Ah’m no’ hard.

Ah’m no’ even that tough.

Bit ye see, Ah come fae Glesca,

So that seems tae be enough,

To send some people scurrying

Right off their mark,

Terrified I’ll chib them,

Attack them in the dark.

Bit ye see, it’s jist an accent,

‘Cos ah come fae this place

Jist lik you’ve got wan,

Mibbe nicer. Bit still an accent.

An’ a face.

Ah could dae Irish fur ye,

That sounds awright.

Ah’ve always liked that yin,

‘Cos it disnae gie ye a fright.

Or mibbe the Highlands cos

They sing a wee song,

Makes ye want tae dance

As if ye belang.

Or ‘ow about ze French?

I ‘ope eet’s not too bad

Been a leetle while seence I practeesed

So eet might sound a trifle mad.

But ah’m no’ fae they places

Ah’m fae Glesca, awright?

An’ ma voice is jist a voice

Wi’ an accent that’s no’ too polite.

A helluva wie tae judge people though,

Lookin’ at faces an’

Listenin’ as if ye could know

Whit they’re aboot,

Like ye know them so well,

Rubbish that is,

A terrible wie tae foretell

A person’s character, their

Values, their worth.

Makin’ judgements ‘cos folk are different.

Who dis that kinda stuff?

Ah’m no’ hard, ah’m tellin’ ye,

Jist a Glesca lassie that’s aw.

Inherited my accent

Fae ma da an’ ma maw.

Bit they always tellt me,

No matter yer station,

‘mind yer as good

As the rest ae the nation.

A message ah learnt

When ah wis jist wee

No’ tae judge others

‘cos ae where they’re fae.



Unto Earth


                                                                                            l  i  n  g,



                                                                                Explosion. Eruption 

                                                                              Simmering. Iron Heat. 

                                                                Molten  Movements  Rising.Waiting, 

                                                           Biding, Thwarting  Expectations. Voyeurs 

                                                      Casting  Sideways Glances,  Occasional  Fixed 

                                                   Expressions, Deferring Disbelief In Terror. Sulphuric 

                                                Aroma Heralding Fear. Cataclysmic Wonder, Pyroclastic 

                                             Flow, Ashen Clouds To Stupefy, Freeze, Suspend Present  Reality. 

                                        Fixated  Forever In time. Undulating Waves Snake Seditiously Onwards,

                                    Guzzling By Fire Most Fierce, Reclaiming Earth To Ore. Newer Formations, 

                                  Landscapes  Evolved, Earth Slumbers, Bides  Her Time, Greedily Feasts On What

                           Is Hers, Devoured Inconsequentially, Randomly, With  Relish, Savouring, Masticating, 

                        Acidic Gurglings, Digesting, Mercilessly Plundering Her Orchard, Espying Future Chances. 







Ever Changing

Stripped bare,

Back to bark,

Rigid vulnerability,

Extremities beseeching

Darkened sky,

Heavy with promise of

Elemental hardship.

Life dips to source,

Buries beneath

Compacted soil,

Seeking renewal,



New life,

New growth.




Garments to array,

In lighter days

With higher skies.

Reaching up,

Outstretched limbs,

Praising heavens’

Airy sunshine.

No longer only down

Nor beneath,


Spreading roots





Ever changing.

Vulnerable But Hardy

Goldilocks Was Wrong. Or Just Right. I’m Not Sure.

I have come to the conclusion that I talk too much. This is not a recent finding. I’ve known it for years. Been told for years too. Though some people say it’s not too much. It’s just right. Like Goldilocks and her third try at porridge.

But I think it might be too much.

This makes my 504th post. I’ve been here since June 13th of this year. That’s 158 days including today. And it’s not over yet. 😉 That averages out at 3.189873417721519 per day, apparently. Is that too much? Is that too little? Is that just right? Can I gab for Scotland? If they make it an Olympic event might I be in with a chance of a gold medal?

And I talk more than I write. So that’s a lot, I’m thinking. Those around me possibly, probably, maybe want to tell me to shut the f*** up. But I can’t it seems. And I don’t think I want to. Whatever anyone says.

Sure I talk shite sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes, I don’t talk at all. No. Really!

Sometimes I shouldn’t even use that shite word. But I do. And sometimes I use worse. Not to be deliberately offensive, to be sure. Just that sometimes certain words fit. And words are tools. Can I say that? Well, they are. They express, they are chosen and placed to do so. They are wonderful. Even the swears. Are we really reaching that point where we are policed about what we can write? And how we do it?

Everyone has the choice of whether to read or not. Or walk away if I’m doing their head in. Easy peasy.

So why am I saying all this?

Well, I’ve been following a blogger for a little while now. Someone who has made me laugh uproariously. He’s also moved me to tears a couple of times. I found him through Rene. She makes me laugh too. Usually about 4 o’clock in the morning when I’ve had a late night or an early wakening. Her humour can be dark. She likes her politics and her dogs and is quite partial to certain musicians. Very kindly posts lovely pics too! I even laughed when I found out that my love poems are not her cup of tea! Outed, Rene! But that’s fine. Brenda likes them. So that’s all to the good. But then she’s a magical creature with fantasy running through her veins. Not that you’re not, Rene. Sheesh. It’s so hard not to offend.

 Now see, I’ve wandered. That’s what I do.

Anyway, I found out that Rene isn’t into certain things by reading comments on Treyz Blog where Rene was assuring Trey that ‘Well, I wasn’t offended and didn’t write in about you. I think some people are just offended about too many things. Shit on them. That is one reason I don’t join things, I don’t want them dishing out rules I have to write by. I write when I want to and feel the need…’

Brenda isn’t offended by Treyz humour.

‘Holy Mackerel! Just write I say. No one is making them read…..’

And that makes perfect sense. Perfect. I can’t say it better.

I didn’t get to see the post because I’ve had a manic week and haven’t done much reading. When I went to check it out I couldn’t find it. I like to know what I’m going to be offended by. Judge for myself, you know? Now maybe I’m just not good at searching. Or maybe it’s been removed from the CSB. Maybe Trey removed it himself if he thought it was overly offensive. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I would not be happy to be gagged. By anyone. Me? Gagged? Can you imagine? It might be what some people would want but it’s not what I want. If people don’t want to read something or listen to someone….easy answer……walk away. Some walked away without reading. The title offended. Fine. But to then complain?

I find that strange on a site where words and feelings are so openly shared. WordPress is surely a place where we can say just about anything. As long as you’re prepared to realise that it’s out there. The public sees it. Or am I wrong? Is there a code of conduct that I’ve not read? Now that I think about it, I vaguely remember browsing something way back in June. But did it specify certain words or phrases that were objectionable?

Maybe the issue for Trey was that he posted on the Community Story Board and might have to keep certain types of posts to his own blog. I still think that’s a bit sad. It makes me think that there are speech police monitoring what is acceptable. I’ve never posted to the CSB. I think I would be thinking twice in case the readership reported me.

If we go the road of gagging what is said then we might as well stop writing altogether. And talking.

I resign from life if that happens.


For Rene who doesn’t care for love poems. Bugger ******!


Now Paddy’s married.

This is true.

You told me this a while ago,

But what’s a girl to do?

He smiles that smile, a glint in eye

You noticed it yourself,

A scar or two distinguish,

Wouldn’t leave him on the shelf.


I’d like to take his firm young ****

And stroke it just for fun,

Clasp it gently, seeking more,

That would be just *****?

I wouldn’t really,

This you know,

But fantasy’s a pleasure,

I’d **** him seven ways to heaven

And **** him for good measure.

An asterisk is worse than words,

I was really quite polite

But if we have to censor things,

I could be talking *****.

A ******* curse it would be here

If everything was wholesome,

Sterilised and sanitised,

I’d really have to go some

To make sure ****** words I wrote

Were fit for just comsumption.

Aye, dream on mate, don’t hold your breath,

Censorship is loathsome.

Excuse me while I rant a bit

**** sake, do we give a ****,

Or would we rather censor it,

All subjects that may deal with……

Things that we’re not perfectly au fait with?


Just askin’?


The polite version. 😉

hand, grand, kiss, hold, right, fearful, loving, god’s, whit


The other one is available under the counter wrapped in brown paper. 🙂 I defy you not to laugh. Or is it just me? Not funny. Not funny at all. Romantic Self-mutilation?! 🙂 Moving


An eclectic mix. And some people pick on a type of post and complain.  God, give me strength. And patience.