Stirs The Dragon

Stirs the dormant dragon

Follows kelpies

Slept too long

Been drugged

Begins to rise

Finds flightpath again

Its roar

Its fire

Beware when dragons

From deep sleep reprise

Legends lived again

They were but drowsy

Buried in the myths

Of media

Attendant princess

Saviour

Hear the hillsides

Choirs of dragons

Voice your aria

What about Wales? Stirring the Dormant Dragon

Are We Fools?

Pride postures

Doesn’t think

Reveals its feelings

Lives its hubris daily

That’s its way

Decisions drafted blindly

Blinkered bullshit

Evidence of arrogance at play

Language of superior perception

Then wonders why and scoffs

When natives rise

Out of union

With no hint of sadness

Governance unjust

Of those unwise

No self-reflection

But for backward glory

For days of yore

When empire ruled the waves

Citing some equivalence

As righteous

Behold the truth of union

England save

Let us be Britannia

That story

Etched in minds

So privileged, promote

Ideaology, will not see buried

Ignominy, in parliament, by rote

The only flag that matters

Is the George cross

Andrew, Patrick, David

Servile names

Problems to be solved

And always have been

Extinguish nationhood

For other’s name

Woe to you, usurpers

Of the celtic

For fallen follows pride

As sure as fate

Come the day, the hour

Relive your words here

Masters manifest

The words of hate

Dismissing while upholding

Such is legend

In lands where one suppresses, ridicules

We are not slaves

Nor your possessions

Canny, aye

But are we fools?

Came across this video today on Twitter. Makes you proud to be an equal partner in this great union, where respect and progressive politics are at play. Imagine actually saying this! Funny, eh? No sense of humour, we Jocks. Inferiority complex, they say. Wonder why. Off now to the psychiatrist’s couch to discuss Stockholm Syndrome in hopes of convincing others we don’t need this shit. Who does? Tell me. Any independent country out there who would like to rejoin the fold and be patronised again? Any? Didn’t think so.

TIME FOR ANOTHER LAUGH AT THE MESS THEY CALL BREXIT…

‘We’re taking back control,’ we said
And we meant it
We really meant it!
‘We’ll invoke Article50’
And we meant it
We really meant it!
So we sent it
We really sent it!
‘We’ll have our cake and eat it’
And we meant it
We really meant it!
Tho’ we huvnae got a bawbee
‘Cos we’ve spent it
Some eejit lent it!
We really spent it!!
‘Cos we’re dementit!!!
Brexit ya bass!
Or something like that. Hard to tell.
You decide. ∨∨∨∨∨

MUNGUIN'S NEW REPUBLIC

brex1 Not the smartest tactician, is she?

brex5 Didn’t realise that Better Together’s and pooling and sharing meant sharing beds in hospital…?

brex You see, we don’t want to be part of this idiotic nonsense called the EU, but we do want them to headquarter their agencies here. Obviously, duh!

Brexid And once upon a time, they told us that Spain would be an obstacle to independence.

brexi2 I guess that that is not too unreasonable.

Bells Very British Scot… Britch… Whatever! We’ll never buy it again. Incidentally, why do Brits find it necessary to put massive UK flags on just about everything in the supermarket from eggs to geraniums?

br2 Like we’ve said, she’s not the best negotiator, is she? Erm, anyone know what she IS good at? Maybe we should leave it to David Da… No, sorry. Momentary aberration. What was I thinking? Let’s leave it to Mickey the Mouse, shall we?

brexitmud Bless Fluffy. He’s…

View original post 247 more words

Sarah’s Purpose

Sarah’s purpose changes, coloured cotton

Delivering the tree of woven threads

Something in the name of one begotten

In house of many branches, many beds

Sarah’s purpose pending, without ending

House topmost in limbs of fallen tree

Shaken at the roots, its other children

Strangers in the promise of the free

Sarah’s purpose changes, milk and honey

Recipe of sweetness turning sour

Sarah’s purpose changes, blood and brethren

By the minute, come the purpose, by the hour

The Quality Of Mercy – According To The Tories

‘The quality of mercy is not strained’

It droppeth in a form eight pages long

To mitigate for third child born from rape

And only when thou proveth thus was so

For mercy hath a limit, don’tcha know

 

The quantity of mercy hath been changed

All kids thine own may only count as two

For first two count, they are still blessed

An heir and spare, so preordained

And anyone with more hath half a brain

 

The quantity of mercy’s prearranged

In payment thirteen pounds and forty pence

For that should keep a child for ’bout a week

And really thou should have a job that pays thee more

Or two or three. That’s what poor lives are for

 

The quality of jobs is where it’s at

Thou should have got a chairmanship or such

Had friends in all the places that pay well

With bonuses and shares, expense account

For, it is decreed, that such jobs count

 

The quantity of hours in any day

Can now be stretched, extended as seen fit

In such ways, thou always now can work

For working cleanses souls and idle hands

Must always be kept busy, leisure’s banned

 

Thine quality of living’s thine own fault

Thou really must be shamed for being skint

Many hoops there are to make thus fact

And worst of cases filmed to entertain

Distracted public needs to ridicule your pain

 

Thus we count on garnering support

All scapegoats chosen carefully to show

The reason thou can’t clothe and house thine weans

Is not the fault of policies made to address

Our lack of mercy and godawful mess

 

The quality of hardship will be worse

Intervention from the state set to austere

With food banks on the side when things get tough

And Shylock’s basking mates will always bless

Jaws really gave poor sharks the worst of press

 

The quantity of earning’s a moot point

A minimum’s been set so that’s alright

Just live according to your means

And never mind essentials on the rise

Essentials are overrated – Surprise!

 

The quantity of bedrooms hath been fixed

And anyone with extra hath a cheek

And so it hath to be that people move

Tho’ maybe thou hath lived there all thine days

Tough shit, thou should have thought of other ways

 

The quality of disability’s up for grabs

Thou really must be dead to prove thee ail

And when thee are six feet under, be assured

We’ll help thine kids for all of several months

Bereavement’s no excuse for lazy cunts

 

For the quality of mercy hath not changed

It droppeth on the queen and all her breed

No matter just how many crew she hath

For that is just and righteous in these parts

All royalty and knaves move noble hearts

 

The quality of buildings must be saved

But only if they’re big and palace-like

Whereupon all pennies can be found

Even if it’s billions (or for bombs)

Whited sepulchres must be managed with aplomb

 

The quality of business hath been revoked

Some salvaging required to ease the pain

Worry not, tho’, lesser mortals, wheesht

Thou shouldn’t trouble selves with grown-up guff

Phew, that’s a relief, thought we were stuffed

 

The quality of humour’s in dispute

Wanker’s not a word that must be used

Tho’ it hath been sanctioned by the BBC

And worse is done in mercy’s tender name

No, the quality of mercy is not strained, it’s merely pained

*******************************************************

The quality of common sense hath gone astray

Some big boy stole it then he ran away

And blamed it on the suckers who must pay

That could be you or I but let’s not say

The quality of mercy saves the day

*************************************************

With sincerest apologies to Shakespeare who wrote of mercy kindly and with understanding. And who had a sense of humour.

Couldn’t have been a Tory, I’m thinking.

Ooh, look!

 

Pavement Possibilities

It started just like many other nights

The moon was silver

Stars, merged with errant clouds

Could barely gleam

A lonely owl made much

Of covered darkness

Deserted perch in search

Of prey he’d seen

Still air was clear and calm

Vague scent of roses

Drifted on a whim

Of teasing play

Lungs filled with wonder, sights

All senses tingled

The ending

Of a perfectly good day

Suspected nothing more

My thoughts untroubled

Meanderings so vague

As to forget

Except for something niggling

As I wandered

How fleeting peace and beauty are

And yet

They’re everything that’s striven for

In a lifetime

The beauty felt in love

That knows no end

The comfort of compassion

Peace among us

The value of good neighbours

And best friends

Nothing more than musings

On a pavement

With home nearby

Some yards to reach the gate

When, out of nowhere

Moon and stars blinked, helpless

And shuddered

Ending peace and changing fate

In an instant, all I knew

All I remembered

Of peace and love and beauty

All that’s good

Lay shattered, in the ruins of craven madness

A blitzkrieg, from a neighbour

Chocolate covered

Relaxed, while orphans, widows, now all stood

I turned again

In absence of a reason

Hope blinded at the sights

That I surveyed

How, among the chaos

Was I standing

And what should be the message

I relayed

Hate filled my breast

The need for vengeance

Tragedy demanded

Some new cost

Escalated madness

Justified as

Revenge and payment

For all that I’d lost

I’d find a way to make them pay

For malice

For ignorance

For stealing what was fine

With nothing left to lose

I’d have my vengeance

In the terror that was given

I’d have mine

 

It started just like many other nights

The moon was silver

Clouds departed

Stars were visible

All peace and beauty

Love nearby, still cherished

The idea of a bomb

Quite risible

I met my neighbour then

While out in moonlight

A person hardly known

Her ways, mere guess

We ventured to establish understanding

In the glory of the peace

That starlight blessed

We chatted for a while

Found common kinship

In the children that we loved 

Sworn to protect

Two mothers

Finding harmony

On a pavement

No spectre of an ending to suspect

We turned, upon a whistle

In the distance

Far removed from where we stood

But still

Alarm lay caught

In throats of conversation

While men rule the world

It maybe always will

We stand upon the pavement

Facing judgement

Possibilities

Our Gabbatha

Innocent or guilty

Makes no difference

When condemnation comes

To where we are

Pods Of Suitable Enough

modular pods of suitable enough

set squared for construction

of little use till placed just so

by clear, concise instruction

template blocks of plasticised

components for production

may not move, cannot exist

except for reproduction

all amputees, a limbless lot

deferring to abduction

stolen slates in want of roof

and means of reconstruction

calibrated and equipped

in routine, rote induction

control mode assembly-lined

obeisance by eduction

modular pods of suitable enough

preprogrammed for destruction

Carpe Diem

Oh, ye saboteurs, of all that you survey

By lies and licence, pedal what you pray

Truth always find its path and come what may

Your end is imminent, prepare to pay

In honesty, you could have saved the day

But hubris holds and governs all you say

A tongue, so forked, forfeits the right to sway

Make ready now, an army comes to slay

In rectitude, for all whom you dismay

The tide yet turns, reclaims sands on which you play

On distant shores the voices have their say

And, closer still, we wait to claim the day

To others, seeking justice, fairer play

Make ready, be prepared, to seize that day

No accident that angst has found its May

A shelter here for all who seek a better way

Oh, ye saboteurs, who thought to have their way

The time shall come, be sure, we’ll have our say

‘Please invoke some parliamentary rule.’

Easier said than done when it turns out that devolved government isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.

We will not go the path the Tories seek to go.

The path that UK governments have chosen time and time again.

Against our will.

Against our vote.

Against our sense of morality.

A country that does not elect right wing rule will not follow right wing rule.

Becoming more right wing by the day

We will not.

Never.

Our history decrees it so.

Our experience underlines it.

We will have self-rule.

Independence.

We will make our own decisions.

Decisions based on collective good.

Decisions made by us.

Not on dictats selected for us.

Today.

Tomorrow.

It shall come to pass.

Carpe diem.

Never their day.

Never.

Seizing now the day that is yet to come.

The day that says no to their distorted idea of how we should live.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

Now may not be here but it is on the horizon.

It’s near.

Nearer for our children than for us.

Seizing for them.

 

I hate that the world revolves around economics.

Hate isn’t too strong a word.

Detest.

Despair.

I would rather leave the oil where it is and embrace renewables but even that is being undermined by UKgov.

Just as relationships between the nations here have been undermined for generations.

Peddling a myth that divides.

That we, here in Scotland, need England to survive.

We don’t.

But we have more than oil.

So did the rest of the UK till it was sold off to the highest bidder. Privatised under Tory rule. Then globalised to a higher bidder. Creating a rentier economy at the expense of infrastructure. At the expense of regions all over the UK.

I hate no one.

No one.

Sure, there are nutters here who do hate the English. Like they’re some collective breed. Same as there are nutters in England who believe Daily Heil lies about Scottish scavengers/traitors/cybernats. There are nutters all over the world. Hating on whoever they’re told to.

I repeat. I hate no one. Most do not.

If your papers tell you otherwise, you’re reading the wrong papers.

Listening to the wrong news.

My god, I wish it could be different.

But while we want what so many across these isles probably also want – a just society – it cannot be while our voices drown in Westminster.

Fifty-six MPs advocating change cannot compete fairly against hundreds happy with the status quo.

Cannot change what needs changing.

We have to begin here.

In Scotland.

In our own back yard.

We are a country, whether some acknowledge that or not.

Yes, it will be tough.

We know that change is tough.

But tougher yet would be complaining and not trying to change it.

I am working for the change I want to see.

Seizing the moments that lead to the day.

We all can.

Please do not give up. Wherever you are.

Please. Seize.

My heartfelt and sincerest sympathies for those in these isles who want what we want and cannot make it so by dint of no worthy opposition. Neither can we while tied to the UK. Arithmetic makes it so.

The kettle’s on. You’re welcome here.

And the weather isn’t as bad as you think if you’re from northern climes.