Dec 212011
 

By Bob Smith.


Christmas Eve in the 1940s
A myn o’t as tho’ twis last nicht
The livin room fire wis aye bleezin
An aathing wis bonnie an bricht

Paper chines hung fae the ceilin
An slap bang in the cinter a bell
Ti a wee loon in short troosers
Aathing  jist lookit richt swell

A Christmas tree wi didna hae
Oor roomies they war ower sma
Bit wi plunty o ither decorations
Aa nivver gied iss a thocht ava

A’d scriven ma letter ti Suntie
An sint it awa up the lum
An if he micht lave fit a wintit
Losh he wid fair be ma chum

On Christmas Eve on the wireless
Carol singin ma mither thocht braw
Good King Wenceslas he look’t oot
Aa he saw roon aboot wis sna

Ma lang sock a wid lave hingin up
It wis peened ti the muntelpiece
An ower aside the fireplace grate
Fer Suntie a’d lave a fine piece

Awa ti yer bed ma mither wid say
Suntie disna cum tull yer sleepin
Nae argument noo fae you a’ll hear
Or maybe yer present he’ll be keepin

 

Fae ma bedroom winda a peered oot
Ti see Suntie’s reindeer in the sky
Bit nae maitter foo lang a lookit
They nivver wid cum wanner’n by

On Christmas morn a hash’t ben
Ti see if ma letter hid bin heeded
A aye wis maist affa feart ye see
Maybe Suntie he cwidna read it

Afore ma verra een there wis
A widden boat ye pulled on wheels
Made a fun oot in later eers
By een o oor local chiels

Stappit in the lang sock ye’d fin
An orange an a fyow chocs
A  drawin book fer ti colour in
Wi crayons in a braw box

Christmas it wis a time fer bairns
Growen ups they preferred Hogmanay
Bit wi the kids o yesteryear they bade
Aroon the fire on a caul Christmas Day

Noo fowk  awa back in the forties
Didna hae  the siller ti splash oot
Bit bairns they war mair contintit
Than eens nooadays a’ve nae doot

.
.
.
© Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie” 2011

Dec 012011
 

By Bob Smith.

Here comes the Retail Festival
Cooched in glossy Christmas cheer
Spen spen spen the shops cry oot
Their merchandisin moves up a gear

Maun we owerspen at Christmas
On presents aat leave us skint?
Mony fowk are left in debt
So aat shops can mak a mint

Christmas time itsel a fear
His lost it’s freenly glow
Fowk tryin to see faa can hae
The dearest presents on show

A sma present ti faimly members
There is nae hairm in iss
Bit keepin up wi the Joneses
Is some fowks idea o bliss

Hunners o poonds they are spent
On presents fer aa yer freens
Kids yammerin fer the latest
Toy or game shown on TV screens

Hotels an restaurants filled ti the brim
Yet their prices are ower the tap
Faan wull aa iss madness eyn
An prices wull stairt ti drap

Faimly Christmases used ti be
A time ti visit an hae a blether
Yet ti sit aroon the table
Nooadays fowk they dinna bither

The festivities noo a fear
Hiv naething ti dee wi the 25th
It’s aa ti dee wi consumerism
Spenin dosh on expeensive gifts

In case ye think a’m a scrooge
Tak time ti stop an think
Fit’s the purpose o aa iss spenin
Ither than bringin ye ti debt’s brink

It’s time fer a revolution
A time ti say stuff yer stuff
Resist the aa empowerin persuasion
Pit the retailers in a huff

Celebrate Christmas? Of coorse we shud
Yet think fit shud be deen
Raither than buy a material gift
Jist present yersel as a freen

©Bob Smith “The Poetry Mannie”
Image Credit: © Sergey Sundikov | Dreamstime.com