This seems a playful satire on the mighty Saltire
prewritten amidst a highland lowland silence.
In the hand of the wise-to Queen, or St. Andrew,
eternally akin to this 4-piece jigsaw'd island.
The actors publicly casted, professional amateurs,
notably despised an' yet a country's finest.
The setting old an' knew, new an' known, with
a neglected audience primed for mass evasion.
An' piecemeal parliaments, scrolls nor parchments,
have no place in this covert-of-sorts invasion.
For the stage be set with indebted goodwill,
through empty words in empty declarations.
The plot is thickening quick to a household broth,
of misdirection, miseducation an' artificial lie.
That binds the truth as if truth could be told,
of national strength safe in obvious disguise.
Common wealth paid for by the oblivious poor
man's pocket, pulling loose a threadbare tie.
Nae t'shakespeare'd lines, no to broken records,
No to smug derision of the true an' earnest,
Yes to insincerities that make you sober or worse,
that shine up their last of royal seal varnish.
No to sticky-finger-printed brass doorknobs,
of which for Scots to knuckle down an' burnish.
No to pious voices calling to brothers in arms,
leave this pound of flesh in vacuous debate.
Yes to monopolies of endless fields an' wind,
an' guards sat on a wall which have no gate.
Alas freedom remembered, stamped an' framed,
was never a win but loss to sovereign'd hate.
Left to aged members of past an' proven fable,
to cry the Nae's an' Yay's of a borrowed tongue,
to the masses still confused, still right thinking,
of who to believe an' who to defile. Now hung
out to dry the many years of engineered deflation,
left alone with answers still evolving, still young.
A year from now a collusive conclusion made,
to this ending – the poet an' playwrights success.
Devolving the ever-changing, deceptive blurbs,
to inveigh a reasoned No with a passionate Yes.
Leaves me mawkish for my country as it devolves,
An' I the fraternal gambler with only a flighty guess.
Recognise your flesh. Recognise the life you have.
Recognise the absurd use of this bargaining chip.
Social norms which press you heavy, all the time,
be they Catholic, Protestant, Tory, Liberal or hip,
Recognise you can discard them, this very moment,
An' become a leader of this Clydebank anchored ship.
Let no acid be sprayed unless to sting open the eyes
of the blind. Let no more our words become unseen.
Let no more the voices of hatred speak. An' so leave
conflict where it belongs, for crowing minds to preen,
In the past for histrionics. No more of them an' us.
Step into freedom. Free, as you always have been.
Scotland is due to vote on its independence next year. Rather divisive decision to be making seeing as they have always had their independence in my eyes. For Tom McGrath (Credits go to him for the final 2 stanzas)