Doric Archives - Page 18 of 19

Aiberdeen’s “The Burj”?

Aberdeen City, Articles, Creative Writing, Opinion, Satire and Humour No Responses »

Apr 222011

By Bob Smith.

Anither iconic building we need
Is the view o yon Stewartie Spence
A luxury hotel like his nae less
Chargin mair than a fyow poonds an pence

Gie St Nicholas Hoose site awa says he
Ti some gweed developer chappie
Faa’ll build a great fantoosh palace
Ti keep the weel aff richt happy

A hotel nae doot fer the rich
Like the Burj ower in Dubai
A placie fer toffs ti swan aroon
Far prices are fair sky-high

Bit let’s hae an iconic building
Fer the less fortunate in oor toon
A placie fer the hameless ti bide
Wid be mair o a bliddy boon

Awa wi yer haverins Mr Spence
We’ve aneuch for the rich ti survive
We need ti look efter the poor
Faa’s lives hiv teen a bit o’ a dive

Nae doot he’ll class me “a traitor”
Fer nae wintin oor economy ti expand
Bit aboot the gap atween rich an poor
I’ll nae beery ma heid in the sand

O coorse anither use fer iss site
Is ti mak it a City Square
C’mon aa ye toon cooncillors
Aa it taks is a bittie flair

©Bob Smith”The Poetry Mannie” 2011

Lament Fer The Northeast

Aberdeen City, Articles, Creative Writing, Opinion No Responses »

Apr 072011

By Bob Smith.

Faar’s the likes o Tammy Mitchell
A provost wi nae falderals
Nae cavortin wi Acsef types
Or big lood moo’d Yankee pals

Provost Mitchell he spak the lingo
O the local North East lan
Ye aye kent fit wis fit
Fin Tammy shook yer haun

Nae mair chiels like Bob Boothby
Or mannies like yon Robert Hughes
Ye micht nae agreed wi their politicks
Be ye kent they’d peyed life’s dues

Jist mealie-mou’d gabbin gadgies
In the political scene the noo
Maist o oor Scottish MSPs
Shud bi on the bliddy Broo

Nae worthies in oor local council
Like Dick Gallagher or Alex Collie
Jist a bunch o maistly fearty fowk
An we greet at aa their folly

Nae muckle fish landed at Aiberdeen
Since the discovery o aa the ile
Nae mony fish market porters
Hiv ye seen noo fer a fyle

Nae chatter o riveters haimmers
Or the soond o tackety boots
Jist the noise o fower bi fowers
Driven bi billies in Armani suits

The young in oor wee villages
Canna afford ti buy a hoose
The reason is ower plain ti see
Incomers hiv bin lit loose

Fowk faa wark miles awa
In the toon o Aiberdeen
Hiv snaffled aa the village hooses
Or as holiday hames they’re teen

Nae mony local shops o ony note
Cos they’ve aa gin ti the wa
Nae langer a leevel playin field
Supermarkets hiv pinched the ba

We eesed ti hae a gweed paper
The P&J wis aye breezy an bright
It’s nae langer kent as impartial
The pages are noo fu o shite

Nae chunce o mince an skirlie
At some funcy restaurant placies
The chef wid look doon his nose
An pull affa funny facies

The reason he wid gie ye
As he whisks up his blancmange
Is ye canna serve up skirlie
Wi a dish o Duck a l’orange

At Pittodrie I watched gweed fitba
Faar players talents war set free
Noo it’s aa blackboard tactics
Wi systems 4-5-1 an 4-3-3

N.E. culture some say is wanein
Bit the Doric it still huds fast
An as lang as we aye spik it
It’ll nae bi in the past

I’m sure ye’ll bi noo hae gethered
I’m haein a wee rant an rail
An if a happen ti lan in jile
Wull somebody please pey ma bail

Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011

Prood Ti Be A Teuchter

Aberdeenshire, Articles, Creative Writing, Opinion, Satire and Humour Comments Off

Mar 252011

By Bob Smith.

It’s noo weel nigh on fifty ear
Seen I left ma faither’s fairm
Ti gyang an bide in the toon
An there ti chunce ma airm

Bit noo I’m growein auler
Ma myn gings back a fyle
Fin I wis classed a kwintra teuchter
Brocht up in a different style

There’s nae muckle wrang I maun confess
Wi a body faa wis born in the toon
Bit on fowk faa spikkit the Doric
Some ower their noses wid look doon

Noo the jobbie I wis fee’t fer
Hid me spikkin aat bit mair posh
The thingies yer asked ti dee
Fin ye need ti earn some dosh

Bit losh ye nivver forget yer roots
An I still spik in the Doric tongue
An on the odd antrin nicht
A cornkister I hiv sung

So I’m prood ti be a teuchter
Prood ti be an aul kwintra loon
An I’ll stick twa fingers up
Ti them faa wid ding us doon

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Stewartie’s On A Shooglie Peg

Aberdeen City, Articles, Creative Writing, Satire and Humour No Responses »

Feb 042011

By Bob Smith.

Stewartie Milne could be a loser
Dis he ken fit he is deein?
Backin some kittlesome ideas
Lots o fowk are disagreein

He’s weel ti the forefront
Promotin twa SPL tiers o ten
Bit some o his cronies say
Awa back an think again

He’s a freen o yon Trump
So must back use o CPOs
Stewartie min tak great care
Ye micht get a bleedy nose

Wi ACSEF he’s in bed
Wi Sir Ian Widd he cavorts
His the mannie nae sense ava ?
He maun be oot o sorts

The new stadium at Loirston
Is a must the chiel dis spoot
Maist Dons fans are nae convinced
An lots they hiv great doot

So Stewartie jist tak note
Tho’ millions ye micht hae
The fowk faa div oppose ye
They micht yet win the day

Fatty Arbuckles And Tessie O’Sheas

Articles, Creative Writing, Opinion No Responses »

Jan 282011

By Bob Smith.

We’ve aa pit on a bittie wecht
Caused by eatin convenience food
Nae mair time it seems we tak
Ti cook fit’s healthy an good

We stuff oorsels wi ready made meals
Shoved in the oven or microwave
Iss food is maistly tasteless shite
Tho’ time it wid seem we save

Fowk are classed as cooch tatties
TV channels they hiv on tap
I canna get ma heid roon iss
As the T.V noo is crap

“I hivna time ti cook a meal”
Tis the modern hoosewife’s wail
Jist aet fit a pit afore ye
Tho ye micht get like a whale

Mair choice! mair choice! we gie ye
Is the supermarkets prood boast
Nivver myn that fit wer eatin
His traivelled fae the sooth coast

Maybe we should listen ti the pleas
An cook like aal Auntie Jessie
Unless we aa wint ti turn intae
A Fatty Arbuckle or Twa Ton Tessie

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

The Lost Village

Aberdeen City, Articles, Creative Writing, Opinion No Responses »

Jan 212011

By Bob Smith.

Tak a trip oot bye Cove
It’s aneuch ti mak ye greet
Nae langer a quiet wee hamlet
Wi sma hoosies alang Main Street

Fit hiv they deen ti the village
Hooses thrown up here an there
The auld pairt still his tranquility
The rest is hard ti bear

Hae a waak up past the skweel
An ye’ll see fit I div mean
Aa the paths aroon Whitehills
Are nae langer ti be seen

The lang street fit’s Loirston Road
Wi it’s affshoot the “Hennie Raw”

His still a lot o hoosies
Fit are bonnie bricht an braw

Gyang wakkin doon the Main Street
Past the weel kent Cove Bay Hotel
The closer ye cam ti the shore
The air his aat tangy smell

Kids used ti be able ti sledge
Doon the brae an ower the brig
If they wir ti try iss nooadays
Some graves they wid hae ti dig

A bonnie freenly place wis Cove
Far ye eence stoppit for a blether
Wi muckle hoosin developments and sic
Fowk noo at the eyn o their tether

Thoosans o hooses aa roon aboot

For fowk fa wark in Aiberdeen
Nae thocht for life’s quality
Fit aul “Covers” wid hae seen

Div the kids still play at the shore?
Div they waak on the parapets?
Div they swing on pulley ropes still?
Faar the fisher fowk hung their nets

Harry Gordon he sang iss song
“Tak me back ti Cove”
If Harry wis here nooadays
He’d say na na by jove

Developers an planners are let loose
On villages fae Don ti the Tay
Can we stop iss mass invasion
O ither villages like Cove Bay

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Bad King Donald

Aberdeenshire, Articles, Creative Writing, Satire and Humour No Responses »

Dec 312010

BAD KING DONALD By Bob Smith.

(Ti be sung ti the tune o Good King Wenceslas)

Bad King Donald lookit oot

Ower his course at Menie
Fog an haar wis aa aboot
Fowk widna spend a penny
Tho’ brichtly shone the harbour lichts
Ye couldna see them twinkle
Syne a puir chiel hove in sicht
On dunes wis haein a tinkle

Hither Dod an stan by me
Disobey me at yer peril
Ging an see fit he micht wint
He maybe could be feral
Sire he bides jist doon the wye
Thon fishermannie fae Menie
Faa widna sell his hoose ti ye
An refused’ti tak a penny

Ging an see fit he dis wint
I dinna like trespassin
Fit a peety the cooncil says
The stocks are oot o fashion
Donald an Dod they strode oot
Haun an haun tigither
Peerin throwe the fog an haar
Causin them great bither

Dod he says noo tak yer time
An note faar ye are gyaan
Watch faar ye div pit yer feet
In case ye micht be faain
Dod ye are a fearty gowk
I ken fit I am deein
Tho’ it micht be foggy kine
An afen we’re nae seein’

Dod in maister’s steps he trod
Tho’ he thocht it crazy
Nivver a wird he did spik
Aathin’it wis hazy
Syne they saw an ootline shape
Near the salty brine so
Fin they got a bittie close
It was jist a wind turbine tho’

Sire,the mannie we hiv missed
In the haar he’s hidden
He’ll be back in his hame
The een ye ca a midden
Dammit Dod I’m fair pit oot
In fact I’m bliddy hissin
The mannie his nae richt ye see
On my dunes ti be pissin

Div Ye Myn

Aberdeen City, Articles, Creative Writing No Responses »

Dec 172010

By Bob Smith.

Div ye myn o’ Andrew Collies
Wi’ its waft o’ tea an’ coffee
Div ye myn o’ Thomson’s sweetie shop
Faar ye bocht aa kinds o’ toffee

Div ye myn o’ Cocky Hunter
Faar ye got maist onything
Div ye myn o’ Reid and Pearson
Weemin’s fashions they did bring

Div ye myn o’ Ledingham the bakers
Wi’ their restaurant up abeen
Div ye myn o’ the Princess Cafe
Faar ye looked oot ower the Green

Div ye myn o’ Aberdeen Motors
Faar ye bocht an Austin “Devon”
Div ye myn o’ Isaac Benzie
Faar yer mither wis in heaven

Div ye myn o’ Pat McGee the tailors
Faa kept ye weel turned oot
Div ye myn o’ Milne an’ Munro
Faar ye bocht a leather shoe or boot

Div ye myn o’ Matheson the butcher
Wi’ his shops aa ower the city
Div ye myn o’ the Aberdeen Savings Bank
If ye hid money in the kitty

Div ye myn o’ Paterson Sons & Marr Wood
Faar ye got a piano or an organ
Div ye myn o’ Gordon & Smith, the grocers
Faa selt spirits named Sandeman or Morgan

Div ye myn o’ yon Alexanders
Faar ye bocht bikes or radio sets
Div ye myn o’ Browns in Belmont Street
Faar ye got fishin’ rods an’ nets

Div ye myn o’ the weekly Bon-Accord
Wi’ its pages printed in green
Div ye myn o’ The Rubber Shop
Faa selt fitba’ beets an bowlers’ sheen

Div ye myn’ o’ aa the ither shops
We’ve lost – mair is the pity
Div ye myn o’ aa the pleasure
Fit wis in the centre o’ the city

SNAW

Creative Writing, Satire and Humour No Responses »

Dec 032010

By Bob Smith.

Here comes the affa bleedin snaw
Dingin doon – its flakes div fa
Aa aroon ye hear sic cas
Its cauld aneuch tae freeze yer bas

Its time tae weer yer winter woollies
If ye dinna wint tae lose yer goolies
An if its aneuch tae mak ye sweir
Mak sure the minister Disna hear

Ice maks ye skite aa ower the place
Ye nearly fa doon on yer face
Car drivers wi brains a bittie saft
Flee aroon at speeds gey daft

Kids – snawbas they like tae chuck
An mony a bodie his tae duck
Jist myn ye were eence young yersel
So fling some back then rin like hell.

Arise An Be Revoltin

Aberdeen City, Aberdeenshire, Creative Writing, Environment, Opinion No Responses »

Nov 192010

By Bob Smith.

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
It’s time ti be revoltin
Agin the destruction o oor city
Yer brains they need a-joltin

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
Show yer nae Widdie’s flunkies
This mannie treats us wi disdain
As tho’ we’re bliddy donkeys

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
An ask Sir Ian faar wis he
Fin the ship building an the fishin
They war jist allowed ti dee

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
We’re bein selt doon the river
Eence an SPV gets oor gairdens
They’ll aa be lost firivver

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
It’s time ti show yer mettle
Oppose the biggin ower UTG
Bring it back inti fine fettle

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
Afore it’s ower damn’t late
An aa oor sheepish cooncillors
Hand it awa upon a plate

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
Are ye lions or a wee moose
Stan up for aa oor heritage
Afore the diggers are let loose

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
Man the wa’s an the city gate
Afore ye ken faar we are
We‘ll hae become Trumpton State

Arise gweed fowk o Aiberdeen
Tak heid o aa these verses
An gie a skelp ti cooncillors lugs
Or kick them up their erses

Older Entries Newer Entries