Oct 082010
 

By Bob Smith.

Hats aff ti David Kennedy
First principal o thon RGU
In hannin’ back his ain degree
Agin Trump he’s teen a view

Nae haudin’ back fae Dr Kennedy
Jist stracht an ti the pint
Trump’s nae the chiel fa’s heid
Wi mortar cap they should anint

Young fowk shouldna folla
Big Donald’s business practice
David Kennedy yer sic a star
Trump’ll be a bittie fractious

A former principal wi principles
Fit he’s nae willin ti compromise
Jist fair tells it as he sees it
Trump’s nae gweed the mannie cries

Noo a ye Trumpy hingers on
Jist listen here a wee file
Donald he’s bit a chuncer
David Kennedy he’s got style.

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Sep 172010
 

By Bob Smith.

It’s sad ti see fit’s goin’ on
In North-east pairts jist noo
Fowk are being threatened by
A mannie fa’s a business guru

The Trump lot an their supporters
Some wid see as a bunch o cyaards
As they try their best ti oust fowk
Oot their hames an ain backyards

There are a fair fyow greedy fowk
Fa are teen in by aa his spiel
Thank heavens there are ither eens
Fa see his ideals as bliddy feel

He tries ti stap doon oor throats
We’ll aa benefit throwe his ideas
He’d dee weel ti hae a thocht
Ti see oorsels as ithers see us

Lauded by the cooncil lot
As a man o great foresicht
Praised by oor local press
As the only mannie fa’s richt

A danger ti aa democracy
This bliddy chiel dis pose
He wid hae us aa believe
That fit he says aye goes

Bit Menie fowk are bein’ thrawn
The mannie’s nae affa pleased
Fowk’ll nae be forced ti sell
Or brocht doon on ti their knees

Mr Trump yer nae mair Scottish
Than Donald Duck or Mickey Moose
Yer mither left afore ye war born
Fae her bonnie island hoose

Fir aa yer bluff an bluster
An the millions ye possess
We’ll nae see ye bully fowk
An fae their land wid dispossess

So Trumpy min awa hame ye ging
Wi aa yer forelock touchin band
Jist leave aa us gweed Scots fowk
Ti enjoy oor dunes an sand

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2010

Sep 102010
 

Day Trip – A Poem by Gerard Rochford

I think I’ll go to Banchory today:
check out the chanterelle, startle the deer,
admire the heathered slopes, see Bennachie.

A girl walks to a river in Eritrea,
gracefully, her vessel upon her head.

She steps on a mine and stares in disbelief
at her shattered legs. Now she lies dead
in a mess of shards and blood.

In Darfur some soldiers are raping a woman,
they leave her with wounds, a baby and HIV.

A Nigerian girl is stoned to death for love,
her villagers starve as rich men steal their oil.

Mugabe rants about struggles long since won,
democracy threatens Iraq at the point of a gun.

A suicide bomber kills himself in error,
the president kills to plan.

Britney enters re-hab once again.
The poppies flourish in Afghanistan.
Deeside is awash with the redness of autumn.

© Gerard Rochford.

Aug 272010
 

Another rant from Aberdeen’s adopted crustacean Rapunzel Wizard.

Are androids voted for by electric sheep?
We’re in our forties in our suits
from a public school laboratory.
We look like you but we’re not
cos we’ve no human empathy.

We’re the Eton Replicants
pre-formed to form your government.
We’re the Eton Replicants.
We hate common things
like common sense.

We’re androids built on privilige.
We would fail the Voight-Kampff test.
The ruling elite couldn’t slash and burn
if we had compassion or concern.

I’ve seen the servants at Eton Wick
their council estate makes me sick.
You might think we’re a feudal joke
“Peasants feel our Norman Yoke!”

We’re the Eton Replicants
reptilian and repugnant.
We’re the Eton Replicants
born to form your government.

We’re modelled on a Nexus Six.
Handshakes hide an iron fist.
We’re the invasion of the bodysnatchers
implanted spawn of Maggie Thatcher.

We’re the Eton Replicants
against us there is no defence.
There’ll be a public sector vasectomy
it will go the way of a rat in V.

We’re the Eton Replicants
like Roy Batty our government
might die in four years
but we’d still be here
amongst you.

Rapunzel Wizard is a locally based performance poet who will be appearing this week at The Coffee House, Gaelic Lane …. see Upcoming Events. He also hosts Jam Factory – an open mic session at The Moorings every Sunday.

Aug 202010
 

Toddler Trump … A poem by Rapunzel Wizard, a locally based performance poet who is 96% human and 4% woolly mammoth, and refuses to get a proper job or a haircut.

Too much money makes your head go funny
Swap a business suit for a romper suit
Toddler trump acts like a two year old
Spoiled rotten and never told no Continue reading »

Aug 132010
 

One Wedding and All Our Funerals… A poem by Rapunzel Wizard, a locally based performance poet who is 96% human and 4% woolly mammoth, and refuses to get a proper job or a haircut.

At Number Ten
stood on the steps
is a double act
with the emphasis on act Continue reading »

Jul 232010
 

A Poem By David A.E. Murdoch.

When does a man stop to look at his path?
When the petals are closing in its aftermath,
Drained of the vigour which carried him on
A light in the realm of death’s scurrying dawn,

Last year when the sun called my sepal to rise,
The salt on my temples smelled out enterprise,
But a weakness like gangrene devoured my pride,
Now I’m pleading with angels to ne’er leave my side,

When a man stiffs his collar and looks to the sky,
And ventures a question awaiting reply,
The answer the question he offered so low,
In asking is answered with no quid pro quo,

To ponder essential on ways bound with fear,
Racing at mazes no longer “it’s clear!”,
To compass my journey with wisdom and guile,
Leaves heaven’s companions to marvel and smile.

*From ‘Flying My Own Plane’  by David A.E. Murdoch,
compiled by Christine Wilkie.
See Article.

Thanks to Christine for contributing the above.
Flying My Own Plane By David A. E. Murdoch is available
on Amazon, at Waterstones, Aberdeen, and on the
publisher’s website.

Footnote….

Chipmunka Publishing specialises in giving a voice to people
with mental health and other issues.

Jul 022010
 

Eence, oor prood forefaithers
Raised their kilts on the battlefield
Defendin’ oor land fae thievin’ hands
Wi’ a big sword an’ a shield
A tradition upheld yet tae this day
In the Shire and Aiberdeen
Yet the Cooncil’s swapped the Claymore
For a tub o’ Vaseline.

Continue reading »