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.

I used to climb so high
Those trees that boughed
Unimportant limbs to
Mere twiglets that seemed
Were always budding.

How I loved the woods and how
Heaths heathers blether now.
Blether now.
When nature flowed
Next to my beck
Something sang to me
Louder than a lamphrey
And I knew fish didn't talk
Much but still kept to the bees.

THE WAY

The way through the wilderness is clear,
Impossible dreams come true, my dears,
Tolerance to be taught to the human race,
We're all sparked with mankind's grace,
There is a way through the wilderness,
Impossible dreams can be achieved, no less.
All children do play together,
Until dissuaded by adult's blether,
The way through the wilderness is clear,
Impossible dreams come true, my dears,
Kindness taught to the human race,
Universal smiles free on everyone's face,
The way through the wilderness is clear,
Impossible dreams to achieve, my dears.

Tree and lights,
Shop window sights,
Frost and chill,
The presents bill!

Wrapping up gifts,
blizzard in drifts,
snow and gritters,
chintz and glitter.

Anticipation,
pupil dilation,
paper in shreds,
curiosity fed.

Turkey and trimmings,
mulled drinks brimming,
family and friends,
latest toy trends.

Hat and scarf,
children’s laugh,
snowman’s nose,
frozen toes.

Christmas Telly,
big full belly,
children tired,
the roaring log fire.


Offspring to bed,
all cosy and fed,
deepest sleep,
Not a sound, not a peep.

Snowflake falling,
Relatives calling,
Music and dance,
Lost in a trance.

The Festive season,
Always good reason,
To meet up and blether,
Whatever the weather
                                                          Aduain

Move as though on castors
Swept in to subdued void
Pierrot lacking puppet master
Shrunken waxwork melting
            I rivet in two eyes black blue
            For a scrap of validation
            Mirrored tunnel dark chute
            Deep abysmal contemplation
Blether. Prattle. Jabber on
Deaf ears nescient; inattentive
Blithely callous their indifference
Never yet shall be emotive
             A flashlight glare. A glint?
             Volt? Amp; electric neuron
             No never see; pulse, or breathe
             Frigid flesh left life extinct.


©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

i cut out paper figures from the sky, from the sea

string them together like little beads

then rip them, tear them apart

like the ventricles of a breaking heart

i take them away, let them learn

then crumple them, or let them return

to ****** them at each other once again

bang, bang, together, bang, bang, the end

i shatter them, explode, bright like dying stars

watch them limp on with battle scars

then throw them to every corner of the Earth

to wander, wondering what they are worth

what could have beens

should have beens

would have beens

bang, bang, together, bang, bang, like shins

i make them talk, talk in tongues

that take up time, but waste their lungs

they speak in words, but they are bluffing

they are the voice, the voice of nothing

and still they walk, gasping for air

searching for a hand to tangle in theirs

tangle them, tangle them up

bang, bang, together, bang, bang, to dust

paper figures, paper hands

with paper skin, paper dance

and paper hearts, all alone

just piles of paper, piles of bones

to be recycled, back to the stars

to play again, play their parts

to leave once more, unpaid but well played

bang, bang, together, bang, bang, they fade

i crumple them, crease their flesh

make them wear a wrinkled dress

to show their beauty, hide their pain

hide and seek, the name of the game

i cut them loose, they drop their useless tongues

throw mortal blether to the wind, fill their winded lungs

paper, breakable, tearable, terrible

bang, bang, together, bang, bang, forever

I'll tell something about Joe
There's one thing he'll never outgrow
Entertaining his mates
With tales of new scrapes
He'll always put on a great show.

I have a great mate called Simon
Who refuses to put more weight on
He'll watch what he eats
Week after week
And soon he will look like Mike Tyson

I know a poet name Chris
Who will tend to think it remiss
If he can't get together
Some poetry matter
I guess it's one of his gfts

There is a young woman named Jenny
Whose skills and abilities are many.
She steps in when she's needed,
Expectations exceeded.
She's nothing short of uncanny.

There is a young man named Josh
Who's decided to make a big splosh.
Don't be facetious,
He's a follower of Jesus
And due for a thorough good wash.

There is a young lady named Kay
Who loved to go shopping all day
She'd keep looking around
Until a bargain she found
And no one dared get in her way.

There is a young lady named Anna
Who just can't stop smiling no matter.
She laughs everyday
With no sign of dismay
As her boys simply love her and hug her.

There was a young couple in Hanwell,
Whose love just couldn't be hid well.
They opened their home,
With never a moan
And ensured their friends were fed well.

There is a young man named Billy
Who can't help but laugh himself silly.
He sniggers and snorts
Gaffaws and contorts
Enough to make him feel dizzy.

There once was a magpie named Abi
Her friends would make her so happy
By leaving around
Shiny things to be found
Whether useful or a tiny bit tacky.

There is a dear lady named Betty
Who is always willing and ready
To sing and to dance
When she's given the chance
And never seems to get sweaty.

There is a young lady called Marsha
Who's German, so whenever you ask her
What type of food
Goes with all kinds of moods
She'll tell you it's a frankfurter.

There is a young pastor named Jason
When he studies his bible he's brazon
He praises and prays
By night and by day
His knees have serious abrasions.

There is a young woman named Amy
Who is more than a little bit brainy
She studies real hard
At home and abroad
But is also a little bit zany.

There is young lady named Tessa
Who loves a good meal and a blether
She studies God's word
Although she prefers
To do so with friends altogether.

I know a pastor named Pete
Whose day is never complete
Until he's concluded
Which quote to include in
His sermon due later that week.

I have a sister named Janet
Who has a wonderful habit
When you need a friend
You can be sure to depend
That she won't get into a panic.

I have a sister named Jenny
Who is always willing and ready
To offer a smile
While cooking with style
I can smell the results already.

I have a sister named Sally
It's hard to keep a clear tally
Of the number of times
She's cheerful and kind
It really makes you feel happy.

He wins the nobbly knee contest coz he is so very bony..haha his legs goes right up to his pants, two sticks of skinny polony..and he laughs just like a hyena with no teeth left in his gob..hes abit of a museum piece and isn’t a heartthrob..

But everyone adores Irish Micky Flynn with his Ballymoney Blarney..from County Donegal down to the southwest shores of Killarney..coz all he ever does allday is banter on his jokes, keeping people happy he is the jolliest of folks..and he chats to absolutely everybody, infact he is just a blether..with his thin arms waving high in the air as he forecasts the weather..he talks the hind legs of a donkey and still he doesn’t stop, as he sits with his mug of cocoa in his local coffee shop..

constant muscle spasm
up and down your back
keeps you from falling
into romantic blether.

has his head held high up
in the clouds. He doesn't have humility
like the ones walking on four feet. They don’t
carry a briefcase or phone. They roam

the forest and scrounge the land/not eating
out of someone’s hand. The call of the wild is
the call of the free. The day is young as it
is light. And the night shines bright as the silver

moon. No schedules/plug-in things or
blether. Treading on acorns, leaves and
feathers. The filters are the trees. And the only hot air
is a breeze. They hunt to live/not live to hunt. I’d like
to have my life unrushed and sleep in the brush.