Rap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat,
and a yard of mortar.
Rap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat,
and a yard of mortar.
Whistling and laughter rise up with the morning
Rap tat-tat. Rap tat--at. Rap tat-tat,
and a yard of mortar.
Tap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat. Rap tat-tat
and a yard of mortar.
Ah! my sweet Virginia
how I love you
you have seduced me
beguiled me
enraptured me.
In the night
I relax in your glow
in the afterglow of love.
There is none truer
no greater satisfaction
than your kiss
your kiss of death
Mary Marshall did her rounds
At 10 and 2 and 6
There was nothing missed her gaze
X-Ray vision right through to our nicks
They had to be as white as the pinnies we wore
Or so she made us feel
We boiled and scrubbed from 8 to 8
Sterilizers never still
The bedpans (stainless steel) shone like mirrors
We could see our faces in them
But you see - we were the front line
(against the evil - Bacteria and viruses galore)
How proud she made us feel
The most important job of all
And we never caught or carried a thing
We whacked the little buggers into oblivion
Now M.R.S.A. is on the march
Dirty hospitals abound
And who knows how to scrub
Can't send for the 'Night time Terrors'
Too many years have elapsed
Requiescat in pace Mary Marshall
The sun smiles
at the dog with the lolling tongue
hiding
under the tree
the leaf dances
with its reflection
laughing at the curtains
pining for the forbidden breeze
the carpet lazes
as the fire sleeps
beneath the mantelpiece cat
napping half-eyed
the cloth works
quietly secretly
gathering dust
in the corner
the spider studies
the fly wandering
aimlessly foolishly
closer
Ma Granny used ta say Jam tomorrow
Ah guess she wis an optimist
Every Friday night ma Granpa spent the jam money
Maybe she hoped he'd jine AA
He never did
Anither thing she used ta say wis
Wan day ma boat'll come in
Ah used ta picture this ship
Comin up the Clyde in full sail
The proverbial banana boat maybe
Or da they no hae sails?
Ah knew ma Granny's boat had come in
the day o ma Granpa's funeral
She'd this foxfur hingin roon er neck
heid an tail an paws an aw
Ah hud nightmares that night
In ma dreams the fox came ta life
It wis dancin wi the Robertson's golly
the pair o them were chantin Jam tomorrow
Ah always wanted wan o they gollies
Autumn long gone
Like spring and summer
Winter now
On a quiet ward
Morphine
Blessed morphine
Stealing the pain
Leaving the cancer
Four seasons
Gone
The syringe
Ah, the syringe
By Bluebell
I thought I'd write a poem for you
but my insight it was blind.
I sat and thought and thought and thought
but nothing came to mind.
I'd like to frighten with tales of ghouls
or make you sigh with yearning
maybe even make you laugh
or shock you into learning.
I thought I'd think of days gone by
to make you reminisce
but far from that I thought of nought
and gave the past a miss.
What if I wrote of that wondrous sight
-the rainbow up above
the vast eternal promise
of that true redeeming love?
Perhaps adventure you would fancy
a swashbuckling tale of the sea
-but I've left that alone for the moment
it just isn't my cup of tea.
So now you know what I have done.
As you see it's not a lot.
I sat and thought of nothing
and nothing is what you've got.
By Christina Byrne</p.
Rock and Roll music
Guitar arias
Cannon off walls of sound
Wailing tortured discords.
Was it Lennon delving deep
Was it Hendrix sowing phonics
Who planted them
and who could reap
the crop from such a seed?
J. Shanley
Autumn in the Botanics eight thirty am.
Kirstin, five years already
Deserted flower beds awaiting winter planting
Chestnuts cover the ground
Kirstin's delight
There's four in this one
The magic path, a daily ramble
Low level railway
Visible, ghostly
Trees growing between the tracks
I remember the steam
Granpa, is it time for school?
Aye Kirstin, but there's always tomorrow
Christina Byrne
In spring a young man's fancy turns to
thoughts of love
and copulation.
A woman's mind begins to dwell on
tiny feet and
adding to the population.
The race would not exist or
increase in its number
Had Eve rejected Adam as a lumber
For down the ages what is known as love
has peopled continents and cities
and kept the poets busy penning ditties.
And great minds have deliberated
on the burning question of the age
i. e. does Hughie feel the same passion towards Shona
as Romeo felt for Juliet in Verona?
It's ten years on when youthful ardour fades
and marriage hobbles him and keeps him home replete
The young man's fancy turns to thoughts of
B & Q and MFI and wallpaper and prams and tiny feet
But woman exercising her prerogative
to change her mind
says
Sod you I'm off You're too late.
Michael B. Scribbler
Can't understand it son
Went across to the Chapel
Yesterday at twelve
Nobody was there
All locked up
Can't understand it
And you know somebody
Smashed Mrs Jamieson's windows
And set fire to number nine
I blame it on those Teddy Boys
But I dont understand it
Another cup of tea son?
And some of those NICE biscuits
Oh and something else
All the ice cream vans that always
Parked outside the Chapel on Sunday
They must have forgotten
Can't understand that.
Come on through and I'll show you
The veranda son
We never had one in Partick
I'll just open the window
Hear those dumper trucks?
Aye the green ones
The man told me they
Would tar the streets tomorrow
But they're already tarred
Don't understand that
Went up to see Mrs Reilly upstairs
She wasn't there
Top flat, Elsie Pollock
A big steel door
I couldn't get through
Sorry Mrs Gordon. You really have to
Go now. You're the only one left
We have to close this close
Go? Go where son?
No you not understand!
The man told me
Tomorrow they're coming to tar the street