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Er wernt terr ger ter didny wooooorrrrllll
Didny worrll haz derm errr perdy perncessers
En merk maowss
Ern der perrrdy rydes leedle leedle
Erm gernna ert ERRRRRRRRLL der mershed perderderrs
En der ernyon rins
Didny worrllll gud plass to eaat der ferd

Fin
**** dfderp fesdjbdvsbkjdvsbkljdvs
Alan McClure  Jun 2013
Cenotaph
Alan McClure Jun 2013
Ah didny recognise him fae the eulogy.
The meenister'd nivver met the lad, Ah could see.
A hero?  Aye, mibbe.  Jist a name tae maist ay these fowk.
But ah kent im as a boay,
the daft wee scapegoat, ayewis in boather,
but nae real hairm in im.
He wis the lad wha'd get skelped, the noise
makkin the teacher turn is heid
jist in time tae spot im skelpin back.
Mairched tae the heidie again.
"Yir a bad lot, Barry.
Yir faither wis a bad lot too."

Puir Baz.
Da in the jile,
Ma aff her face on smack,
an him, daft, funny, doomed.
If onybody at hame had cared enough
tae keep the schuil photies,
they'd have shown a wee freckly laddie
wi a too-open grin,
year eftir year,
jersey gettin tattier,
teeth getting gappier,
still grinnin while the rest ay us
were far too cool tae smile for the camera.

Ah liked im.
Didny unnerstaun how the teachers
were sae ***** tae im.
There wis far badder boays in the year.
Ricky ****** Jackson - a nasty, sleekit wee body,
yankin ab'dy's strings.
But his da wis rich
an the teachers fawned ower im.
No Baz, though.
Cannon fodder, richt enough.
Tackin the flack fir the rest ay us.

Exactly the kind ay lad
the ******* Army thrives on.
Ah canny feel the patriotic pride,
canny picture the self-sacrifice,
the heroism.
Ah can juist see im,
daft an grinnin,
daein whit he wis tellt
an gettin killt.

Mind you,
he wis aye headin for the poppies, that yin,
One wey
or anither.
Alan McClure Sep 2016
Historical fiction -
that's where it's at.
Quite fancy writing
about Roman Britain.

A native kid, say,
growing up
in the shadow
of the legions.

I describe
an imagined feast
to my pal,
who pulls me up short.

"They didny hae tatties
in Roman times.
They're fae America,
ken?"

And I'm grateful,
but I'll struggle to base
a bestselling trilogy
on an absence of potatoes.
jeffrey robin Sep 2013
She did too good a job in the wrist slicing department and died
-------

I said to her parents:

You don't know how miserable she was.
She felt she had no choice------& she had none-----
None tha she knew of

-----

They said:

But there were choices!

--

I said again:

None that she knew of
------

But you know the other choice
The other way!
-----
Yes I do:

I said
----

THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER?
WHY DIDNY YOU PROTECT HER!!!!!
--------

I was quite dumbfounded

Finally I said:

I tried

But I couldn't convince her to dare try it

She was too afraid to live

Too addicted to death

In a sad way
She was sort of enjoying herself

It was all she had

Suffering was her friend

-------

I was stunned to hear
myself utter these words

They did ring true however
So I stick to them
------

I say :

I'm sorry

When I stop

By her grave
Julie Murphy Jun 2018
Am a lass fae Govan
There a wiz born n breid
When a wiz wee a wiz playing tig oan the *****
N a split ma poor wee heid

Fae Glesga tae Fife
Wiz where we went
Tae a flat in Methil
That ma maw goat fur rent

Tae skool a went like
A scaredey cat, a didny know wit ti expect
Second year it the high skool
Wiz a bit eh a pain in the neck

Home eckie wiz the class
A waaaanted it tae be fun
Skool went well n a started wurk
Tull a wiz cooking a bun

Am a mammy eh 3 noo
Bit wit kin a say?
A replaced the telly
Nae mare tumbles in the hay

Ma weans are getting big fast
Aw gawn ti skool their self
But if a dont shake ma *** now
A might get left oan the shelf
Spoken like a true Glasweigan

— The End —