Bad Mad Bunkers

 Creative Writing, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Jul 062012
 

By Bob Smith.

Holiday with Money

Bunkers noo are in the shit
Some fair div tak the mick
Is yer bunker a couthie chiel
Or jist anither greedy prick
.
Parliament nae langer kens fit’s fit
Tap bunkers noo rule the roost
Weel o coorse we aa div ken
Their bunk balances aa git a boost
.
Lots o siller as a bonus is gien
Ti cyards faa appruved the cheatin
Time ti kick them faar it hurts
Nivver myn their bliddy greetin		 Time we hid mair local bunks
Faar ye tauk ti a human face
Nae aye hingin on the phone
Ti be telt yer in seventh place
.
Shut doon the stock exchange
Gie investors back their cash
Crooked traders in “the City”
Wid see their empires crash
.
Stop the swickin aa ower the lan
It’s time tae git aff oor hunkers
An tell the bobbies far ti pit
Thae bunch o bad, mad bunkers

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2012
Image Credit: HOLIDAY WITH MONEY© Andy Brown | Dreamstime.com

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

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

Reclaim Oor Streets

 Creative Writing, Featured, Satire and Humour  No Responses »
Apr 192012
 

By Bob Smith.

unionstreetmarket

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

Book Review – Banana Pier.

 Community, Featured, Information  No Responses »
Apr 122012
 

banana-pier
With thanks to David Innes.

Described as a thriller and set in the USSR during perestroika, civil war-torn Northern Ireland and oil-driven Aberdeen, this is Alex Chisholm’s first crime novel.

It has layers of intrigue, characters of multiple identity and enough Aberdeen humour in it to make it very readable and if not cliff-hanging, Banana Pier is at least vertigo-inducing. And any tome containing chapters titled, Affecting The Doric, Shaw’s Oxters, A Bag Of Aitken’s Rowies and The Gowk will hold a certain appeal for NE readers.

It moves more swiftly from Moscow to Bridge of Don than the number 2 bus service does from the city centre, flashes back to the menace of paramilitary activity in Belfast and has what looks to be a sound grasp of events, plots and underworld activity in all three locations, as the Soviet Union stuttered towards its current semi-capitalist economy, the Northern Irish conflict became ever more entrenched and corruption in the oil industry became the inevitable by-product of ambition to get rich quick.

Whilst very enjoyable, a word of warning. Like so many literary works with Russian characters, be prepared to learn the identity of each. A couple of days away from reading the contents I had to re-apprise myself of who was who, on which side. Then again, Alex Chisholm is in good company here, as I found the same issue dogged me when reading The Brothers Karamazov.

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