why not help the poor both here and abroad?
Doing so would be the greatest reward.

We need our green space, clean water and air
Even the finest web could not compare.
We’ve things in this town nowhere else to be found
So lay off our gardens, our common good ground.

If you want gratitude you’d get it indeed
By helping the helpless, the people in need.
So many things you could do with your money
The difference you’d make – it’s not even funny.

Next time please ask us, don’t dictate your plan
People are asking what kind of a man
Would cause such division, pitting friend against friend
Ian your web plans have come to an end.

Give up the ghost, take up some other cause
That’s all I’m saying – goodnight –

– Santa Claus

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Dec 202012
 

By Bob Smith.

It’s bin alleged a cooncillor wifie
At a meeting hid a wee doze
Fin voting on a nicht club licence
The cooncil war in the throes

Did the craitur hae forty winks?
Did she hear the pros an cons?
Fit wye wis she alood tae vote, 
Fin they hid a show o hauns?

She claims she’d teen medication
Iss made her a wee bit fuzzy
A’m sure there’s ither cooncillors
Faa’s brains are afen muzzy

They tak decisions aboot oor toon
Iss maks ye fair hae a think
Foo mony micht feel drowsy
Cos they’ve hid a denner time drink?

Nithing wrang wi haen an aperitif
As lang’s ye dinna bicum a bam
Jist mak sure fin ye hae a tipple
Glenfiddich is yer faavrit dram

“Glenfiddich!!” A hear The Donald roar
“A plague on aa sic drinkers
Fusky fae Wm Grant’s distilleries
Is only fit fer bliddy minkers”

A’m nae suggestin the puir wumman
Wis jist a bittie warse fer weer
The story aboot her maybe dozin
Hisna made things affa clear

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012

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