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martin Mar 2015
Cam ye o'er frae France? Cam ye down by London?
Saw ye Geordie Whelps and his bonny woman?
Were ye at the place called the Kittle Housie?
Saw ye Geordie's grace riding on a goosie?

Geordie, he's a man there is little doubt
He does all he can, who would do without?
Down there came a blade linkin' like a lordie;
He would drive a trade at the loom o' Geordie.

Though the plaid were bad, blythly did we niffer;
Gin we get a wab, it makes little differ.
We have tint our plaid, bonnet, belt and swordie,
Halls and mailings braid—but we have our Geordie!

Jocky's gane to France and Montgomery's lady;
There they'll learn to dance: Madam, are ye ready?
They'll be back belive, belted, brisk and lordly;
Brawly may they thrive to dance a jig wi' Geordie!

Hey for Sandy Don! Hey for Cockolorum!
Hey for Bobbing John and his Highland Quorum!
Many a sword and lance swings a Highland hurdie;
How they'll skip and dance o'er the *** o' Geordie!
This song's author is unknown, but it was written around the time of the Jacobite rebellions.  I love the archaic language and sing it to myself when nobody can hear. It has been recorded a few times, notably by Steeleye Span (it's on youtube).
Now the history lesson. In 1688 James II, a Catholic, was exiled to France and his Protestant daughters took the throne, first Mary, then Anne. When Anne died without heir, the throne passed to the house of Hanover.  George I became king, even though he was German and spoke no English. But he was, crucially, Protestant.  
The son of the exiled James II made a claim to the throne but he being a Catholic, was not accepted. His son also tried, Bonny Prince Charlie. These were the Jacobite rebellions.
Come ye o'er frae France is a song in support of the Jacobite movement,  and very much mocking George I.   My rough explanation of the archaic language is as follows.

Have you just arrived from France?
Did you come via London?
Did you see young Georgie and his pretty woman?
Were you at the place they call the ***** house
Did you see George his grace, ******* a ******?

Georgie, he's a man, there's no doubt about that
He has anyone he can, and who wouldn't?
Along came a dish, swanking like a dandy
And he did a deal
To share poor Georgie's candy

Although we got a bad deal, still we blithely haggled
If we get the dregs it makes little difference
We have dyed our cloth, bonnet belt and sword,
Our homes and lands are lost, but we have our George!

The **** (James) has gone to France with Montgomery's lady
There they'll hatch a plot, and when they're good and ready
They'll be back here soon, kitted up and raring to go
And may they succeed in their set-to with Georgie!

Come on Sandy Don, come on Cockolorum   [Jacobite supporters]
Come on Bobbing John and his Highland Possie
Many a sword and lance swings a Highland warrior
How they'll skip and dance over the *** of Georgie!
martin Feb 2015
A little story (true) from a hundred years (almost), passed on to me by word of mouth by someone whose identity my memory has lost.

A man and wife lived in the house which I owned much later. He was called away to war and for four whole years he disappeared, she didn't hear a word.

I guess he was no writer.

He found himself released, no longer mired in foreign soil. War was won, the only thing to be done was go home once more.

He sent a telegram from the port, I'm coming home real soon. But he arrived before the post, and surprised his wife, who probably said something like,

Why my dear, did you not write?
martin Feb 2015
When my love was newly won
She was the sun, the sun
The sun

Then before the year had run
All too soon the cooler moon
Is what she had become

And now she's but a distant star
A candle flicker from afar
But still her power I can see

For nights are dark
And thoughts are free
martin Jan 2015
You learn a lot in a place like this
Start top right
Then ride your green bike
          red yellow green black
And the white lead goes in the middle
You learn what an angiogram feels like
And what it's like to have a broken heart
martin Jan 2015
Once I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.

As bonie lasses I hae seen,
And mony full as braw;
But, for a modest gracefu' mein,
The like I never saw.

A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the e'e;
But, without some better qualities,
She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blythe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,
And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel;
And then there's something in her gait
Gars ony dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air
May slightly touch the heart;
But it's innocence and modesty
That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me,
'Tis this enchants my soul;
For absolutely in my breast
She reigns without control.
for Burns night
martin Jan 2015


Mission control went round the bend
They ran out of places to send
The astronaut
Who was distraught
If he didn't get home at weekends



On Venus he was to start
His voyage to the stars
But they heard him
shout  'I'm coming
out! And setting a
  course for
Mars'



He didn't know where to belong
His journey was too long
As he gazed into space
He came face to face
With the ghost of
  Major Tom

.
.
.
.
.
my mother said
to get things done
you better not mess
with Major Tom
.
.
.
martin Jan 2015
First, the basics -
I may lose you quite soon here,
It won't matter though
I'll say bye now
I don't blame you
There is nothing to commend this poem
It deserves no likes
It has no rhythm, none at all.
No wisdom, humour or philosophy.
If you get this far, well done
I admire your persistence.
I dedicate it to the little **** on the internet
Who tried to defraud me of £130 last night.
It was unsettling, so I write for therapy.

Anyway, the basics -
Well maybe we'll leave them for another day
I have already used up too much of your valuable time
And there are loads of proper poems to read here
So off you go, all that other stuff can wait
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