April 27, 2015

Johnny's Journey Hame

The viaduct holds ever near, whispers for the heart to hear,
inhale that vast majestic view, before the town rolls unto you
And resurrects straight from the station, patriotic aspiration,
Mother, in her allied skin, ignites a pride from deep within

Where dire skies could never take, clouded visions for one's sake,
home to clear and died for dales, and fair skinned Annie's up for sale
A hero's mini-welcome home, where stories thrive and bravely roam,
missing all the echo closes, tenements, and I supposes

Young mums kept up all night long, bairns shoogled sound by song,
night shift laddies, eyes red raw, sharing bedrooms, coughs an 'aw.
Thread and needle, make do and mend, becomes a rather valued friend,
candles burned out, flame remote, dark as the Earl of Hell's waistcoat

Children playing up outside, old Jen taken for a ride,
stealing sweeties from her shop, Hell to pay if they get caught
Contented weans, yet God believers, entertained by chalk and peevers,
far too many there to chase, all pacified by His good grace

Hunting by both rod and gun, pots of stew the size of drums,
hame made soup from duggie bones, Irn Bru and tattie scones
Eating grand when Johnny's back, home, and off the beaten track,
when every inch of every glen, must shape his shadow there again

A roll with Annie down the hill, all heather stalks and wanton will,
her kiss like satin on his lips, tingled toes and finger tips
A thistle's thorn could never sting, away the pain that absence brings,
just promises in jeely jars, silver rings, and battle scars

Much later, after Sunday baths, piano songs and hearty laughs
the men smoke like a reeking lumb, till whisky knocks their senses numb
And morning mirrors heave a sigh, reminded of his next goodbye,
all uniforms and worried soul, preparing for his chosen role

Off now young man, one time more, as conflict may knock on our door -
a muckle train takes you away,  as glorious as come-what-may
A Flying Scotsman's younger brother, wrenching firstborn from it's mother
a route from which one can't depart - the train-tracks of a soldier's heart
since this week's prompt hails from my motherland, I went on a nostalgic journey using some Scottish vernacular.  I think most will work out the words for themselves but give me a shout if their are any queries...... 

April 21, 2015

Never Trust A Toilet Mirror!

A trusted friend I had in you
solely hanging in the loo
Lighting up above the sink
framed in bright flamingo pink

Helped as I made up my face
a lipstick kiss I'd soon erase
Little Miss Perfect in reverse
winks and pouts we would rehearse

You saw my tears and shared my shame
agreed, I won't do that again!
Unladylike from pees to vomit
zooming out me like a comet!

Heard my secrets and my farts,
got zit-pops down to a fine art
I'd bounce about in naked pride
and sing most ghastly as I dried

Then came the thought to rearrange,
my rooms in some domestic change
I fancied you out in the hall
t'was not a clever move at all

Looking pale and feeling shitty,
no longer sharing in my pity
Every time I went to tinkle
I never noticed that deep wrinkle!

I've never changed my food of late
yet you indicate I've put on weight!
Beauty should come from within
but I'm worried by that double chin!

Does my dress cling on this tight?
I must have looked an awful sight!
My hair's not doing as it's told
all waves and knots and uncontrolled

My senses ask, is this a farse?
Just look at thee size of my arse!
I should be gorgeous, but can see,
you won't co-operate with me!

You're dull and hard and can't reflect,
a two-faced friend with low respect
Back in the bathroom, so it seems
or find yourself in smithereens! 


April 12, 2015

A Sole And Her Sea

Walking home late from the tracks of my past
I peer at horizons, with souls ever vast

I breath in the sea air, and cry to the night
as front waves appear in the sodium light

As lonely an isle with a lighthouse of love
whose beam is fast fading and yet to shine of

No lovers returning, no aquatic potion
just cold crashing loss between hearts and the ocean

Yet under the water swim thousands of you
temperate actions and hullabaloo

Shifty and scared, brave, taking chances
bullying, battling, swift primal dances

Gathering shoals of different kinds
colours that blend, others that blind

Shaping your world as nature intended
instinctively loving, a partner defended

I could capture you all, my ultimate prize
tossing back those I may come to despise

With all of you fishes held under the sea
can't one come ashore and try capturing me?

April 11, 2015

Dear Adam

Dear Adam,

Next time you want to slice an onion, and you're too lazy to rewash the chopping board, could you not use the back of the phone directory.  It was the smelliest search for a number I've had.  Ever.


April 07, 2015

I Want One That's Not Chocolate!

                              Sorry this one is a bit late - trying to catch up over the Easter holiday.  
                                                      Just a quick effort with little tones of my own Easter childhood!

Every year on  Easter Sunday
shiny shoes and cotton shirts,
All that Sunday Best malarkey
bored to death in that huge church

Hymn books open ready
morbid songs they make you sing
Hold your breath next to old Charlie
or inhale that  musky ming!

In the morning came a visit,
Easter Bunnies clad  in blue?
Just nutters in a onesie,
fooling nobody but you!

Little lamb a-bounding,
with energy galore
Till the day he's on the menu
feeds a family of four

Hens-a-constant laying
eggs-on-the-constant boil
Colours, faces, and cool patterns
for us to smash and spoil

Gee - all those shit straw bonnets
piled as much as you damned please
Then a prize for putting up with
hostile birds and angry bees

It's sad to hear the story
crucifixes, rolling stones
All forgotten once the wine flows
with no sin there to atone

When He's born we're given presents,
given chocolate when He dies
Forgiven each hypocrisy
before His very eyes

Such memories to last me,
arms so full of daffoldills
Stolen from a nearby cemetery
looks nice upon your sill

Same time again, then, everyone
school holidays of Yore
From Fridays through to Mondays
bring about that tin foil war

April 01, 2015

♥ PrettyBoy's And Girls Come Out To Play ♥

Really looking forward to my son's engagement party this Friday.  Out of all the PrettyGals below (and quite a few more not in pictures!) at last he's found Thee One.  He's always been a bit of a player outside his band's heartthrob drummer status, but I've fond memories of his Girls of Yore.....(and some not so fond!)  Now my baby's growing up!  Not in any hurry for grand-babies just yet, but I'll buy a ball of wool in just in case.....................







It's nice to know he's at last settling down.  I just hope at the ultimate alter he doesn't do a Ross from Friends and get his women mixed up!