By Bob Smith.
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“The Donald” wis doon at Holyrood Ye’ll spile the bonnie coastline Trump says the warld’s aa laachin Royal Aiberdeen spoots oor Donald |
The pledge a wis gien’s bin bruiken Oor Eck cries “stuff an nonsense” Wi aa the rigmarole at Holyrood |
Image credit:© Mark Rasmussen | Dreamstime.com …. 3 windmills
By Bob Smith.
| 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 |
By Bob Smith.
| Lit’s hear it fer the fowk fa waak Aroon the streets in ivvery toon Fa’s only wish is ti be free Fae motor cars aa fleein aroon Streets faar ye can walk in peace Nae noise fae larry or car A toon cinter free o fumes an steer Faar the motor vehicle’s nae the Tsar A placie faar the high street shops Can dee their trade in tranquility An cafes hiv tables an chairs ootside Wi fowk enjoyin a coffee or tea Streets faar kids can waak ti skweel Nae aye driven in faimily cars Fowk’ll think there’s mair chunce O seein aliens fae the planet Mars |
Fowk war born wi things caed legs Bit they’re nae noo used sae muckle Instead o haen a fyow car free streets Lit toons aim ti hae a fair puckle Git fowk back livin in toon cinters So some widna hae ti drive ti wark An maybe they cwid enjoy some peace Like the car free island o Sark Ye think am livin in a fantasy warld? Maybe so bit we maun surely try Ti mak toon streets fowk freenly Reclaim oor streets shud be the cry . . . . ©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012 |
Picture Credit: Richard Slessor
By Bob Smith.
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Lit’s aa hae a wee boycott Nae muckle objective reportin Time fer fowk noo ti kick People power is fit we need |
A wis near 25 ‘ear in advertisin Ti sell advertisin bi the column Think o aa the fowk workin there The solution fer baith papers |
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012
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
By Bob Smith.
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On mither earth faar we div bide Flora an fauna are aa in decline We build an drill an pull oot trees Mair an mair hooses biggit near toons Aathing noo maun be neat an tidy |
Yet sna we need ti fill lochs an rivers We cut doon rainforests so cattle can graze Mither Earth provides us wi aa wi need I hiv some hope Mither Earth wull survive . . |
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Image Credits:
GRASSHOPPERS © Steffen Foerster | Dreamstime.com
PLANET EARTH © Foto_jem | Dreamstime.com
By Bob Smith.
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The human race’s in the control The button on the TV remote Buttons on the factory fleer Nae need fer sae mony bunk tellers Press the PC start button The buttonie on a hairst combine |
A wee button ye maan punch The bricht radar screen on a trawler The purveyors o new technology Hid the Luddites the richt idea Thon mannie Albert Einstein said A fyow rows o buttons I div like |
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2012
Image credit: © Phil Date | Dreamstime.com
By Bob Smith.
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A’ve aywis likit the kwintraside Doon the wye fae oor hoose Twa railway sleepers war laid doon The Ord cam oot the nearbye dam In warm simmer days a paddled |
Sometimes I aet ma denner Lyin on the grassy banks Noo an agin there wid be a splash The Ord it jined the Leuchar Burn It wis on the banks o the Ord |
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”2011
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
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