Tag Archives: poetry

STREET VIEW

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Martyr’s Lament

The Martyr's Lament

My last post about Bannockburn does not appear to have entertained one reader who left a comment.  I have also been advised by a close family member that the post indicated that I “have reached a new level of NUTS”.  Well you “aint seen nuthin’ yet” so watch out.  I have much NUTTIER pieces awaiting early release.

Meantime I will leave humour off the menu and serve this cheerful painting and a poem.  Have a nice day.

THE MARTYR’S LAMENT

How long have I waited?

Must be years…

That cheering throng

Bore me on

And ran with tears of joy

Running my race

To this dark place

Wherein the door to Paradise

Why that rush?

The throng long gone

While yet I lie

Alone and wait.

How long?

How long?…

∞…………?

(P. Bogle/Feb 2011)


1 Comment

Filed under Artwork, Poetry

PRINCE CHARLES MUTTON HEAD

PRINCE CHARLES – MUTTON HEAD

“Of the various forms of government which have prevailed in the world, an hereditary monarchy seems to present the fairest scope for ridicule”

[History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Edward Gibbon)]

OK then, so here we go.

Pick a topic – Buildings and architecture.

To become a qualified Architect in England (as defined by the professional body RIBA) takes five years of academic studies and at least two years of work experience under the training of experienced architects, a total of at least seven years full time effort after leaving senior school.  Even at that milestone the Architect is a very junior member of any practice where he may find work, gaining his real experience on projects managed by more senior architects.  Large prestigious projects are designed by large teams of experienced architects, engineers, and design professionals.

To gain acceptance into the academic studies the candidate must have minimum school leaving exam passes. In England school leaving exams are called “A levels”. Results within each A level are scored A, B, C, etc .  For example you may pass only two A level results, say with a B score in History and a C score in French,  as was the case with Charles.  To gain admittance to start a degree course that will lead to becoming an architect a candidate will need probably 4 A levels of which at least three are A grade, so the barrier may be stated as AAAB for example.  Universities will also want one at least of those to be a mathematics or science subject.   So Charles would not have qualified to even approach the starting line in the 7 year training process of becoming an Architect.  Charles went on to get a degree in History and never studied architecture.

Fair conclusion? His opinions on architecture are of no more true value than those held by any other adult person in the street.

He has the same right as that person in the street to criticise any architectural works.  The problem is that he abuses his position of privilege to kill projects, twist arms of developers in choice of architect, and generally puts his untrained fingers in the pie. No wonder the architectural profession shake their heads in dismay, except for the connivers, courtiers and favour seekers that royalty and patronage attracts.

Charles’s interests in model village developments makes one think of Marie Antionette with her model village, dressing up to be a milkmaid or shepherdess and playing at being a real person.  The problem for Charles is that he does not have a real job. He is a dabbler and honorary patron (as in patronage) of over 400 groups, societies but these are figurehead roles.

Marie Antionette's hamlet at Versailles

“What about the Mutton?”  you shout

For those who are unable to see the relevance of the headline to the comments on architecture I will continue.

PRINCE CHARLES HEAD OF MUTTON

Mutton Renaissance

The Mutton Renaissance campaign aims to repopularise mutton, which is meat from a two year old sheep (ewe). Once widely eaten across the United Kingdom, mutton fell out of favour in past decades with the result that sheep farmers found themselves struggling to get a decent price for their ewes.

“The prince said his interest in mutton was sparked two years ago during a visit to farmers in Upper Teesdale, County Durham, who told him about the poor prices being paid for their ewes.” (2004)

The Prince’s Duchy Home Farm supplies mutton to The Ritz Hotel in London.

A revival of mutton could give a boost to under-pressure sheep farmers and help sustain traditional countryside life, Prince Charles has said.  The Prince of Wales was speaking at the Ritz hotel in London at a dinner to launch the Mutton Renaissance Club. The alliance is dedicated to helping farmers, butchers, restaurateurs and suppliers benefit from renewed interest in the meat taken from older sheep.

HE FORGOT TO MENTION  WHY MUTTON FELL IN POPULARITY

26 April 1986, reactor number four at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in what was then the Soviet Socialist Republic of Ukraine exploded, sending a plume of radio- active particles – equivalent in toxicity to 400 Hiroshima bombs – more than seven kilometres up into the atmosphere and due east in the breeze. In the days that followed, as a fire raged unchecked inside the twisted, white-hot remains of the reactor, the wind direction reversed and the plume, now a kilometre tall, headed west towards north-western Europe. It wasn’t until workers at a nuclear reactor in Finland detected abnormally high doses of radioactivity on their clothes – up to 100 times normal background levels – that anyone outside the Soviet Union realised the true severity of the accident.

On 2 May 1986, the plume finally passed over parts of the UK and, with fateful timing, so too did a column of cloud carrying heavy rain. The rain fell hardest where it always falls hardest – on the uplands. As the droplets of water fell from the sky, they carried with them the radionuclides – in particular, caesium-137, iodine-131 and strontium-90 – that had been dispersed from Chernobyl. It is estimated that 1% of the radiation released from the reactor fell on the UK. In an effort to prevent these radionuclides entering the food chain once they had settled on the upland soil, the ministry of agriculture, fisheries and food, as it was then known, ordered an immediate restriction on the movement and sale of sheep within the most affected areas – particularly north Wales, south-west Scotland, Northern Ireland and the Lake District, where the landscape is predominantly suited to grazing sheep. In total, almost 9,000 farms, and four million sheep, were placed under restriction.

from 13th century verse

Of the sheep is cast away nothing,
His horns for notches-to ashes goeth his bones,
To Lordes great profit goeth his entire dung,
His tallow also serveth plastres, more than one,
For harp strings his ropes serve everyone,
Of whose head boiled whole and all
There cometh a jelly, and ointment full Royal.

INDEED IT DOES

For poetry lovers you are referred to a closely related post  “Fechin eejit”

Next time, Prince Charles Head Cheese


1 Comment

Filed under Architecture, History, Humour, Poetry, Recipe, Uncategorized

The Errand

Boy by Joan Eardley (Glasgow)

The Errand

High red door, blue glass pane

Peeking in from the rain

Clanking bell, sawdust floor

Chilling smell, glimpse of gore

Glossy small tiles of Delft

Picture wall, marble shelf

Brasso’d scales slyly sway

Brazen lies told today

Bench scrubb’d raw, bloody axe

Red tooth saw, cuts and hacks

Creamy corpses, horror hooks

Grinning teeth, vacant looks

Fresh today, dire display

Finest arts, body parts

Hearts and kidneys, livers, lungs

Trotters, tails, tripes and tongues

Heads and hooves, horns and heels

Ears and cheeks, eyes and beaks…

Duck your head! Tuck in that thumb!

“A  p-pound of sausages please

for my Mum”

Leave a comment

Filed under Artwork, Humour, Poetry, Stories

Local Evening News

Local Evening News

Good ev’ning all

Thank you for tuning in

Here’s the local news

To end your week

To make you cry

To make you weep

 

In Breaking News

You heard it here!

Millions are dead

Billions in fear!

 

Later in a

Local snippet

A cat was eaten

By a whippet

 

But first right now

Don’t go away

The weather with

Our Cindy Day..

 

“Good ev’ning all

For us next week

It will be bad

It will be bleak

 

With snow and sleet

And freezing rain

Good chance of floods

And hurricane”

 

Thank you Cindy

Now moving on..

This, about Gnus

They are on strike

In German zoos

 

Our leader says

By next July

We’ll all be happy

And pigs will fly

 

Let’s go outside

Our reporter

Is standing there

In her new coat

And fresh glued hair

 

Yes thank you Steve

It’s getting dark

That’s all from me

Here in the park

 

Great work now back

More breaking noos

It’s back to work

For those Gnus

 

After the break

We’ll be right back

For an update

About the park

 

Later we’ll have

The man who’s role

Is filling in

A new pot hole

 

But first we must

Go back outside

For the latest

Word on the tide

 

Yes thank you Steve

It’s rising more

Now back to you

From by the shore

 

Over here Steve

It’s nearly dark

So back to you

From in the park

 

Great work you both

That’s very clear

Remember folks

You heard it here!

 

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

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Humour, Poetry

Fechin’ Eejit

overheard in a Scottish pasture

Fechin’ Eejit

But he’s sic a fechin’ eejit

Naw, that wid never dae

For him tae sit doon on oor Stane

When Lizzie gauns away


Caw canny Jenny, an efter a’

He’s nae waur than maist afore

They aye were smit wi’ puckle wit

Kept cuddies an’ a whore


The puir bodie didnae choose

Tae be whae he hais been

Tho there’s nae doot the numpty is

A scunner tae the Queen


Hunners o’ years ago ye see

Fichts ower croon or Cross

Cost mony heids for wicked deeds

An left us wi’ the dross

—————————————

eejit  (idiot)

Stane – (stone of Scone)

caw canny  (go gently)

puckle (small quantity)

cuddies (horses)

numpty (a bumbling fool)

scunner ( a cause of disgust)

2 Comments

Filed under Poetry, Scots, Uncategorized

Joker’s Deal

Joker’s Deal

I turned the top card from a pack

And placed the Joker on his back

I turned again, a King and Queen

Facing up to set the scene

Was me, the Jester of this game

With father, mother, Sire and Dame

So on I dealt and placed in state

Sires and dames, those more great

In silent rows laid by my whim

Staring faces deathly grim

Until the names and faces sank

To facedown generations blank

Row on row to times of yore

Older cards spread on the floor

Row by row by generation

A fool’s forebears took up station

Mustered for the joker’s sake

Ere top trump bids them wake

There they lie as in the grave

The honest worker with the knave

Speiring o’er the rows to glean

Wondrous deeds they’ve done or seen

Kind and loving with the cruel

All living yet now in the fool

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


Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry, Scots, Uncategorized