"bairns" poems
upon the elephant rode a boy prince,
his royal command, he was there to evince.
dark with grace and dripping with youth.
bringing his men, his crown and his couth.
town after town he strode fierce through the gates.
and any detractors were left to cruel fates.
and on one windy day, as they strode into town.
the faces where tenfold and a hush passed around
the grey of the creature with knowing black eyes
swayed left towards the crowd as if to capsize.
and the mass gasped in horror; bairns seized by their mam.
men flung at young ladies, babes pulled from the pram.
the bewildered and flustered
tired elephant sat.
in the center of all on the bald pastors hat.
the old pastor looked stunned to see such a disgrace.
until he remembered, and composed his face.
'your highness' he bowed. his manners restored.
but the poor prince was toppled his mighty seat floored.
they gasped for the prince, just really a child
dressed in fine silks on this elephant wild.
pastor said, 'here now' extending an arm
hand wrinkled and gnarled from the land that he farmed.
then the guards sprung to life as if sudden awake
guns point to the man of whose life they would take.
and just as they squinted their eye for the aim
a boy sang out sweetly, 'sire he's not to blame!'
and the prince from street where he lay in pool
held up his hand and recovered his rule.
he looked at the crowd and he said 'boy now speak'
the boy said, 'prince it is the prayers that you seek.
the prayers that you'd visit. the prayers that you'd stay.
lord must of heard them and granted this way.'
his eyes wide with truth and the love of his church
the prince laughed a beautiful belly filled lurch.
the carriage was called as the prince shared a feast.
and even some water was splashed on the beast.
such a good time as he danced and he spun
till the horses arrived in the dust of a run.
to thank the town and the lovely haired boy
the young prince gave up his own precious toy.
the beast stays quite put in the center of town...
but prayers said no more...so the prince won't fall down.
sahn
04/10/2014
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
Govan bar banter:
Awa' with ye fankle eejits
that blether to naw whit they dinnae naw
crabbit, drookit
moanin, drouthy
yer Havers-yins!
each unto their ane
an' aye bin.
Tell markers scoured
an' crowned with glee
"alas nae blessing naw
bolt of wisdom
will er'e to
strike thee -
tis poor soil
an' loads o toil
an' broken backs"
Ach awa with ye!
Fir me the skies
an' tracks o wilds
an' winds that curl yer lugs
Hielan mountains glory
summers toty story
an' bonny lassies dancing -
a gallus stoater!
that’s fir me.
Party racket
in Da’s laden jaiket
jangle change
fir a dram
an' enough tae get the Clockwork Orange hame -
times hae changed a wee bit no?
Seldom ventured
tis seldom gained
an' aw the while
the wee bairns wail
Still, life is yin
what yin makes of that
which drives the world
that breaks yer back
Remember love!
ma banters free to give
an' thats all the mare important when
it costs so much tae live.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 8:20 AM UTC
Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad
wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill.
-Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot.
But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww,
must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat,
d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge?
-Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times
and finally the gadge yells back to ays,
-Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter,
me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation,
which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree.
I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but,
eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me,
when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh?
-That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled,
thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher
withoot gi'ing her a guid ride.
Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee ****
called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride
in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall.
-Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays,
takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin.
Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter
when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon,
Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond,
ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen,
'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws
as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot,
but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww,
heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse
'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** *******
'n her ***** was on display under her skirt.
Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh?
-Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot,
but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid,
ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww,
but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin,
'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA,
those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken.
So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits
o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre,
but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants,
ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'.
And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse,
so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ******
'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis.
Eh?
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
i. iii.
Daliythers expand,
Afore man's image, bridging Nova's.
Twin flame heat;
Extra-amourials,
lantern's to be the
There were writing's. Star's.
On the wall's; carved
Afar, betwixt the jar's,
Wherein tear's art
Stored from children's
Long.
ii. iv.
Exuberance aroused. Me and mine Jane
Dark matter to ourn halo O' mine twin flame;
Me and mine Jane
From the heaven's whence
We came.
Head's; bairns of the super-
Natural, never born, never
Dead.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
Hanging by the post box red front door
Since 71
A long trench coat, shade of green
With flat cap on top, peak smudged
From fingers that had gripped
Pulled it from a head,
Both, an umbra of post war world gloom
To the boy, now the man who looks at it
Memories contained within its pockets and creases
Of boiled sweets handed to his bairns
Of neatly folded plastic bags,
For the necessary emergencies
He was so convinced he’d meet
Of hands that belonged to the coat,
Strong, firm that tousled this man’s hair,
Yet gentle and playful, full of fun
Of the head that wore the cap, the grin,
The mischievous glint, when his Peg wasn’t looking
As he slipped some coins into this boy’s tiny hand
Stories told, of times before the war,
Of stopping trams, driving pigs through N’castle
As a butcher’s Boy, on slaughter day
Of the day he met his Meg, down by the coast
Of showing off, and coming a cropper
And oh, how his Meg laughed
A coat holding so much of the past,
Of shipbuilding by the dark, ***** Tyne,
Boats that loomed over the houses
Taking this boy to see them launch
Dreaming of exotic, oriental places
He would never visit
Of betting slips, crumpled in pockets
From long gone nags, who caught his eye
Torn envelopes with Megs writing,
Bread - brown, tin of carnation milk (small)
Rich tea, sultanas, flour – plain
A use for his plastic bags,
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
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.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 3:45 PM UTC
wander abaht atter a home
as av no bairns ad Tek us in
so the living hereabahts
rush inside
early doors
afore sunset
lock doors
pull down shades,
turn mirrors to walls
do all to stop me seeing em
for if I did
I'd carry 'em off.
*** named a monkey
after us, the lemur
cos we big eyes
are aht at neet
and mek ghost noises
so bairns bang *** lids
howl like wolves
joined by tarn dogs,
to frit us away
while nannans spin abaht,
splash boiling watta
rahnd rooms with a wooden ladle .
Am one dead al not find a home.
I'd carry 'em off.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
By twist and ties from ages past,
We are but Union bound
Ruled from afar by silver spoons,
'til hope and freedom found,
A fire in the belly of daughters and sons
Made a home in faces awash in blue,
With roaring thunder in voices loud, proclaim;
A Scot! Proud, free, canny and true.
Past leaders, past has-beens, past moguls and crooks,
The passion spreads, face to face,
Tangible static in the Square tonight,
The cone standing tall in it's place.
The fire of the people out in the streets,
Casting eyes to freedom's distant shores,
Their message clear and printed in bold,
With every paper passed through street-lit doors.
'Saor Alba! 'Alba gu Bràth!'
The spirit of Scotia is free.
'Bairns not Bombs!' 'Seize it with both hands!', they cry,
This Aye vote is for you, and for me.
With faith, with courage, with braw, gallus grace,
This word will nae weesht, but spread,
Not if but when, not now but again,
Independence is ne'er 'put to bed'.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
A hundred-forty west-bound miles of
Montana Highway 200 see a summer
Traveler somewhere between
Grass Range and Jordan,
Deep in grass and antelope.
Waterless miles of meandering
Dry creek beds and barbwire alleyways
Herd the occasional car or truck
Down narrow asphalt chutes of road.
Speed limit signs stamped "70 mph"
Stand mortified and silent at Speed
Demons hurtling westward to Great Falls,
Round Up, or Flowing Wells, or east to
Jordan, Circle, Richey, Lambert, and Sidney.
Extreme heat and cold on the open plain
Demand courtesies of the West;
Travelers always stop to
Help the stranded.
So it was I came at speed to Sand Springs,
A sultry July day, heading to Billings,
Sad to be leaving my lover and my bairns.
A long way off, I saw her car,
Hood up and steam rising.
I shifted down and idled to a stop.
"Can I help you?"
An older woman,
Crow, I think, looked out,
A bit confused at first
Until her eyes cleared.
"I need a ride," she said,
And so began our adventure.
I made room in the truck
And turned around to find
The ranch where she cooked.
Ten miles back, we left the road
To take a trail that wound back
Into hills, dry with early heat.
"About five miles in," she said.
We found the place,
Resting in a scrap heap
Of old vehicles and broken corrals,
Middle of nowhere,
But she was home
And opened up the door.
She asked me to wait a bit,
So I sat, wondering what was next,
While she walked in through her door.
In a minute she returned
Her offering in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Nodding, I took the gift,
Shifted into reverse,
Left her there.
The braid of sweet grass,
An unburned prayer,
Rode on my dash
All summer long....
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
far *** ye ben,
ma closest freen.
ah did nae see ye.
files ah forget fit ah maun act aroon ye.
ye aye despised meh ben fran.
an fit cwid ah iver blame ye.
affen ah feel the same aboot ma ain decrepit hert.
ah miss ye like the bairns in the bothy miss the affa fantoosh summer sunshine.
slowly ye gie me back ma smile,
ah anely wish tae thank ye,
sae meet me aat the loch's lowse an lets hum the tunes we danced tae,
as geets wi nae convictions.
Where have you been,
my closest friend.
I did not see you.
Sometimes i forget how i must act around you.
You always despised my stubbornness,
And how could i ever blame you.
I often feel the same about my own decrepit heart.
I miss you like the children in the bothy miss the great summer sunshine.
slowly you give me back my smile,
i only wish to thank you,
so meet me where the loch's work ends and lets hum the tunes we danced to.
as children with no convictions.
.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
From every county of old
Ireland
The stones have come to speak again.
Joined together in these four walls
They tell the tale of vanished men.
One million dead, the Hunger’s harvest
A million more fled overseas.
The potatoes, on which they depended,
Lay rotting in the Irish fields
It was a hard death they endured;
Their sentence passed by
falling
yields.
The stones cry out, the stones remember
the shadows of the hunger slain.
They curse the British who dissembled
Who showed less mercy than the rain.
They cry out loudest for the children;
The bairns of that famished land.
Their mother’s arms, their only coffin.
their sole possession was their names.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
Alicia,
Brynde,
Braden,
Kate,
This one's for you,
My children....
Alicia came upon a wish,
Surprise, surprise!
Our lives could never be the same,
Bright and pretty,
Intelligence to stun....
Brynde followed within two years
To join her sister,
To make life full,
A way with Daddy's heart,
A feisty soul,
And willful charmer of bees.
Braden's entrance brought me joy,
To join me as our only boy,
A melancholy son at times, but sharp
At math and quick debate,
Able bodied little man now tall and strong,
I am so glad you came along.
When Katelyn joined our band of five,
We both were stunned, and yet the joy
You brought us with your winning smiles,
Your brains and voice and dancer beauty
Cannot be measured, can't be bought.
As I am growing old, I've cried my share of tears,
I've laughed and raved and mourned the years,
I thought my work was in another place away
From you, my bonnie bairns, but as the years come on,
I must give thanks for you...each one,
And count myself a man so blessed
To have four children safely born,
To have a loving wife,
My only love, and Mother of you all.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
Take it from me, the things you can see
The wonders your eyes will behold
Mother Nature did good in this neighbourhood
It’s a landscape of riches untold
The lochs and the glens, the Munros and Bens
They are stunning you can’t disagree
Rivers Clyde and the Tay and the Forth and the Spey
The Findhorn, the Don and the Dee
All kinds of rocks, have been turned into brochs
Into castles and bothies and cairns
If I had a say I would choose Skara Brea
As a great place to show your wee bairns
From clear waters great ***** great meat from the coos
That both share the rich fertile fields
So too the deer, with venison premiere
And the sheep produce great woollen yields
The fishing’s fantastic, there’s salmon (Atlantic)
Grayling and pike and big charr
I’ve so little doubt there’s superior trout
That I’ll not tell you quite where they are
We think thistles divine and we like the scots pine
The heather is gorgeous in flower
There’s gorse on the ground. Scottish bluebells around
It’s what young haggis prefer to devour
We have eagles and kites and owls through the night
Ptarmigan. The grouse are widespread
If you don’t fancy that, there’s a breed of wild cat
And lots of our squirrels are red
Both at midnight and noon it’s like Brigadoon
The landscape is magic caressed
Every plant, every hill is possessed of good will
And the nice beasty that lives in Loch Ness
I could tell you more, but I’d just make you snore
But believe me that’s far from it all
If you’re still full of doubt come quick, don’t lose out
‘Cause we might rebuild Hadrian’s Wall
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 12:14 PM UTC