Apr 062012
 

By Bob Smith.

The first season o the ‘ear
Heralds the fresh breath o Spring
April shooers weet the grun
Birdies ti nests they cling

Syne the time o Simmer
Wi the sun heich in the sky
Fin thunner micht be rummlin
An yer skin can stairt ti fry

Simmer’s deen an it’s Autumn
Wi the leaves nae langer green
Fairmers they still wark the lan
Bi the licht o a gweed hairst meen

Fae Autumn inti the Winter
Wi it’s dark an broodin skies
The sna lyin’ deep an crisp
Ye’re maist affa sweir ti rise

The vagaries o oor climate
Am sure some wull agree
Are better fin yer hearin
“The Fower Seasons” by Vivaldi

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image Credit: Elaine Andrews

Mar 302012
 

By Bob Smith.

On mither earth faar we div bide
Thingies noo are fair on the slide
On iss sphere in the universe
The gweed life noo is in reverse

Flora an fauna are aa in decline
As the human race dis undermine
The basics fer the warld’s survival
Yet maist fowk’s brains are in denial

We build an drill an pull oot trees
The polar regions nae langer freeze
The kwintraside noo aa tar scarred
As motorin groups they lobby hard

Mair an mair hooses biggit near toons
Coverin fertile fields we kent as loons
Rape an winter wheat full fairmer’s parks
Nae placies left fer the peesies or larks

Aathing noo maun be neat an tidy
In winter time things canna be slidie
If sna faas doon at the rate o faist
It’s look’t upon as bein a bliddy pest

Yet sna we need ti fill lochs an rivers
It melts in the hills an rins doon in slivers
So we can aa drink a draught o H20
The watter levels shudna be ower low

We cut doon rainforests so cattle can graze
Or palm ile is socht ti mak soap fer yer face
An fowk faa hiv bade in thae forests fer ‘ears
Throwen oot o their hames bi firms’ owerseers

Mither Earth provides us wi aa wi need
Sustainable? Aye bit nae fin there’s greed
We maun use less of fit Mither Earth dis gie
Some fowk in oor warld iss they canna see

I hiv some hope Mither Earth wull survive
As the younger fowk weel they div strive
Ti gither an protest aboot fit’s aa gyann on
Mither Earth micht yet see a brand new dawn.

.

.
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012

.

Image Credits:
GRASSHOPPERS © Steffen Foerster | Dreamstime.com 
PLANET EARTH © Foto_jem | Dreamstime.com

Mar 222012
 

By Bob Smith.

The human race’s in the control
O buttons an technology
Young fowk canna git a jobbie
There’s bugger aa fer them ti dee

The button on the TV remote
His life become a farce?
Ti turn the TV on an aff
Nae need ti move yer arse

Buttons on the factory fleer
Mair robots on assembly line
The workforce eence in hunners
Micht noo be jist forty nine

Nae need fer sae mony bunk tellers
Fan siller ye wint ti withdraw
Jist touch a fyow wee buttons
O the machine in the hole in the wa

Press the PC start button
Info at eence ye’ll access
E’en pyein yer accoonts online
Is classed as total progress

The buttonie on a hairst combine
Leaves ae mannie noo in control
Fairm workers aa oot o wark
Nae langer oan the peyroll

A wee button ye maan punch
Afore crossin a richt busy street
The green mannie he tells ye
Faan ti stairt usin yer feet

The bricht radar screen on a trawler
Tells the skipper fan he’s near fish
Nae winner the stocks are fair drappin
It’s nae langer a hit or a miss

The purveyors o new technology
Tell us oor lives are noo gran
As lang as ye hit a wee button
Wi ae digit attached ti yer haun

Hid the Luddites the richt idea
Fin smashin up looms mechanised?
Maybe they saw inti the future
As jobs noo are fair prized

Thon mannie Albert Einstein said
In a batch o wirds fair minimal
“Technological progress is like an aix
In the haun’s o a pathological criminal”

A fyow rows o buttons I div like
Are eens on a gweed “squeeze- box”
Press its buttons aa ye like
Accordion music it fair rocks

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012
Image credit:  © Phil Date | Dreamstime.com

Mar 152012
 

By Bob Smith.

A’ve aywis likit the kwintraside
Born an brocht up on a fairm
Faar as a bairn a cwid wanner
An nae cum ti ony hairm

Doon the wye fae oor hoose
Wis a burn fit’s ca’ed the Ord
Sittin on its bonnie banks
A nivver wid be bored

Twa railway sleepers war laid doon
As a crossin ti oor neebors parks
An on iss bittie slabs o widd
A sat listenin ti the larks

The Ord cam oot the nearbye dam
Faar twis rumoured pike war seen
Mony’s the time a wint fishin there
Wi string, wirms an bent peen

In warm simmer days a paddled
Some bandies in a jar a’d trap
Syne studyin them fer a fyle
Afore back in the burn they’d drap 

Sometimes I aet ma denner
Doon b’ the burn o Ord
Fine sandwiches an bannocks
Wi ale fae yon Bon Accord

Lyin on the grassy banks
Peerin up at cloods abeen
Watchin the odd antrin plane
Fleein ower b’ Aiberdeen

Noo an agin there wid be a splash
Fit slippit oot o its burnbank hole?
Maybe Kenneth Grahame’s “Ratty”
Better kent as a watter vole 

The Ord it jined the Leuchar Burn
Slowly wannerin its wye ti Culter
Faar the statue o Rob Roy stauns
Wis he a hero or jist a looter?

It wis on the banks o the Ord
A learnt fit naitur’s aboot
Ma love o the kwintraside cairries on
O aat there is nae doot 

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2011

Mar 092012
 

By Bob Smith.

Noo the mannie a’m thinkin o
Is nae a chiel fae Roman stock
Nae an emperor nor a general
Mair a gairden pinchin bloke

The fowk in the Acsef’ “Senate”
“Hail Seizer” they micht roar
“The plebeians o oor gweed city
Wi them ye’ve settled a score”

Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath
T’wis ti hide his baldy heid
Oor “Seizer” micht weer a money belt
Ti hide proceeds o corporate greed

Like an assassin in Roman times
Oor “Seizer” he wields the dagger
Syne stiks it in the city’s hairt
An the bonnie gairdens stagger

Anither Caesar kent as Nero
He fiddled fyle Rome burned
Wull oor “Seizer” play bagpipes
As the UTG grun’s owerturn’t?

Oor “Seizer” shud read history
The Roman Empire it did faa
Helpit by “ower the tap” spendin
On thingies nae needed ava

Aa ye fowk o Aiberdeen toon
Faa voted fer the “Web” design
A hope iss ye dinna live ti regret
Somewye awa doon the line

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012

Feb 292012
 

By Bob Smith. 

Union Street-eence an elegant lady
Full o verve an flair
Nooadays she’s an aul hag
Faa’s sprootin facial hair

Biggins they war clean an bricht
Maist wi a fine granite wa
Some noo in need o a dicht
Ti wash dirt an stoor awa

Ye hid shoppies o aa descriptions
Sellin different kines o goods
Noo ye’ve git phone shops
Sellin mobiles ti flashy dudes

Fer smairt sartorial elegance
Yon Fred Watt fittit the bill
We’re left wi multi nationals
Faa’s prices wid mak ye ill

We hid bakers an grocers shops
Car showrooms showin their wares
Local baccy shops an fruit merchants
As weel as butchers sellin hares

Shopkeepers eesed aye ti keep
Pavements free o sna an ice
Ask them ti dee aat nooadays
Maist widna tak yer advice

On pavements eence bonnie an clean
There’s tabbies an chuddy aa stuck
Faith ye nivver are affa sure
Fit’s drappit amang iss muck

Biggins up abeen the shops
War clean an used as flats
Nooadays they’re dreich an worn
An mair suited for some bats

The restaurant at the Capitol
Wis famous fer its high tea
Syne ye gid throwe ti the picters
An drooled ower Sandra Dee

Setterday nichts on Union Street
Eesed ti be aa gweed fun
Noo ye’ll git a richt kickin
As yer lyin on the grun

Worst o aa noo is the traffic
The cause o noise an soss
Maist drivin doon Union Street
They jist cudna gie a toss

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011

Feb 192012
 

By Bob Smith.

A new player on the scene
His thrown the gauntlet doon
The weel kent face o Jimmy Milne
A local north east loon

Ti keep the gairdens bonnie
He’ll cum up wi some dough
If the citizens o Aiberdeen
Vote the Granite Web a no

Oh michty me oh fit a flap
City Gairdens Trust fair pit oot
O coorse they jist resorted
Ti pittin in the boot

Jim Milne he’s noo bein accused
O gettin the wrang eyn o the stick
Oor Stewartie’s jumpin up an doon
Like some  puir demented prick

We micht bi seen Stewartie says
As a toonie wi nae  desire
A place fits lacking ambition
A city fair left in the mire

Noo is ess nae jist scaremongerin?
Like fit FoUTG hiv bin accused
We aa ken fit yer tryin Stewart
Yer ploy we’ve aa jaloused.

Hats aff ti Jim Milne an his freens
Fer helpin in the ’oor o need
In the myns o aa the dooters
Ye’ll hae sown a positive seed

Time noo fowks ti aa staan up
Show the Granite Web  the door
Vote ti  retain oor bonnie gairdens
Wi Jimmy’s dosh we can aa score

  © Bob Smith “ The Poetry Mannie” 2012

 

Feb 102012
 

By Bob Smith.

“Fred the Shred”’s nae langer Sir
He’s bin strippit o his title
Noo jist a plain ex bunker
Wi views nae langer vital
.
Reduced eence mair ti the rank
O a mannie in the street
Bit still he his mair millions
Than fowk ye’ll likely meet
.
Wull the chiel be maist pit oot
Nae langer bein ca’ed Sir ?
Is stem cumin oot his luggies?
Is oor Fred in a bit o a birr
.
Forced ti chynge his letterheids
Titled stationery wull disappear
An cardies sayin he’s a Sir
Wull be chuckit on the fleer
Noo spare a thocht fer Fred
There’s lots mair o his creed
Titled gadgies linin their pooches
Wi the proceeds o great greed
.
Anither Goodwin we aa ken
A bank – bit een o sand
As notorious as oor Fred
Fer “shipwreckin” oot o hand
.
The puir mannie’ll hae ti learn
An iss he micht weel dread
Fin ask’t fit his name is
He’ll hae ti say “jist Fred”
.
.
.
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image © Alexandr Denisenko | Dreamstime.com
Feb 032012
 

By Bob Smith. 

Trees are fair perfection
Shapes ti please the ee
Soughin in the  gintle breeze
Hames fer the birdies ti

Green fin in first canopy
Syne gold in autumn’s glow
Stark fin in winter’s depths
Gales blaw them ti and fro

Shelter ti a traiveller
Fae the faain rains
Hivven ti danderin luvvers
Waakin doon widdit lane

Deein leaves fae the trees
Turn inti a gweed mould
Gairdeners ken the value o
Aat fit is naitur’s gold

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image Credit: Mike Shepherd

Jan 272012
 

By Bob Smith.


There’s jist nithing ti dee
Young eens cry in Aiberdeen
Iss wisna muckle o a problem
Fin I wis aroon seventeen
.
There wis cafes bi the dizzen
Faar ye cwid sit an chat
The famous Holburn Cafe
Or maybe the Kit Kat
.
Syne later on alang Union Grove
Ye cwid dander wi ease
An cum upon The Rendezvous
Better kent as Mama G’s
.
I learnt the airt o duncin
At Garlogie, Echt an Skene
Syne twis  ti the dunce halls
In bonnie Aiberdeen
.
Wednesdays – Abergeldie Jazz Club
Ti listen or jive ti Sandy West
Setterday – doon ti “The Beach”
Faar Leslie Thorpe wis at his best
.
There wis ither eens o coorse
The Palace, Douglas or the Palais
Faar ye cwid fin a bonnie quine
Ti snog up some dark alley
.
There wis Rock n’ Roll an ballads
Maybe jazz it wis yer choice
Played on the latest record players
Made bi Decca or His Master’s Voice
There wis lots o drainpipe troosers
Sweaters wi necks ca’ed crews
There wis Tony Curtis haircuts
An ticht winkle picker shoes
.
Ti the open air duncin at Hazleheid
Ye wid wanner hand in hand
Ti listen ti the music
Or waltz ti Bert Duff’s Band
.
On Sundays ye’d “waak the mat”
An see lassies bi the score
Maybe ye’d bump inti een
Ye’d snogged the nicht afore
.
There wis hullocks o picter hooses
The Majestic an a haill lot mair
The Capitol an the Astoria
Even hid an organ player
.
Ye ask’d a lassie ti the picters
She wis dolled up ti the nines
Ye really felt a cheapskate
Gyaan in the one an nines
.
The faavrit meetin plaicies
Fer the young an gallus
Wis ootside the “Monkey Hoose”
Or near the statue o William Wallace
.
There wis Eric, Bill, Neil, Ian an me
We fairly thocht we war dashin
Noo we’re aa ower sixty five
An rinnin oot o passion

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011