Wee Lassies’ Army…cooking with gas

It goes on,

Don’t let the facts get in the way

Of a story,

Resurrect the ogre,

Perpetuate the myth,

Decreed from history, told long ago,

Those fucking Scots, how very dare they,

Spin the stories,

Let’s just take the piss.


Imagine, how they dare,

Can you believe it,

Pretenders to the power,

Tin pot clans,

Might succeed in being somewhat pivotal in the ‘minster,

Well, fuck that joke, boys,

Something’s out of hand.

Tactical shall be the new way forward,

Vote for us – or enemy – now friend,

Let’s thwart the mighty minions

North of the border,

God forbid the union ever ends.

Rehash that tag, all ‘Better Together’,

You know the one, where we’re all family,

Make some empty promises and threaten,

Talk the talk but let’s not walk it,

Let’s not support what stands for democracy.

Let’s forget that maybe

They can read some,

Don’t hunt haggis with the heather up their kilts,

Don’t decorate the fronts of tins of shortbread,

Let’s keep on prodding till they’ve had it to the hilt.

I’ll scratch you up if you will scratch me,

I’ll grease your palms, I’ll even rub you down,

Just keep those SNP and that ‘wee lassie with a tin helmet,

Out of fair old, mighty London town.

We’ll crack some racist jokes, those Jocks can take it,

A hardy crew with wind blown up their arse,

We’ll blow a bit some more cause we’re all blawhards,

Let’s preach the poisoned politics of farce.

We’ll run a smear campaign,

But keep on with the mantra,

Blah, blah, blah and blah, blah, blah and Them

We’re all one nation, blah, blah, blah,

Well, of course, we are

If in nothing else, in name.

Could it be that some facts may be missing,

That anything to left just can’t be right,

That every other party joined in union

Are feart to speak some sense, so just talk shite.

http://politicalcompass.org/ 2015

It’s no secret that I voted Yes in the referendum for Scottish Independence in September of last year. Around 45% of the populace did. 55% did not. Whatever their reasons for voting No, democracy was seen to be served. More or less.

Immediately after the referendum, and since then, membership of the Scottish National Party has swelled. The popularity of the once favoured Labour Party here in Scotland has plummeted.

Where once Labour represented people who cared for a fairer and more just society, it has become almost indistinguishable from the Conservative Party, political pioneers of the ‘I’m alright Jack’ club.

Labour lost all credibility to many voters when they made a pact with the Tories and Lib Dems to help keep the union together no matter the consequences to the people and ideology they purported to represent.

This, together with their ongoing self-sabotage, while attempting to pursue self-preservation, has made them a joke in many parts of Scotland. And elsewhere.

There is, according to current polls, the distinct possibility that the SNP will take the vast majority of seats here in Scotland sending, according to some polls, in excess of 50 MP’s to Westminster out of a possible 59 allocated. Seats that Labour were complacent about, sure forever of their strength here. Cock-sure, you might say.

Losing so many seats to the SNP would be an affront to them and impact on whatever position they may hope to hold in central government. Either in power or as the main opposition party.

The major parties are in a shambles, trying to cobble together ‘what if’ scenarios, making for some strange bedfellow combinations. At least, in name. Not perhaps so strange when their political compass is identified.

Perhaps the, yet again, negative scaremongering that abounds comes more from the fact that SNP are left of centre in their politics rather than the fact that they still threaten the union.

But let’s feed the masses what fuels the fire.

Perhaps no one will notice.

We might even get to keep the status quo.


And we all know where that leads us.

Right, right, right again, straight ahead and saluting authority and austerity at every right turn.

It’s all in the name, you see. The name of the game.

If you’re interested in knowing your own political compass the test can be taken here.


Apart from offering revealing insights into your own place on the map it makes for interesting viewing of some other countries.

You might not vote.

Why bother?

All the same.

All the part of the game.

 Just a name.

Till you find your aim.

wee lassies army 080

A wee lassie with a tin helmet?


How very fucking dare they!

Lassies' Army 048Anna

This is a wee lassie with a tin helmet.

My wee lassie.

I’m not fighting for Scotland as an entity over all others. I’m fighting for justice and freedom from right wing authoritarianism. I don’t care what you call the parties. The only parties I’m interested in are all the wee lassies and lads. From wherever they hail. Party enough for me. And, by the gods, I’ll party when we have a government that’s for the people, serves the people and has aspirations beyond self-serving agendas.

Find your political compass.

Vote with that. At least let it be from your heart.

Mums, dads, anyone who gives a shit, find your compass. And, for fuck’s sake, vote with that. At least let it be because you know and not because you believe what you are told.

You want to talk tin hats, India!! America!  Australia! Canada! New Zealand! The E fucking U!

Don’t tell me that we have democracy as it was ever once envisaged. Left to right and every which way. THEY, not you or I, name the game.

My pot’s on. Such as it is. It is not THEIR world. It’s OURS! Pots and pans and weans. Wee lassies? I don’t think so.

Lads, today, you’re lassies! Tomorrow, we’re all people. All cooking with gas. Blaw that up yer kilt!






Letter’d Lives

Though we don’t write the endings to our stories,

We’re bound to tell the passages between,

Letters written, words too oft confounding,

On life’s parchment, scripted scene by scene.

Underlying themes and sub-plots merging,

Combined, refined, relate the years we’ve seen,

Central characters all pulled together,

Writing book of life and where we’ve been.

Sometimes story plot becomes confusing,

Characters won’t say and do all that they mean,

Deletions happen often though they hurt you,

No one likes to lose the plan they’ve weaned.

Conflict often rises though unplanned for,

Resolutions too, when hope it seemed

Had fled the prose and left an empty page there,

Tale renews and onward goes as schemed.

Standing back and viewing sometimes helps here,

Perspective on a scale too rarely seen,

Judgements made, a brand new tack is taken,

Weaving all perceptions that we’ve gleaned.

No, we don’t write the endings to our stories

But try to polish them to worthy sheen,

Chapters running, coming all together,

Life lines written, speaking volumes in between.


Third Person Me

We follow others for one reason or many. Here there are many. A good man is first among equals. A fine poet and a worthy man may speak for all. These words from such a one touch me deeply.

Poesy plus Polemics

"Growing Old Together" Painting by Terry Holliday From flickr.com “Growing Old Together”
Painting by Terry Holliday
From flickr.com

he was born into critical interstice
between nations at war his placenta
engorged with blood of both camps
blessed with few things material
heir to a fortune of honesty labor
integrity hunger for literate thought
deep affection for family respect for
all manner and races of neighbors
affirmed ingrained sense of reliance
on bootstraps possessed of responsible
virtues accepting all outcomes their
consequence solely belongs to his hand
allegiance to flag undiminished by
conflict of cultural pride in his ancestry
all of these treasures enriched by his
humble pursuit of a catholic grace

here is an old man in grief of his youth
a good man embarrassed by evident
flaws silent pensive by nature in grip
of an impulse to suddenly speak all
his words before time halts his voice
and so he writes poetry wraps it in
books in the…

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