Sep 012014
 

sparrow-426961_1920 cropBy Bob Smith.

Leuk’t oot ma upstair’s winda
T’wis jist the ither day
A great flock o sparras
War aa aroon on es braw day

A coontit sixty fower at least
Atap the hedge far a cwid see
Some war sittin quairt like
Ithers in oor big tree

Syne doon ti the seed hudders
Squabblin as tho wee geets
Hoverin aroon demintit like
As they tried ti git some eats

Ti the hedge back they flew
Chirpin ten ti the dizzen
Soonin like auld fishwives
Fa war weel an truly fizzin

Time fer ‘em ti hae a dook
Bird bath wis fair owerflowin
Some war haen a sand bath
Ithers jist tae’n an fro’in

A leukit at the seed tubes
They war impty eence again
Fat bas they war nae mair
Greedy buggers? aat is plain

Wis’t sixty fower or ninety?
Fegs a cwidna really say
Bit wi fair git enjoymint
The spurdies mak oor day

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Image Credit: http://pixabay.com/en/sparrow-bird-fence-alone-freedom-426961/
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Aug 222014
 

By Bob Smith.

Golden eagleHeich abeen the muntin peaks
The king o birds, the eagle, seeks
His quarry fae the moors alow
A hare aat’s wanderin tae an fro’

Aa alang the muntin side
Wings ootstretch’t in gracefu’ glide
Syne inti a swoop sae faist
The hare nae mair its life dis laist

Inti the sky abeen crag an tree
Ower ti the eyrie he dis flee
Wi prey ti feed his hungry bairns
On a nest o heather sticks an ferns

Aff  eence mair towards stags roarin
His majesty the eagle soarin
Seen ti alicht on craggy perch
The grun alow his een wull search

A noble bird aat is clear
Een aat really his nae peer
His size his strength an his speed
Maks him the king o birds indeed.

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Golden eagle. Image credit: Creative Commons photo, Jason Hickey

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Aug 132014
 

By Bob Smith.Media

Yon Hammas an the Israelis
Are aat it haimmer an tongs
Fin Nobel Peace Prizes are awarded
Es twa wull git nae gongs
.
Some Amazonian Indian fowk
Oot the rainforest they did come
Noo the media ca them a “lost” tribe
Wi little coverin up their bum
.
The tribe noo a’m fair sure
Didna think aat they war “lost”
They kent fine far they war
Yet inti print sic wirds war tossed
.
We’re ask’t ti nae shak hans
It micht jist spread bacteria
Es little bit o havers is
Mair likely ti spread hysteria
.
We’re aa commemoratin’ the stairt
O the “war ti end aa wars”
Far millions war killed or woundit
Some left wi  mental scars
.
Lions led bi bliddy donkeys
Is fit history’s noo decreed
Commemorate the stairt o  a war?
Na jist the puir buggers fa are deid
.
Kylie sang at the Commonwealth Games
A wheep wis aa aat wis missin
Wi aat costume she fair leukit like
A bordello madame ripe fer kissin
.
A wifie fae Aiberdeen Inspired
His bin a maist gypit deem
Bi gien her man a secret rise
In his pey packit it wid seem
Her ither fella director fowk
Hiv richtly chuck’t her oot
She cwid o coorse maybe qualify
Fer a job wi Trump nae doot
.
Gary Lineker richtly hid a rant
Aboot alleged corrupt Fifa w-nkers
Sepp an his cronies are maybe worse
Than yon conivin useless bankers
.
The Ukrainians an Pro–Russians
Are at each ithers throats
Putin he jist thumbs his nose
At the UN an EU goats
.
They’ve applied some sanctions
Business leaders are noo squealin
An feart o losin big profits
If wi Russia they’re nae dealin
.
Wee Eck an Darling hid a debate
On a Scottish TV Channel
A wi heard eence again
Wis mair an mair bliddy flannel
.
Bit fegs somewye in the warld
There maan be some gweed news
Cos watchin 24 hr News Channels
Tends ti gie ye the bliddy blues
.
So if ye hear o gweed news
An papers gie ye nae choice
Jist drap a wee e-mail
Ti the fowk at Aiberdeen Voice
.
.
.
.
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014

Image – BBC Resources Television Camera  Credit: Ian Britton
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Jul 312014
 

By Bob Smith.
Commonwealth_of_Nations

The Commonwealth Games in Glesga
So far hiv bin praiseworthy
Apairt fae the openin fifteen meenits
Fit a fun a bit cringeworthy
.
The spectators hiv bin fantastic
Their noisy appreciation ti the fore
Nae at ony time hiv a said
Es is sic a bliddy bore
.
Competitors hiv aa deen their bit
Some elated some in shock
Wi lots o smiles an some tears
Efterwards fin they took stock
.
Weel deen ti the organisers
Maist things gyaan withoot a hitch
Lit’s hope aat es cairries on
An fowk can traivel withoot a glitch
.
Nae ony trouble or arrests
Fowk jist enjoyin the fare
Cheerin on freen or foe
Be they sweemer or rugby player
Nae sign o Neanderthal bigots
At national anthems nae jeerin
Jist gweed aal-farrant rivalry
An lots an lots o cheerin
.
Nae anti-English or anti-Scottish
Ti spyle the fowks day oot
Fitba fans shud tak heed
An gie aa bigotry the boot
.
Ae thing we hiv bin spared
Es micht hae caused some ire
Is the sicht o Alex Salmond
Ahint the podiums wi Saltire
.
Weel deen ti aa concerned
‘Speecially the fowk o Glesga toon
Ye’ve deen yersels richt prood
An nae lit auld Scotia doon.
.
.
.
.
©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014

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Jul 172014
 

By Bob Smith.
dreamstimefree_151469 calf

We took a wee bit dauner
Oot ti the 161st Echt Show
Far kwintra fowk an toonsers
They war minglin ti an fro’
.
‘Ere wis Charollais an Suffolk sheep
The Texels a fun ugly limmers
‘Ere wis ither yowes an tups
An some war cross bred gimmers
.
The horse section noo wis gran
The Clydesdales stole ma hairt
As a myn fine as a loon
Rosie yokit ti box cairt
.
Lots o coos wi caafs as weel
Gweed bullocks an heifers ti
Heilan coos wi their horns
A richt fine sicht ti see
.
A parade o vintage tractors
The auldest ti bi seen
Wis a post war Fordson
In a livery o dark green
.
The Kintore Pipe Band war on haun
Roon the ring they did parade
Mony fowk they war whistlin
As weel kent tunes they played
.
Heilan duncin throwoot the day
Sword Dunce weel ti the fore
Wi young eens  o aa ages
‘Ere wis tartans bi the score
In the Industrial tint ‘ere wis
Toffees, jams an gweed bakes
Clootie dumplin an oatmeal breid
An lots o WRI wifies’ cakes
.
A fair enjoyed the birds o prey
Wi the display o falconry
In fact a hiv ti say
It fair did mak the day
.
A great faavrit fer mony ‘ears
The young loons an quines races
A buddin Jessica Ennis or Usain Bolt
Micht hae bin amang the faces
.
An efterneen o fine hivvy  events
Compered by Leuchar loon Jim Taylor
Haimmer throwin an caber tossin
Wi me es fun great faavour
.
‘Ere wis the Tug-o-War competition
Strappin loons an quines took pairt
In the hans o Jim’s brither Bob
Ti Echt they cam fae ilka airt
.
The wither  it played its pairt
A braw day wi nae rain
At only eicht poonds ti git in
Es pilgrimage we’ll mak again
.
.
.
.
©Bob Smith  “The Poetry Mannie” 2014

Image: Calf ready to nurse © Cressie Wright | Dreamstime Stock Photos

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Jul 082014
 

Stewart Milne tall by Dave HarrisonBy Bob Smith.

Stewartie Milne wints ti bigg
Hooses doon Pitfodels wye
Aa ti bi class’t as luxury
Wi prices fair sky high

‘Ere is a need says Stewartie
Fer mair hooses o es kine
A fyow mair luxury hames
Wull suit Aiberdeen jist fine

Awa an bile yer heid min
It’s the laist thing we div need
Biggin mair owerpriced mansions
An only affordable ti ae creed

Fit aboot biggin some hoosies
Aat’ll help the first time buyers?
An nae jist pander ti the likes
O big business types an lawyers

Oor streets are paved wi gold
Fowk fae oot the toon are telt
So Stewartie maan be hopin
Aat ess hooses wull seen be selt.

Bigg ‘em quick-price ’em heich
The motto o fowk like Mr Milne
Nivver myn the puir buggers
Still on the property treadmill

It seems aat oor toon planners
Beery their heids doon in the sand
An dee nithin aboot the less affluent
Faa need a wee helpin hand

Bigg ‘em quick—price ‘em lower
Wid dee a lot mair fer the needy
So Stewartie Milne gie es a thocht
An dinna be sae bliddy greedy.

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Images from original artwork by Dave Harrison.

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Jun 272014
 

By Bob Smith.
Stanley_Matthews wiki commons

Gie me a winger
fa dunced doon the wing
Gie me a player
like Clyde’s Tommy Ring
.
Gie me a winger
like dons Jackie Hather
fa’s speed an shot
hid richt backs in a lather
.
Gie me a winger
like  peerless Tom Finney
Ti see him in action
a’d hae pyed a guinea
.
Gie me a winger
like Billy Liddell
Aa English full backs
Played second fiddle
.
Gie me a winger
like Tommy Pearson
His double shuffle
bamboozled ‘Gers Derek Grierson
.
Gie me a winger
like thon spaniard Gento
His trickery wis aye
A special momento
.
Gie me a winger
like Billy Bingham
Crosses inti the box
es chiel cwid fling ‘em
.
Gie me a winger
like oor Graham Leggat
‘Ere’s a puckle o backs
he maan hae “fleggit”
.
Gie me a winger
like ‘Gers Willie Waddell
His artistry an skill
hid players in a fankle
Gie me a winger
like Celtic’s Wee Jinky
He wint roon a back
wi meevement fair dinky
.
Gie me a winger
fae Hibs’ “Famous Five”
Like yon Gordon Smith
fa brocht the game alive
.
Gie me a winger
like Spurs’ Cliff Jones
He sped by a player
ti opposition fans’ groans
.
Gie me a winger
like the maestro Sir Stan
At Blackpool an Stoke
He wis the top man
.
Gie me a winger
like Jimmy Delaney
He waltzed doon the wing
as he beat Johnny Carey
.
Gie me a winger
fa pit in a gweed cross
Like Pars’ Alex Edwards
He showed fa wis boss
.
Gie me a winger
fa took on a full back
Like Wee Wullie Henderson
fa hid aat auld knack
.
Gie me a winger
the best o ‘em aa
wis brazil’s garrincha
fa wis affa sma
.
Lament fer wingers
‘ere a deein breed
as doon the wing
they flew wi great speed

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Image: Commons Wikimedia.

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Jun 202014
 

pitlurg bull2For seventy-five years Francis Bay’s insightful, anecdotal and uplifting words have warmed the hearts and enriched the lives of generations of devoted readers. The perfect accompaniment as we journey together through the year ahead, he offers both words of comfort and insightful words of wisdom to share faith hope and love.

This week I am thinking of those long lost and distant delights of yesteryear. The poems of old which delight the heart and warm the cockles of your feet. I well recall those pink rosie days of summer.

A kind lady reader sent this to me just yesterday. Although I cannot reveal Jane Smith’s real name, I think she knows who she is.

This is her lovely poem.

First the silage – By Jane Smith

The nestling of peewits went at first
Praise the Lord, my soul and in the grass they had no chance in both a Welsh and a sort of English sort of voice
But butter wouldn’t melt, if you get my drift

Praise the Lord, my soul
Farmer Psalm page 104
He makes the clouds his chariot all

Rascals and abusive warning
The taking of empowering
Rascals all perhaps

Don’t comment was the warning, we know best, the country ways are best
Then came the shooting of rooks
There will be some bangs said the landlord at the door.

I’ll get the cat in then

Then the old bull went despite that he was supposed to live until autumn
Now steak
I had seen this before

How many are your works?

Psalm 104
Praise the Lord, my soul
Is there still time?

What for he said
Excitedly
I mean, to get the cat in quite soon

Oh thank you said the cat despite the lagging of years
The bull was suspiciously bereft of tongue.

If you or indeed your loved ones have an inspirational or anecdotal story, please send it to Francis Bay who would love to hear from you.

All comments are free.

© Francis Bay. Most rights reserved.

Jun 202014
 

innovation-151833_1280By Bob Smith.

Faar his imagination gin
We hid it as a loon or quine
The ability to see things differently
As on fantasy oor myns wid dine

The winner in a young een’s face
Fin they listened ti a tale
As adults we’re far less creative
Oor myns hiv aa gin stale

Lie back an close yer een
An lit yer myn gyang free
Syne conjure up some images
O placies ye’d like ti be

Imagination can tak ye onywye
Ti Africa or maybe the Orient
Or aroon the Scottish Highlands
An ti Paris syne on ti Ghent

We need ti free oorsels o 
The shite oor myns are fed
By the TV an ither media
As oor imagination it is bled

Lit loose yer imagination
Gie yer myn’s ee its release
Try an let it float awa
Ti a placie o distant peace

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Image: http://pixabay.com/en/innovation-invention-boy-idea-151833/
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Jun 132014
 

By Bob Smith.obesity-tax-for-kids cut

A loon is noo wy’in in
15 steen is his wecht
At the age o eleeven
Wi obesity is haen a fecht
.
Some fowk they are ca’en fer
Ma an Da ti be teen in han
Chairged wi child neglect
An as parents shud be banned
.
Noo ere’s na doot ava
His wecht is ower the tap
Bit is it the loon’s fowks
Fa shud be takkin the rap?
.
Did they neglect ti tell him
Faist food cwid be ti blame?
Or did they pile his plate
Fan the loon he aet at hame?
.
Bit chairgin ‘em wi neglect
Aat’s takkin things ower far
Jist supply him wi a bicycle
Ban him fae usin bus an car
Noo a hiv ma ain theory
Aboot foo the loon’s aat size
Maybe ower muckle burgers
Tapp’t aff wi some French fries
.
It cwid o coorse aa bi doon
Ti a faulty faimily gene
Far the loon he his a likin
Fer jam tarts an clottit cream
.
A hope fer the laddie’s sake
He manages ti lose wecht
An his parents dinna hiv ti
Tak on lawyers in a fecht
.
The nanny state is on the mairch
Fit next wull they rail agin?
Maybe fat fowk ha’en sex
Cos they’re causin an affa din?
.
We cwid maybe aa bi dee’in
Wi losin poonds roon the middle
If mannies canna see their willie
Fin they gyaang ti hae a piddle

© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2014
Photo: Christian Cable/Creative Commons
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