Selective Amnesia

wipe all slates clean and bury the past

cremate matrixed effigies down to the last

put petrol to paper and shred all the proof

delete all the files that burden the truth

electrify brains with a pulse to negate

terminate programmes before it’s too late

forgive us our sins in biblical quotes

forget all our actions but never your votes

a like with a cross is all that we need

we’ll write a new future just as we’ve agreed

on pamphlets provided to clarify years

prophetic tissue to dry up your tears

spoilt paper lies in recycle bin

trespasses tempered by just throwing in

but never forgotten all that they said

nor history rewritten although papers dead

canvassing conscience, memories last

past actions determine results of votes cast

Advertisements

Aw, Rabbie

Later today, I’ll be heading, with my better half, to Burns’ country, to meet up with some old friends and celebrate a Burns’ Supper. The invite included instructions to prepare a song or poem for the company. I decided to pen my own ode to Burns.

(picture source)

Aw, Rabbie, did ye know ye wid be famous

An’ aw ye did and said wid come tae be

The talk ae aw the closes an’ the places

Fae Ayr tae pairts ye never got tae see

 

An’ dae ye think ye’d huv done it ony diff’rent

Reined it in a bit so’s fowk wid think

That ye wur jist a poet, no’ a man wi’

Loadsa nibs, an’ aw ae them chock fu’ a’ ink!

 

Did ye think ye’d ever grace the tables

Ae lords an’ ladies an’ the likes ye sconced

Wid ye join them noo or wid ye banish, tae hell an’ back

The same wans, as then, that widnae gie response

 

Ye were mair than poet, ye were human

An’ fashions chainge, they come an’ gang, it’s true

Bit the likes ae you, that said and did it aw wi’ flair, yer ain wey

Never age or dee, mibbe this ye knew

 

We haver noo, we’re aw pc an’ pish talk

An’ the wans that struttet then still govern noo

Ye’d still be pennin’ poems, walkin’ yer ain walk

Revealin’ rotten eggs, an’ flingin’ mair than jist a few

 

Bugger aw the ilk that squaash crea’ive

An’ hell mend aw the fowk that pit oan airs

Here’s tae wan that lived and dee’d wi’ passion

Lang life, in death, guid man, lang syne, in suppers, everywhere

Glencoe Massacre

I’m working on some Scottish poems and songs just now for an upcoming Burns’ Night. This is not Burns. But I went awandering through Youtube and ended up singing for most of the day. Mostly Scottish folk songs. And some Irish. The lyrics are by John McDermott and I first heard the song sung by a duo called The Corries. But there’s only one of me so I’ve laid down two tracks to manage the harmony. I’m not too convinced the harmony worked out but here it is anyway. You really have to imagine an open fire, a few haufs, good friends, some instruments and everybody and anybody joining in. Feel free. 🙂

The song is based on the Glencoe Massacre.

Oh cruel is the snow that sweeps Glencoe
And covers the grave o’ Donald
And cruel was the foe that raped Glencoe       And murdered the house o’ MacDonald

They came in the blizzard, we offered them heat,
A roof o’er their heads, dry shoes for their feet,
We wined them and dined them, they ate o’ our meat
And slept in the house o’ MacDonald
(chorus)

They came from Fort William with murder in mind,
The Campbell had orders, King William had signed,
Pit all tae the sword, these words underlined,
And leave none alive called MacDonald
(chorus)

They came in the night when the men were asleep,
This band o’ Argyll’s, through snow soft and deep,
Like murdering foxes, among helpless sheep,
They slaughtered the house o’ MacDonald
(chorus)

Some died in their beds at the hand of the foe,
Some fled in the night, were lost in the snow,
Some lived to accuse him, what struck the first blow
But gone was the house of MacDonald
(chorus )

 

Winter Woes!

bear hibernating

(source)

Find your way out of December

it’s cold

 it’s dark

and it’s grey

it follows right on from November

chasing the autumn away


birthday

(source)

It leads to one of least favourite

January

that hole

in the year

where nothing is right, dark swallows the light

and adds another age to my years


wind

(source)

February, I thole, with its promise

that the

herald of March

will blow in

buffet the cobwebs of winter

soon April will bring again spring


Kinshaldy beach

(source)

May might still feel like winter

Scotland

not noted

for sun

but I hang on, with hope, in these dark days

that June or July will bring some

autumn in scotland

(source)

Failing the former, the latter,

August

might

give us a break

failing a summer then autumn

September, October, I’ll take

grumpy santa

(source)

But stuff the months of midwinter

with their birthdays

and dark days

and shit

Bah, humbug to winter’s

crap weather

don’t like it one little bit


seagulls-with-girl-at-beach

(source)

Should have been born in the hot lands

or taught

to at least

hibernate

I’d gather in nuts and milk chocolate

a pot of tea and just wait


Hibernate

(source)

Till daylight returns to the heartlands

till heart

has thawed

or dried out

any season but winter

hate it without any doubt!

Well Met

met her on the mountains

wind nettled in her hair

red brushed through by finger’d draughts

her presence barely there

a wisp of lass, no more than ten

her breath a breeze in flight

cat-eyed maiden stole alone

cut swathes in misted night

passed through me in search of home

thought between we two

hurry back and mind your step

and sleep the whole night through

but stay an eye for feral beasts

keep one true for wild

a third you’ll need for pleasant folk

a fourth to save each child

fifth may penetrate the dark

and sixth shall make it clear

rest, be thankful but remain

alert, of list’ning ear,

met her on the mountains

outfoxed chill around

heard her hist’ry in my heart

her words in silent sound

met her once but ne’er forgot

each puzzled piece she told

maid of ten, or so I thought,

a child too soon grown old

wisdom of the ages

in the figure of a lass

red-haired, nettled, draughted, dead

met her in the Pass

Ringing The Changes

As anyone who reads this blog knows, my natural tendency in poetry is to rhyme. I can’t help it most times. It sort of pours out of me like the rain pours here in Scotland – mostly interminable with occasional bursts of sunshine to ring the changes.

Naturally, I’d love more sunshine but I’ve learned to love the downpours, the drizzle, the being dumped on from above. Hyperbole anyone? But I have learned to love the watery sunshine and the new growth that emerges so furiously after a deluge, the myriad shades of green and the promise of pastel relief.

Mostly I’ve learned to appreciate the sun when it does deign to chase the clouds away and then I’m like every other Scot enjoying the break from the seemingly incessant rain – get your kit off, harvest the rays and let the sun work its magic on pale skin.

We mushrooms might live in too much darkness, way too much moisture but we’re very tasty with a bit of square-sliced sausage and some bacon. Plain bread, brown sauce. Gawd, I’m starving! And we like to turn rotten into meaningful – slight political allusion there. 😉

Anyway, here’s my first Shadorma as far as I remember – mushrooms not being as noted for memory as taste and a slight hint of danger if not picked carefully!

I couldn’t resist a bit of free verse challenge too. Did I mention we Scots like a challenge on our plate?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA  (  Shadorma Challenge – Passing Time )

In darkness

Or festooned by rain

Moisture mulched

Our springtime

Winters Byzantine’s fall

Mushrooms’ summer stance


Free Verse

Insouciant to Northern needs

Strange seasonal rhythm,

Clear skies belie what always gathers

To favour lush growth

And so the greens are very green

Of every hue

Weathered temples succumb to rot

As nature’s need to rejuvenate

Flushes and fuels, sprouting mushrooms,

Rich in resource, delicacies hardened and hardy,

Even in unnatural darkness

Bringing forth flavours

Building on the old.

Normal rhyming service will no doubt be restored because a new cloud burst always follows here. But, today, the sun is shining. Yay! Strip the veil and cast the spores! 😉

Be-coming

As expected

a child was born

healthy and bouncing

such joy

parental pride

as nature intended

regardless of sex

girl or boy

A child with a future

to be guided with love

to be nurtured

encouraged

to serve

One with the world

as all children

should be

no less than

birthright deserves

Alas there is trouble afoot

in this world

entitlement squiffed

and askew

structures

establishments

riddled

so old

But

progressive

sustains

delights in birth new

teaches children

Be Brave

Be Loving

Be Bold.

 

Beam Me Up, fortheloveofallthatsholy!


Jebus, Mary and holy Josefffff! I’ve landed on Mars. Please tell me I’ve landed on Mars.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3064879/Ed-Nicola-Jackie-Magazine-special-Scots-lass-loved-independence-met-class-nerd-anorak-Ed-fall-wee-mouse-liker-her.html

 

You Need Us – Stop Abusing Us, Mister

What do you call it when someone says mean things about you?

What do you call it when someone says mean things about you that aren’t true?

What do you call it when someone takes from you but tries to make you feel bad about it?

What do you call it when someone tries to get others on side by lying about you?

There might be many alternative names for each of the questions.

Or one word that sums the whole lot up.

Abuse.

Look up the definition.

Noun or verb. Take your pick.

Scotland is NOT subsidised by the rest of the UK.

Yet again this morning I’ve heard that from another politician.

In fact, the records for the last 30 years tell the complete opposite.

Scotland’s Balance Sheet

Labour forced to admit Scotland isn’t subsidised.

The figures used are provided by GERS  – the same figures the UK government uses but manipulates to tell one side of a story.

The information is there. It has been there for years. Try the sixties – pre-oil boom. It is known by those who slander our name. It is known here. It needs to be known elsewhere. And widely.

One sure way to irrevocably break the union that the political mainsteam and media are so fond of is to continue to perpetuate the myth that we here in Scotland are the ‘subsidy junkies’, so earnestly spouted by every politician with a vested interest in maintaining the staus quo.

I am sick of listening to the lies.

I wanted independence so that we could manage our own affairs and not be dependent on the UK government allocating us a share that is less than what we contribute. Not because I don’t want to share. But because Scotland needs to run its own affairs completely to effect real change for the future of our children. Waiting for English controlled government via a bi-party monopoly to do so we will wait forever. Based on population size that’s a fact.

Do you think it was for love of union that the politicians fought the No campaign with promises of devomax? No way. The thought of losing Scotland’s taxes was more to the point.

Do you think the reason they are running scared of any deal with SNP is for fear of breaking up the union? No. They are afraid to be held account to promises made and run the risk of losing much needed revenue to prevent a much greater UK deficit than if Scotland were not contributing to the coffers.

But will they admit that? No chance. That the UK government should be dependent on a paltry nation of just over five million. In a pig’s eye will they admit it.

So let’s divide and conquer. Bite the hand that feeds. Vilify. Abuse. Negate any right to a voice.

In the absence of independence at this stage I want full fiscal autonomy. Keep the Barnett Formula. Keep English votes for English laws. I have no problem with that AS LONG AS we keep what we raise here. Being dependent on a proportionate share via policies decided elsewhere is not my idea of autonomy of any kind.

And yes there will be ups and downs. We know that. The UK government knows that. Ask them. Selective representaion of numbers evades the fact that the UK proportion of deficit exceeds that of Scotland. It evades the fact that the proportionate UK contribution to GDP is less than Scotland’s contribution. But waxes lyrical about the Barnett Formula.

The fact that politicians and media are still purveying the lie that Scotland takes more than it gives leads to the divisiveness being created NOT by SNP or any other Scot but by those who should know better and do better. Or maybe they don’t read their own statements. I doubt it. Read, masticated, spat out. Nasty taste.

At the point of no return from such divisiveness is the scenario where the union will end. Not by referendum. But in any spirit still hanging by a thread. And by the hands of the ones who claim to support and defend it.

Get the facts on the table.

You need us.

If you don’t want us, fine. I’m good with that. We can go. And take with us what is ours. Our national pride and right to autonomy. But you can’t have it both ways. Abuse will be answered one way or another.

It is no accident that SNP has grown in stature and volume here. They represent us, our voices, our needs.

The mistake the government is making is in believing or suggesting that SNP are the bogeyman.

We are the bogeymen. People informed. Because we made ourselves be. We needed to be. There is no going back from what has been put into public domain. Economics is one factor.

But just one.

The right to fair representation is the force.

I’m not even an SNP member but I will vote for them until the time comes that I can vote Green.

In my ideal UK right now there would be a force for change wrought by the voices of those from the Green party and other parties/independents who have real social justice and environment on their mind. There would be enough representation the length and breadth of the four countries to take every seat in parliament, rid ourselves of eltist, self-servers and work for the good of the whole nation and the rest of the world.

I know I’m a dreamer.

But I’m not the only one.

It’s time to give politics back to the people. Or take it.

But I will take no more abuse.

And neither will my children.

Not from anyone.

Would any mother or father do less?

That’s all we’re doing.

Defending ourselves and kids from abusive power

Cairds Marked

Och aye, awa’ wi’ ye!

the likes a’ youse

that party oan oor backs,

think we cannae function,

intervention,

excuse ye use

tae ride tae hell an’ back,

a union! ma erse it is,

a semblance,

folk aw ower

fucked afore they start,

bastarts fae the bullions

an’ their minions,

a shower a’ wankers

weaned tae it.

Cairds marked.