Take a moment to stop and stare,
At memorials in your town,
The named names that never came home,
Some had died at The Somme,

No shouts no shots no whistles,
No guns no bangs no shells,
No barbed wire or trenches,
And no gun powder smells,

All is very quite now,
After one hundred years,
Unlike the time the dead were named,
When families shed their tears,

No khaki uniforms no tin hats,
No bayonets to stab a heart,
No body parts no blood no gore,
No grenades to blow you apart,

Silently remembering,
Their memory lingers on,
They fought for King and country,
And died there at The Somme.

An ither Burns night,
Has finally come alang,
If you've got an invite,
You'll hae to sing a song,

You'll soon be reciting poems,
Wi a whisky in one hand,
A haggis in the ither,
You'll be feeling mighty grand,

Daein wan o Rabbies,
Or wan you've writ yersel,
Gie it public airing,
You'll hae us in a spell,

Once the night's ower,
Poems spinning round yer heid,
Burns night is for aw body,
It's a pity that he's deid.

Once we're on the slippery *****,
With assisted suicide,
That's when the sick people,
Have nowhere left to hide,

Now that the clock is ticking,
Where will it all stop,
Next is the old folk,
We'll chop them till they drop,

Down Syndrome men and women,
Elderly, infirm who can tell,
Doctors must authorise,
Shipman did that well,

Then there's the druggies,
We'll have to use a rope,
Injection would be stupid,
Like giving them more dope,

They'll not be the last,
The unemployed are next,
They'll not be sent a letter,
We'll do it all by text,

Get them all lined up,
We'll do them one by one,
Give them the death injection,
Nowhere left for them to run,

The fat ones need to go,
Costing too much cash,
Eating too much food,
Use a knife to slash,

If your neighbour's a bit different,
You know, a bit like that,
Take out your weapon,
And stab him in the heart,

Clear the jails out,
The place if your a crook,
If we need more killers,
It's the very place to look,

Dignitas will be redundant,
We'll **** them all in house,
It'll be good business,
Shooting them just like grouse,

Forget about the smokers,
Assisted suicide's not their game,
With their lungs and breath failing,
They're dying just the same,

Life is so **** precious,
Killing's against God's law,
Commandment number six,
One of ten we shouldn't  withdraw.

Christmas Day is over,
Thank God it's once a year,
Thank God, God had only one son,
I couldn't handle twice the cheer.

Clickety clack clickety clack,
Suitcase wheels over the cracks,
Business men and business ladies,
Men and women some with babies,

The noise they make with heavy pacing,
Sends my heart heavily racing,
Pneumatic tyres would be better,
I'll need to send the makers a letter,

Small cases with high pitch sound,
Ladies with fast walking grace,
Heavy gait of business men,
Large cases with a steady bass,

Trip trap across the road,
Off the pavement to the gutter,
Checking left and right for traffic,
Straight across without a stutter,

Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Two abreast and walking past,
Clickety clickety clickety clack,
Like a train approaching fast.

Remember I told you about the puddle,
That forms outside my door,
See when it rains hard,
It's just grown more and more,

The only way to sort it,
Is to lift the grating free,
And clear the mud out,
It's easy you'll see,

The council were here this morning,
Complete wi' brush and *****,
Lifting out the grating,
That was blocking the puddle it made,

Water all brushed away,
Thinking it was fine,
Men fixed on the grating
Back on the van they climb,

Unknown to the council,
The water's not drained free,
They hadn't looked down the road,
All blocked up at twenty three,

I hope they come back,
And sort the mess they made,
The gutter needs sorted,
They need a draining *****,

The draining ***** is a thin one,
To get into tight spots,
The way that it should be used,
Is not by council clots,

The council are sure to ****** up,
Any job they undertake,
The way that they were clearing it,
Was one hell of a mistake,

I could do the job,
I could do it for free,
I'm not like the council,
It's just the job for me,

So if you've got a job,
For the council or maybe me,
Send me an email,
A stamped letter is 50p

Remember.the.early.days.
When.you.first.did.a.text.
Instead.of.doing.a.space.
After.a.word.a.dot.came.next.

I'm fascinated by the fascinator,
That sits upon a ladies' head,
The fascination I've got for the fascinator,
Cause it's got my memory misled,

I sometimes think it's a favour,
Or some other name like that,
I made this poem to remember,
It's a fascinating small hat.

Ken a' these auld Scots words,
The wans that we've forgot,
Why are we no using them,
It's because we wernae taught,

At hame wi' mither an fathir,
Speaking all and proper,
First day at school,
Speech becomes a cropper,

All yir mates at school,
Coming oot wi' words like bowff,
Saying them in the hoose,
Yir fathir says watch yir mouth,

Rax me oor the poorie,
As ma grama said to me,
Asking her whit she meant,
Gies the milk jug fir ma tea,

Fab technology today,
Smert phones and iPad,
They missed oot wan thing,
The language o' my grandad,

Skype, that's a new word,
Sounds a bit like Scottish,
Was it tae clip you round the ear hole,
That word should be abolished,

If yir no Scottish,
Rabbie's words are a' daft,
All the words that came out o' him,
That was the man's craft,

Whit aboot these well kent lines,
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Sorry aboot that Rabbie,
Stealing that was totally misplaced,

Oot o' bed on wi' ma baffies,
Tae pit them on I need tae sit doon
Sittin' on the chair wi' ma bahookie,
Missed the chair fawing like a loon,

When yir oot daein the gowf,
And yir breeks are a' in a runkle,
Dinnae be a feart tae tac them aff,
If you've got them in a fankle,

Deekin oot the windae,
Stramash on the doon the road,
Some folk getting a doin',
Ithers getting a carry code,

Polis got there quick enough,
Must have a been a hunner,
Saw the big yin there,
He was the heid ******,

The rammy wi the radges
Was just oot side the offie,
Jings crivvens help ma boab,
Some went ben the bothy,

We're all **** Tamson's bairns,
We a' just want tae learn,
We can do it wi' the Scots,
It's a language that we yearn.

I didn't get mail today,
The postman didn't call,
No letter box rattling,
No letters in the hall,

No dinner reservations,
No flights to Istanbul,
No romantic entanglement,
Valentine's day’s so cruel.

Can't believe what I'm seeing,
All the flames and smoke,
Sparks ignite expanding foam,
Skyline begins to choke,

Smoke is seen from miles around,
Drifts across the M8 motorway,
Drifting down Renfrew Street,
Students stand and pray,

Students were getting ready,
Their talent ready to show
The fire put a stop to that,
Some talent just won't show,

Built by Rennie Mackintosh,
In the Art Nouveau design,
A building of world renown,
Some think of it a shrine,

Building damage wasn't too bad,
Fire and Rescue saved most,
Student's art and Rennie's art,
Didn't end up like burnt toast.

Hey ****** ******,
The cars do a twiddle,
They twist and turn on the road,
Dodging the *** holes,
Some with broken controls,
I've even seen some being towed,

Hey ****** ******,
The road in the middle,
Needs a little repair,
If you can swing by,
And give it a try,
And pretend you're a council that care,

Hey ****** ******,
Thanks for the repair in the middle,
But the road needs a whole new coat,
Take care when crossing,
Cause the road's all rutting,
You'll need to be a mountain goat.

Hey ****** ******,
Is the council on the fiddle,
Just like Nero did in Rome,
Please come and fix it,
You'll need to bring a tar pit,
Cause it's shaking the walls in my home.

Hogmanay has been and gone,
New Year's Day is here,
Only 358 days to go,
Till the next round of Christmas cheer.

Hearing of a song about a place that I didn't know,
In my head an idea of a poem it did sow,
All  the searches I could find of this I had no skill,
Was that people were dying there on Kinnoull Hill,

The beauty of the River Tay and of surrounding land,
The place to view is at the Tower, that's the very place to stand,
The craggy face, the steep sheer drop, if you're mentally ill,
Don't dare venture to the top, the top of Kinnoull Hill,

Of all the places that they choose, they chose this place to die,
Shouting out I love you was the last thing that they cry,
Deciding to end it all, a life that's had its fill,
Death was their last resting place, below Kinnoull Hill,

Not since the days when Jamie Foyers had once so proudly strode,
Now it's for the weary in desperation mode,
They have no need for knife or gun or even just a pill,
Their modus operandi was to climb up Kinnoull Hill,

Don't blame the victims for their death or of their state of mind,
Modern life is difficult with day to daily grind,
He was just a soldier his government trained him to ****,
The killing only stopped when he stepped off Kinnoull Hill.

Reading the Daily Poems,
Each and every day,
Watching for the good ones,
To see what they would say,

Sometimes they were happy,
Sometimes they were sad,
Mostly love and human life,
And some were downright mad,

Checking settings in preference,
I ticked each and every box,
Email account cross-reference,
To see if they were lost,

Never seem to see them,
Might never have been sent,
Daily Poems enjoyment,
Missed with sad lament,

Hello Poetry the poetry site,
I see you're still alive,
Can you please send the Dailies soon,
I'll wait for them to arrive.

Stooping down for slippers,
That's when I felt the snap,
Pain was shooting up,
The pain was in my back,

Taking it so carefully,
I tried to stand up straight,
The way that I was doing it,
Was one ******* mistake,

Now double bent on my knees,
Thinking what to do,
Bladder at the fullest,
And bursting for the loo.

See when you've writ your poem,
And sent it on it's way,
Do you ever go back to it,
Later that same day?

You think you could have done better,
With something else to say,
Or do you put it in the bin,
And throw your pen away.

I sent a poem by e-mail,
But when I looked at what I sent,
The things that were in it,
It wasn't what I meant,

The words were all muddled,
They were all in the wrong place,
I hope they understand,
That I'm not a head case.

So I've got just one question,
Do you think it's too late,
To ask them for the e-mail back,
So I can correct all the mistakes.

You brought us so much happiness,
You taught us how to laugh,
You brought us Mork and Mindy,
Didn't do comedy by half,

Popeye the spinach eating sailor,
Patch Adams' squeaky shoes,
Happy films made for kids,
Childhood's not to lose,

Things we didn't understand,
About your private life,
About the drink and drugs,
And depression that was rife,

The day that comedy died,
The day you took your life,
The family that will miss you,
The sadness of your wife.

The stationery was stationary,
When the train was standing still,
The stationery was no longer stationary,
When the train started up the hill,

The train was not now stationary,
And the stationery started sliding,
The train was moving fast,
And the pen no longer gliding,

On the now non stationary stationery,
That the pen was writing on,
The pen had suddenly abruptly stopped,
Now that the stationery had gone.

Surviving lockdown
March was the start
Closing down cities
Families living apart

Surviving lockdown
That’s what I’m doing
Surviving shopping
Queuing and queuing

Surviving lockdown
Out of bed at six or seven
Days are all the same
Not what I’d call livin’

Surviving lockdown
Trying to remember the date
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
Feeling like a prison inmate

Surviving lockdown
Finding something to do
Baking bread or anything
Just to get through

Surviving lockdown
Till they find a cure
Surviving lockdown
I’ll need to endure

Surviving lockdown
Now it’s July
Feeling so lucky
When so many die

Surviving lockdown
It’ll end one day
And all back to normal
Well, that’s what they say.

Best words written in rows,
Makes them poems not prose.

Palm Sunday is upon us,
Christ's triumphant arrival,
A week before his death,
With no chance of survival,

Jesus died to save mankind,
On that Easter day,
Risen on the sabbath,
Risen from where he lay,

Doesn't look like mankind cares,
For what he did on that day,
With all the wars that's warring,
The world's in disarray.

Tick tock says the wall clock,
Tick tock is the noise it makes,
Round and round the hands go,
Sixty minutes is what it takes,

Tick tock the digital clock,
It's not what it says,
The digital clock is silent,
With no pendulum that sways,

Big and bold Grandfather clock,
Stands so straight and strong,
Usually in the hallway,
Wound up and never wrong,

All clocks are superfluous now,
If you need to know the time,
Check out your smart phone,
I check the time on mine.

What's it like to be sixty,
Rolling over in bed,
Struggling wi' the covers,
All tangled around my head,

I'm not quite sixty,
I'm only fifty nine,
Less than a month to go,
Some way down the line,

What's it like to be sixty,
Asking my granny when seven,
Dinnae be thinking that,
You're young with so much livin'

Years have just flashed by,
Getting even faster,
Sometimes no time to think,
Feeling a bit dafter,

What's it like to be sixty,
Hopefully no walking frame,
To hobble down the street,
And forgetting my name,

If I'm deaf at sixty,
I'll need a hearing aid,
If I'm incontinent,
I'll need a ***** made,

What's it like to be sixty,
I'll need to wait and see,
When I wake up in the morning,
I hope I'm still just me.

I'm just back frae The Kirk
Doon Canongate way,
Afore yi get tae Parliament,
That was brand new yesterday,

Way back tae the 1700's
A poet in his grave,
Fergusson the poetry man,
He couldnae be saved,

Banging his heid  in a fa'
Tumbling doon a' the steps,
Hadnae sterted livin' yet,
His poetry had some depth,

Rab trained as a minister,
He abandoned fir poetry,
At the age of twenty two,
With no heart for the ministry,

He took a job as a copyist,
Tae earn a crust tae live,
Probably hated it,
So much poetry for tae give,

If he wis alive the today,
He'd be pertying in Ibiza,
DJing wi' the discs,
Rapping like a geeza,

He was only 24,
At Cape Club he'd dae a gig,
I'm sure he enjoyed himsel',
It's something that he did,

After the fa',
Darkly melancholic,
Depression followed,
He  wisnea an alcoholic,

Straight to Edina's loony bin,
Then ca'd Darien House,
On Bristo Street used to stand,
Can't think what'd be worse,

He was born in 1750,
Died penniless in '74
Unmarked grave in Canongate,
Nae headstane was in store,

Many years later,
Head stane was selected,
Rabbie Burns inspired,
Was paid fir an' erected,

The date upon the stane was wrong,
Hopefully wis being changed,
By Robert Louis Stevenson,
But died before old age,

Grave is now restored,
Tae it's former glory,
Ironwork and stane cleaned,
But it's no the end o' story,

A statue wis erected,
On the street ootside the Kirk,
The way they positioned him,
He's on his way tae work,

You'll see the Parliament building,
If you wander doon the road,
Poems and poetry on the wa's
But none in Fergusson mode,

It seems he's been forgotten,
In this day and age,
Someone with his talent,
Wan o' Edina's greatest sage,

Let's hope we'll see his poetry,
On Scotland's parliament wa,
I dinae mean graffiti,
I mean poetry fir a'.

Vote for him or vote for her,
Vote for anyone you like,
Use your vote don't lose your vote,
If you believe in all the hype,

The hype that's being pumped out,
By politicians by the score,
Posting posters and pamphlets,
On your window and through your door,

They're all after your vote,
A vote to get them a job,
Some are career politicians,
Some are just there to rob,

When the voting's over,
And their seats have been retained,
They just ignore the public,
Till it starts all over again.