Oct 30th, 2009

Jimmy McCutcheon & the picnic basket

Wid ye look at them?
Richt in front o’ a’body
they dinnae care

Aye weel, neither did we
me an’ Jimmy – Jimmy McCutcheon
wi’ his mammy’s best
picnic basket unner wan airm
an’ his ither
aroon ma waist

A’thing inside that basket wiz reed tartan
flask, paper plates, even spoon haunels (more…)

Oct 29th, 2009

Girdles, Semmits & Marlon Brando

The summer ah wiz fifteen
ah spent in Bains the Draper
wi’ Kate, mah co-conspirator
mah mither thocht her ‘ower knowin’
and she only kent the half o’ it

Oor young airms
polished the lang mahogany coonter
each mornin’
till ye could see yir face in it

Wrapped in tissue paper fir decency
we sold girdles
the colour o’ murdered lobsters (more…)

Oct 27th, 2009

A wumman watches frae her windae the struggle o’ a brave beastie

[Wi' a nod tae Bruce's cratur]

ower the hour’s fallin’
that eight leggit beastie
workin’ sae industrious

wan shank hingin’ oan
tae the silkety guyropes
while thithers mended
a web sair torn aboot
(more…)

Oct 26th, 2009

In memory of Betty

She wiz a wee wumman
wi’ a kind hairt
aye trying tae gie ye
somethin’ as a gift
feedin’ a’ the neebors’ cats
withoot fail
and they in return
adorin’ her
Betty’s Buffet
ah callt it
(more…)

Sep 10th, 2009

Ah sit oan mah bahookie

Ye want tae ken whit ah dae?
Ah sit oan mah bahookie greetin’
fir lang oors
an’ when ahm puggled
wi’ grief ‘n greetin’
ah coorie in wi’
an aul’ teddy whae’s in worse shape thin ah ahm (more…)

Sep 3rd, 2009

Fair Stottin’

mah windaes hinnae been this clean
for yae long
so ah suppose there’s
a guid side tae a’ thae drookit craturs
trudgin past wi’
faces that wad turn the milk
frae Bessie’s coo (more…)

Jul 26th, 2009

The gee gees

Ahm gaun doon the street wi’ the dug
ah’ll git the breid

Hauds his breith

Aye a’ richt
bit they dinnae sell breid
in the bookies, mind

Aye aye
pittin oan the bunnet
an’ oot the door
afore that razor o’ a tongue
diz mair damage

(more…)

May 21st, 2009

Bobby Bell and the doos

In tribute to Bobby Bell, a boyhood friend of my father’s.  Bobby kept doos and my dad wasn’t allowed to. Although Mother would have said her objections were all about ‘the mess’, I think the fact that pigeon racing was the Scottish working class man’s sport played a part.  Our family was going up in the world if she had anything to do with it…

saft, sleepy cooin’ frae above
the clock – set
at first licht
afore ah wis up
low voices so the wean didnae hear
(more…)

Apr 27th, 2009

Diptych

Rootling through archives from my digital art days, I found this and realised that the tag line of this blog was (more or less) taken from this poem.  I think I wrote the poem about fifteen years ago and added artwork to it about five years ago.