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Annie’s Fired Her Gun

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  6 Responses »
Jun 222012
 

union_street_1950s-tall
By Bob Smith.

A quine ca’ed Annie Lennox
His kickit up an affa stir
Rubbishin the “gairdens” plan
Some fowk are in a birr

Gweed on ye Annie quine
Fer ca’in the plans jist crap
Ye’ve ruffled a fyow feathers
Widdie’s gang are in a flap

Ye’ve ivvery richt ti hae yer say
An hark back ti the 60’s folly
Fin biggin bliddy concrete trash
Wis thocht maist affa jolly

St Nicholas Hoose fer a stairt
Faa drimt up iss ugly wart?
Syne they blockit aff George Street
Planners didna gie a fart

Yon college doon bye Holburn
Wisna pleesin ti the ee
It seenwis aa knockit doon
In case students hid ti flee

The fauchie new Uni library
Some think it anither boob
A square biggin made o gless
A muckle giant Rubik’s cube

Oor toon is in an affa mess
Fer ‘eers hisna bin weel run
Noo if things still gyang agley
Shout “Annie Get Yer Gun”

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012

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The Fairm Road

 Aberdeenshire, Creative Writing  No Responses »
Jun 142012
 

Country Road
By Bob Smith.

I bade doon a fairm road
It wis roonaboot twa mile lang
Twistin its wye throwe the widd
Back an fore ti skweel I’d gyang

Fower fairms war on iss road
An a bonnie wee cottage forbye
Richt at the eyn o iss roadie
Wis far oor fairm hame did lye

There wis rodden trees an spruces
An gean trees nae far fae hame
There wis larik trees an beech eens
An sycamore or wis’t a plane?

Throwe the widd an doon the howe
The road wis gey steenie an bumpy
The grocers’ vans hid ti tak their time
Iss made the drivers a bittie grumpy

In winter time the snaw dang doon
Fillin the road up ower the dykes
Fowk fin they cam  fae roon aboot
Fun they cwidna use their bikes

The roadie noo his chynged a bit
Some trees hiv been cut doon
Bit I still gyang in bye the road
Far I waakit fin Iwisa loon

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image Credit: COUNTRY ROAD © Iperl | Dreamstime.com

 

 

Sixty ’Ears “On The Throne”

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Jun 072012
 

toilet-roll
By Bob Smith. 

Her Majesty she his bin
Sixty ’ears “on the throne”
She maan hae a sair belly
Littin oot an antrin groan

A gweed laxative ‘tis needed
Ti aise the puir wumman’s woes
Efter sixty ’ears “on the throne”
Ye’d hae ti maximise the dose

Noo am nae an anti royalist
Nor a supporter o the croon
Bit “on the throne” aa iss time
Maan git Her Majesty doon

Raise a gless o Syrup o Figs
As a toast ti Her Majesty
 Efter sixty ’ears “on the throne”
Fae win micht she bide free

A ken richt weel wi iss poem
Een or twa micht nae see reason
An ca upon the powers aat be
Ti hae me jiled fer treason

QueenVictoria micht hae said
We are nae amused
Clap the mannie in irons
Iss canna be excused

So ony mail addressed ti me
An ma trial cwid need fundin
Jist sen it ti “The Poetry Mannie”
C/O The Tower o London 

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image: Creative Commons © Terry Johnston
http://www.flickr.com/photos/powerbooktrance/

Ode Ti Aiberdeen Quines On A Setterday Nicht

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 312012
 

beermugpic
By Bob Smith. 

Binge drinkin quines – there’s nithing worse
They  faa aboot an sweir an curse
Wi hurdies keekin oot their draars
They stumble oot o clubs an bars

Oh bonnie quine fit are ye deein
Squattin in some shop door peein
Syne styterin oot  on ti the street
Yer knickers danglin roon yer feet

Ye try ti hail a passin taxi
Bit only lan up on yer jaxie
Ye  wanner hame  intae yer bed
And waakin up aside some ned

Puir quine ye’re still a wee bit foo
As ye struggle ti  the nearest loo
Ye look in  the mirror—oh fit a sicht!
An ye canna myn a thing aboot last nicht

 ©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image Credit: BEER MUG© Melinda Nagy | Dreamstime.com

“Licht Blues” Hiv Turn’t Ti Green

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 242012
 

By Bob Smith.

Ibrox - The home of Rangers F.C. on Edmiston Drive, Glasgow. Rangers Football Club Gates also in view.

Some fowk doon Govan wye
Wi sad facies hiv bin seen
Fair dumfoonert aboot the news
Gers saved bi a mannie GREEN
.
Noo things cwid hae bin affa worse
An fair added ti Blue Noses plight
If Charles G an Craig W jined forces
Gers wid be ained  by Green an Whyte
.
The hail thing his noo becum
Jist like a  Brian Rix farce
They micht lan in liquidation
Sic a richt kick up the arse.
.
Seems Trumpie he wis sniffin aboot
Myn his auld mither cam fae Tong
Bit “The Donald” seen skedaddled
Fin Gers finances gid aff a pong
.
He widna hae hid windfairms
Doon the wye o Copeland Road
An he cwid hae biggit a big hoosie
On Murray Park as his new abode		 Wull the SPL becum a coordly bunch
If  a New Co rises fae the mire
An vote ti keep the “licht blues” in
Lichtin Scottish Fitba’s funeral pyre
.
Fan’s wull think iss is the eyn
O sportin integrity in the game
A helluva lot hiv noo threatened
Ti bide awa an stey at hame
.
A final thocht as ti new ainers
Gers fans wid lose aa hope
If een o the fowk in the consortium
Wis the video film mannie Tim Pope
.
We maan tho hae some peety
Decent Gers fans fin it nae funny
A fyow eers they’ve bin supportin
A team wi nae bliddy money
.
.
.
.
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012

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Image Credit © Copyright G Laird and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

A Gowfer’s Lament

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 242012
 

By Bob Smith.

GOLF COURSE © Boleslaw Kubica | Dreamstime.com

The game o gowf is puzzlin
Causes frustration yet gies pleasure
Fin ye think ye’ve got it cracked
It shows it’s got yer measure
.
Yer drive it splits the fairway
The nine iron shot’s a dream
Ye miss anither twelve inch putt
It’s aneuch ti mak ye scream
.
Anither drive doon the middle
Next shot’s bang on the stik
Fit silly sod pit a bunker ‘ere
His brain it maan be thick
 .
Ye crack een verra close ti green
Syne thin yer next wedge shot
Fit wye div a play iss silly sport?
My game’s gien a ti pot
.
A five widd at a blin par three
Yer sure it maan be close
Ye fin it’s fifty fitt awa
Yer feelin fair morose
.
Yer next tee shot’s a bittie  hookit
It his feenished on a bank
Nae problem – jist an easy swing
Oh no! A bliddy shank		 Ye reach the turn in forty
Ah weel it cwid be worse
Next shot flees weel oot o bounds
It’s time ti sweir an curse
.
Ye hit a richt monster drive
It’s soarin weel oot o sicht
Yer partners shak their heids an say
Yer swing it wisna  richt
.
Maist  shots are oot  the sweet spot
Fit are ye deein right?
Next roond it’ll be back ti slicin
And playin a load o shite
.
Ye hit the green in regulation
Syne ye tak three putts
Ye stan ‘ere  an scratch yer heid
It fairly drives ye nuts
.
Yer keepin yer game tigether
The last hole -yer nearly hame
Seeven shots later an ye mutter
Fa inventit iss stupid game?
.
Ah weel there’s aywis next wikk
Ye return wi fresh hope an vigour
Ye duff yer first drive seeventy yards
Did I hear some bugger snigger?

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie “ 2012
Image Credit:  © Boleslaw Kubica | Dreamstime.com

Integrity An Democracy

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 172012
 

By Bob Smith.

utgpanpic

Integrity an democracy wull be lost
If the City Gairdens plans ye scrap
So says yon mannie fae Acsef
We maan pit Aiberdeen on the map
.
The chiel his hid a memory lapse
Integrity and democracy it deet
The day the public consultation vote
Wis ignored by Sir Ian an his creed
.
The lot in the coalition cooncil
Ti spik ti Widdie felt the need
Onybody wi a grain o sense
Kentiss widna dee ony gweed		 Is it ta-ta ti the Granite Web?
Weel we’ll hae ti wait an hope
The Labour lot stik ti their guns
An Sir Ian Widd is left ti mope
.
The third briggie ower the River Don
Micht be fer the chap as weel
Ross Grant is noo on the cooncil
He thinks the scheme is bliddy feel
.
Integrity an democracy micht recover
In the toon twixt Don an Dee
If some cooncillors they haud faist
An ti Widdie dinna bend the knee

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012

Villages Are Deein

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
May 112012
 

By Bob Smith.

Midlem Village Hall

Some sma villages are deein
Aa ower the kwintraside
Young local fowk are cryin oot
Fer a wee hoosie fer ti bide
.
There are hoosies in the villages
The young canna afford ti buy
Fair forced oot  o the mairket
Prices are ower damn’t high
.
Snappit up bi fowk nae local
Some hoosies noo a holiday hame
So the young hiv ti move awa
Iss is maist criminal an a sham
>
Hoosies noo jist lyin empty
Jist used a fyow wikks a eer
Or lit oot bi rich owners
At a sky high rent a fear		 Local pubs an shops are shuttin
Cos there’s nae bugger left ti spend
Except fin the absent owners
Turn up at an odd wikkend
.
Local skweels are slowly closin
Cos young couples move awa
Aa fer the wint o a local hoosie
Far they can becum a ma an da
>
A law it shud be passed
Village hooses maun be offered
Ti fowk faa bide roon aboot
Afore incomers bids are proffered
.
The young are a village’s future
Wark an hooses we maun provide
An keep up the community spirit
Fit holiday hame gadgies canna provide

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012

Image credits:
Midlem Village Hall © Copyright Iain Lees and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence
Thumbnail © David Napier under the Creative Commons

Lament Fer Scottish Fitba

 Creative Writing, Featured, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Apr 262012
 

By Bob Smith.

dugout-pic-by-ian-lees

Fitba fans are noo fleein
Fae the shite they are seein
Played on pitches throwoot the land
Their heids they are scratchin
At fit they are watchin
Coaches beery their heids in the sand
.
The gemme is noo borin
Fin teams are nae scorin
Nae players git on the scoresheet
Ti fans it’s a scunner
Git forrit they thunner
Some teams try nae ti git beat
.
Nae goalmouth scrambles
Or quick passin gambles
Haud on ti the ba is the goal
Nae fleein wingers
Fa at crosses war slingers
A striker’s a richt lonely soul
.
The gemme’s played in midfield
Neither team it dis yield
Ti move faist they nivver aspire
We maun keep possession
Is a coach’s confession
Scorin goalswis eence the desire
.
The coaches div sing
Results are the thing
So AABODY defends at the back
Strikers noo in defence
Fin things get ower tense
There’s nae bugger left  in attack
.
If wi dinna concede
The coaches wull plead
Wi micht sneak a goal near the eyn
Fans fin iss a bore
An some they div snore
Tryin hard their seats ti recline		 Players they faa ower
Some are a richt shower
Sma contact?- they’re doon on the grun
Chiels clutchin their face
As actors they’re ace
In sic folly the fans fin nae fun
.
So things maun be changed
In the heids o the deranged
A mair positive style wi shud see
Or I’m feart itherwise
We’ll see the demise
O a gemme eence flowin an free
.
Attack attack attack
We maun noo bring back
Leave defences ti cope wi attackers
If a goal is lit in
Dinna think it’s a sin
Jist gyaang an score twa crackers
.
It’s doon ti cost
Some fans are lost
Gweed money is pyed ti watch piss
If the gemme’s poor
Fer 30 minutes plus an oor
Mair and mair wull gie it a miss
.
A’m gettin lang in the tooth
An fair doon in the mooth
At fit eence wis “the beautiful game”
Lots o matches are crap
Wi tackles ower the tap
Fit we’re seein’s a richt bliddy shame
.
.
.
.
.
.
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
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Image Credit: Ancrum A.F.C football pitch and dugout (Iain Lees) / CC BY-SA 2.0

Lit’s Hae A Boycott

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Apr 122012
 

By Bob Smith.

paperpic

Lit’s aa hae a wee boycott
O baith oor local papers
Faa noo are seen as biased
In favour o business capers

Nae  muckle objective reportin
In the columns o EE or P&J
Jist lots o damn’t propaganda
Fae some business mannie’s oot tray 

Time fer fowk noo ti kick
The buggers faar it’s sair
Dinna buy the nyaff papers
Hae editors teerin their hair

People power is fit we need
Tell the publishers we’re fair sick
Aye readin the bliddy scrivens
O some business leanin prick

A wis near 25 ‘ear in advertisin
Paper’s weak spot aa ken it is
Haein sales drappin like a steen
Syne the gaffers get in a fizz

Ti sell advertisin bi the column
Circulation figures maun bide gweed
If fowk stoppit buyin the papers
The Evening Distress wid seen bi deid

Think o aa the fowk workin there
Some north east fowk micht cry
A didna see muckle “EE carin”
Fin they hung Martin Ford oot ti dry

The solution fer baith papers
Ti sooth some north east wrath
Cum oot o “business” hip pooches
An jist steer a mair middle path

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012

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