Tag Archives: gardening


Street View

Come and sit upon my knee

We’ll find the house where I once lived

On this googley earth

See there it’s moving

Just wait to see what we can see


No not the house I was a baby

But built the year that I was four

On this wriggly earth

As you are now

Look I think this is it…maybe


There’s no mistake that is the row

Thrown together by the mile

On this googley earth

Let’s try to zoom…

This is as close as we can go


Was not like that I’m glad to say

It’s sad to think that is the place

On this googley earth

When I was you

Where I lived and I played all day


The very last one of those four

Harled brick walls and concrete tiles

On that googley earth

Of cold grey clay.

Look they’ve put in a new front door


See paintless ugly wooden bars

Where our hedge was neatly clipped

On this googley earth

Of lost green leaves

Rose-bed’s now parking for old cars


Look over there by the gable land

There’s nought but weeds and idler waste

On this googley earth

No hothouse treat

That’s where our greenhouse used to stand


Well watered spaces left bare and dry

Where’s the doocot o’ white and green

On this googley earth

Or my white doves

That wheeled an’ whirled in oor sky


See here in front, this tar half-circle

Wi’ second- third- and fourth-hand cars

On this googley earth

Nae bairns now in

Oor auld play place, oor ‘grass roundel’


There we played tig and three-an’-in

It look’s sae drab an’ dreary now

On this googley earth

Oor playstation

Jist look at what they’ve been an’ din


All right, I ken, we’ve seen enough

It’s time to zoom back tae the present

On this shoogley earth

It’s your turn now

Tae take the smoother wi’ the rough.


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Grandad’s Garden

Grandad’s Garden

Grandad, Grandad, grey and old,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a..?

With soily soup of clay and poop

And painted stones laid in a row

Grandad, Grandad, old and bent,
How does your garden grow?

With wire for peas tied on to trees

Dry twigs as bamboo cane

With trellis laths and tiptoe paths

And tubs to save the rain

Grandad, Grandad, bent and blind,
How does your garden grow?

With lots of weeds from dropped seeds

Lost tools and rusting nails

With wavey rows and runny nose

And compost kept in pails

Grandad, Grandad, dead and gone,
How does your garden grow?

With silent groans from ash and bones

That order worms to fork

With secret spells and Grandad smells

In memory of my work


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