"kilts" poems
Toys get lost.
So-called "best friends" cost
much more than ere thought.
Flowers wilt.
She felt gross in kilts;
too tall, like on stilts.
Santa: ****
Rain annoys the roof.
Wishes on a hoof.
Soda bloats,
so do root beer floats
and ice cream boats.
People die.
I still wonder why...
They're too tired to cry?
Money's spent.
Must speak eloquent,
yet not what she meant.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
Wearing matching plaid kilts and knitted sweaters,
I see you. Do you see me?
I still have no idea how he lets me get away with this.
I guess everyone has their own definition of “comfortable.”
My new alarm clock. A body slam, a wiggle backwards and a kiss.
Then I sit and smile,
Baby how can you even sleep like that?
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
Build me a mountain way up to the sky and
throw in a river with boats sailing by,
I
have movies that float in my head and my eyes see them all when I'm home in the dark, in my bed there's a shark that plays music to me, ghosts and chameleons they're all running free so build me a mountain and allow me to climb, bring me buckets and spades and some cool Rayban shades, I want Sun, I want some, some fun, wholesome, some funsome and frolic, a nice alcoholic drink in a cup with a straw, see-saws and dodgems, amusements and candy, men on stilts, girls in kilts, ducks with hooks, story books, slides and rides galore, give me more, more me, running free with the chameleons and ghosts, trains to the coast can call then, see the mountain and when the can falls hit by three wooden ***** hear the shouts, glee on the roundabouts, goldfish in a bowl, hole in one for a prize, crazy golf, crazy eyes.
Build me a mountain way up to the sky and I'll show you how and I'll tell you why it's importantly me, importing some glee, running crazy mad free,
with boats sailing by.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:23 AM UTC
Americana, fair Madonna, tell me what's become of you; star's so bright, your war's are polite, as your ripped flag's red, white, and blue. Oh bountiful cities, mountain-told villages; starlit pillages foreshadow your deathly paths. Some books hold secrets, while cake candles burn tricks to cigarettes of nuclear blasts! Afterthought you are oh country tis of thee; so blessed in your filth, your kilts are images of projected misery. Find an Alcove you castleview kings; your tongues will soon be silenced to the non-mindsense you care to bring! Resemble with eachother patriarchs of hatred; national to all stations, you are the one in control. Forget what mother told you? Did you already sell your soul? Instant inhumanness; gratitude for filthiness, they feel for girly magazines. Rescind your rhetoric you false entity of enemies kings. Perch behind the clouds where the guard's can't get you; where pharaoh's confront you, only God knows all time! Subjection to viewest bozos behind bar-reason rhymes. Where are you angel of light? I see your face; or have I taken your place?
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prison poetry
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC
Lydia and I
ride a train
from the Elephant & Castle
to Victoria train station
we love the smell
of the steam train
that takes us there
the white and grey smoke
passes by
the train window
what did your mum say
when you asked
about going to Victoria
with me?
I ask
Lydia says
she looked at me
as if I’d farted
then said
asked your father
so I did and he said
-being sober and in
a good mood-
don't you two go
and elope away
together at least not
until you're 16 years old
and he laughed
and Mum just raised
her eyebrows
and tut-tutted
and Dad said
mind how you go
with that Benny boy
she smiles
and I take in
her straight cut hair
and the dull green dress
and grey cardigan
that's good
I say
I like it
when she's happy
and we get out
at Victoria and walk
along to the nearest seat
and sit down
to watch the steam trains
coming and going
maybe I’ll be
a train driver
when I’m older
I say
to be able to breathe
in the smell
of steam trains
and the sound of trains
and see them
Lydia says
black ones
and blue ones
and green ones
maybe I can be
a train driver too
she adds
do you think so?
yes that'd be good
I say
we can go off
to Scotland
and see the big castle
and see men
in kilts
she says
we watch
as the steam train
takes off
the power of the train
the puff and shush
and shush
and she takes
my hand
and it's warm
on this little date
us two kids
of 8.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
being insulted by someone
of a trans-
status quo
classification
will never be enough
to mind, had i the pairing
to a higher tier of socialite endeavour -
to be debased with a fragrance of
a misuse of language
on a level of comprehension will
always place me steadied with placards
of 'hello, my name is Samauel'
well hello Samuel..
boiled herrings pan-fried readied for
a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7,
boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 -
an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees'
worth of gurgled laughter -
readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut -
and we're too the readied ones
annex to the molars that might be considered
the chewing apparatus should
we not have juiced with bites as if a load's
worth of hammering was taken place:
chewing as if hammering, imagine
the cranium gush extract - it would be
like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea!
flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to;
well, there was the leather chair to mind
in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing
a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment -
mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary,
I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon
vocabulary to suppress the populace
of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known
as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained
as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow,
an extension of England, even with parliament
it was a Basildon of northern Essex...
scots among the multitude of accents usurped from
pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
If memory serves this was a special branch of the
Militaty U.K.
Those boys came to town to play.
Weekend rabble loose on leave.
Ready set by the truckloads.
Bully mother ******* in jungle boots.
Ready to blow a few months pay
And whip anyone's *** for looking the wrong way.
Rowdy and loud.
Imperialist ******
Long on swagger short on ****
Eh mate got any sisters about?
Asked one blatherin putz as he stimbled about.
Every now and then one strayed from the pack
Drunk and disorderly. Four sheets to the wind.
Well... he kept close after that.
I was about 8 when I became aware that
The big loud men in kilts and fatigues were men
On a mission an ill wind.
but victims of power same as we.
God save our gracious king
God save our glorious king. God save the king
Send him victorious.
Happy and glorious.
Long to reign over us.
God save the king.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
Good girls in rows of frilly dresses and kitten heels and pigtails
seated with black tie fathers and black eyed mothers
in the sea of hymns and Church bells.
Don't fidget with your fingers,
don't stare at people too long,
don't ask why.
Good girls in short kilts and knee high socks and dark lipstick
seated next to boys in khaki's with hands that move like serpents
in the sea of rumours and stealthy glances.
Don't kiss in the stairwell,
don't talk too loud,
don't ask why.
Good girls with black eyeliner and opened wounds and glazed eyes
seated next to nothing in particular and nothing that matters
in the sea of emptiness that's left behind when they are alone.
Don't let your smile falter,
don't stare at the black pit of your stomach,
don't ask why.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
We sat in Victoria Train Station
watching the steam trains
coming and going
on the platforms
and watching passengers
getting on and off the trains
and wondered where
they had been or where
they were going
I'd liked to go to Scotland
Lydia said
see men in kilts
and eat haggis
and see Edinburgh Castle
maybe you will one day
I said
get a train
and off you'll go
can I go from here?
she asked
no Kings Cross train station
I said
can we go there next time?
she asked
sure we can
I said
I watched a man
in a bowler hat
rush past us
as we sat
on one of the seats
on the platform
he looks in a hurry
I said
wonder where
he's off to
to his office I expect
Lydia said
come from the country
maybe up here to London
the man had a brief case
black as soot
and he was rushing
like he had the squirts
I love the smell
of the trains
Lydia said
the sound of the steam
pushing out everywhere
me too
I said
I breathed it in
like it was perfume
I was sniffing
what did your mum say
when you said
you were going
to Victoria with me
this morning?
she said what are you
going there for?
to watch the trains
I said
and she said
what a queer couple
we were
she didn't know other
9 year olds who'd want
to watch trains all day
and my brother Hemmy
said we were queer
and went off laughing
then Mum said
you be careful of the trains
and don't fall off the platform
I wondered why she
gave me a funny look
this morning when
I called for you
I said
she nodded
and we watched more
trains coming and going
and she talked
of her sister
and her sister's boyfriend
sleeping in her room
and she being stuck
in the cot bed
which was
too small for her
and how her sister
and her boyfriend
made giggling noises
in the dark
and other sounds
let's go get a glass of milk
and share some sandwiches
I said
so we walked along
to the main part
of the station
and bought two
glasses of milk
and ate the sandwiches
my mother had made
and sat on one
of the seats
and watched the trains
coming and going
and saw one woman rushing past
with her white slip showing.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Go where?
Lydia's mother said
Southend
Lydia said
you can't go to Southend
on your own
I'm not going
on my own
I'm going with Benny
her mother
stared at her
Benny?
Go with Benny?
You're both too young
to go to ****** Southend
what put that thought
into your mind?
Her mother said
we talked about it
when we were
at King's Cross station
who is we?
The mother said
Benny and me
Lydia said frowning
********* her fingers
o so you talked it over
o that's all right
then is it?
The mother said
just to Southend
as a first run
then we want to go
to Scotland
Lydia said
SCOTLAND
her mother bellowed
are you mad you two?
You can't go
to ****** Scotland
at your age
what 9 years old
and want to go Scotland
and alone?
The mother stared
at Lydia
as if she was mad
Lydia wished
Benny was there
he had a way with words
he might be able
to put it better
whose idea was it?
Both of us
Lydia said
we thought it
would be good
and we could go
to Edinburgh
and see men in kilts
and see the castle
NO NO NO
the mother bellowed
Lydia lowered her head
and gazed at
her mother's slippers
you can't go to Scotland
or Edinburgh
or Southend
not alone
the mother said quieter
staring at her daughter
when can we go then?
Lydia said
looking at
her mother's
stockinged legs
when you are old enough
and we say so
her mother said
when will be old enough?
Lydia said
gazing at her mother's
blue patterned apron
when we say so
her mother said
and walked off
back to the kitchen
where the boiler
was boiling washing
and steam came down
the passageway
Lydia sighed
and opened the front door
and went out
to find Benny
and tell him the bad news
and not being able
to see the Edinburgh views.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
As the hourglass tipped it's sand
The gypsies were walking
Hand in hand
Singing sixties operas
With flowers to their kilts
Denounced hatred
And ******
With a chalice of wealth
Blood from from soldiers
Uncle Sam
Lived in filth
Gargoyles stood the maze
Bearded ones didn't shave
As preppies spoke
In language
Flat and grey
Yet the gypsies
Loved another
With bands of beads
And colored clothing
Crystal *****
To see the future
Whilst the end is surely coming
Tears floweth
Growls are humming
As racial slurs
Are blue badged gesture
The sick get worse
The fool gets better
As Wherein the gypsies
Danced a grog
Of synagogue
Temples!!!
Jibberish songs!!
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:14 PM UTC
brighter than a thousand suns...
Helicopters scud the night. Syllables penetrate deeply.
Mulch has no value. Fingers curled softly in sleep.
Style marks the spot. Weapons hidden beneath kilts.
Pinpoint errors. Know where you are. Charlie Parker got lost.
You're a little teapot. The cat ponders these things.
Glamour a kind of architecture. National Enquirer a house.
Her only idea disastrous. He entered from behind. Stealth.
Take it any way you want it. ****** distillations of poison.
Something longer perhaps? Squash blossoms lovely. Preferences.
Ferns are not intentional. He wants a mulligan. Sentences question.
Ahead engorged. The color purple. Glance. Not quite wet.
Humpty-Dumpty the primary archetype. Master Coder. Triple Helix.
If this gum be stale: do not chew it;
If you are a window: draw the blinds.
Or writhe in orgasms of meaningful.
Come along to Carthage and Burn.
~mce
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
i am the beat
the crescent shape
of a bent
smile
before a row of
coffee stained teeth.
i am the heart
that seeps
into bathtubs
filled with
blue water
before the blood
turns red
as it bleeds.
i am a pair
of wobbly knees
bent beneath
the thorax
of a
pious human being.
i am the voice
that screams
into the
fractaled crags
of a
barren
canopy
made of
the tops of dying
trees.
i am the
thinning heat;
the quickened
silver drops
of mercury clung
to the
mercurial
summer solstice
breeze.
i am that
i am these
and those
over there
the filthy and
the clean.
i am the
saddened longing
for what
hides
between
the
knees -
the skirts
the kilts
i am birds
i am bees.
i am
the Christ
born again at
11:11 am
gestations in the
akashic amniotic
fluid of
celestial
Krishna Kosmic
seas.
i am the dragon
belching
fires
as he breathes -
the
coiled serpent
sleeping
at the
base
of the
Knowledge Tree.
i am safe
because
i am He
and She
i am
the babe
at the *****
of the
Holy Mother,
i am
the Crone
on a
long
incarnation’s
Eve.
i am the
wounded
and the
weak;
the boastful,
macho - man ********
and the
humility
of the meek.
i am the
paycheck
at the end of a long
two weeks
and the long
walkabouts
of lotus- trodden
feet.
i am the
sinew
in
the
meat,
the tea
while it steeps,
the
pressure of the deeps;
i am the
EKG-
magnetic
snake skins
and
electric beeps.
i am the
one
who
perceives -
my self
upheld
in the arms of
Isis
swaddled in
Her
sleeves.
i am the lute
i am She
Who plucks my strings
Who listens
Who watches
while
i
dance
while
i
sing.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 4:05 PM UTC
Descendent of bloods lines full of blood and lust
She came into this world covered in a sinful crust
Big bushy eyebrows
All as one
Sat above her eyeballs disturbing everyone
She had a turnip shaped body
A head like a lolly
She looked like she had been divorced
By the corpse of Mr Blobby
A foul being of unfathomable filth
She made the Scottish-men wear tights with their kilts
An unimaginable scene even in a schizophrenics dream
She made the red light district look like the blue peter team
They tried to make her into a play but they stopped in between
The directors head was found in a shed
With a note saying "die or agree"
Rumours has it
Her foul being is not just a habit
She even gets her way walking into on coming traffic
No there's no time for hesitation
when she's fulfilling her vocation
Moving from border to border disturbing more order then mortars
Never turns around always forward
Driven by bloodline that's distorted
Yet their are whispers on the wind
That she's found a certain him
An Arabic King who left his land looking for better things
He said "oil and camels - I'm soaked in the stuff,
Can you show me a good time,
Can you really make me huff?"
She ordered a weekend in Wales
No ******** no garlic snails
Hard bed no straw
In the eyes of an on looker
He had pulled the last straw
He found what he didn't know he wanted
A high powered back door motor
A great slice of westernised ****
Far from the Middle Eastern cuisine he had depart
So
As you can see and as I will say
Good things come to those who also don't prey
From inside of your skin
To the outer space rim
Unlikely loves *** and begin
Squirm and mesh
Challenges they possess
But what would be love
If we had no mess
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
Eerie stirrings in reedy beds
The watery depths holding pipers in yonder voes
Charging bulls run with musics charm
A crescendo of Tartan kilts harnessing all asunder
Sep 2, 2021
Sep 2, 2021 at 11:24 AM UTC
Kith and Kin…by Jessie 12/05
Thicken fog on a Scottish moor; names of past called out
McClure clan in black watch kilts; ghost that stroll the hills
The night so dark; the moon asleep;
A trek imprinted in every mind
A walk taken year by year, since the start of time
Candles lit to mark each name, and cut the congealed vale
Faces glow; in each eye a tear, as the generations kneel
Thirty years times thirty, now to present day
Kith and kin, circle round the McClure stone to pray
Every eve upon this date, the ritual of names
The list is read from first to end; then passed and read again
From the oldest man to the youngest child, the names will pass each lip
Then the McClure goblet, passed around, from which all descendants sip
Once every name is read aloud: the empty goblet turned
The sheep skin parchment tightly rolled then tucked within its sheath
Placed within the wood carved box; another year to keep
A tear is wiped, the flames extinguished; all receive a hug
Quietly, all’s disbursed; single file they leave
Nary another word is said
The long trek back, is for the clan, to reminisce and grieve
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC
What y'all gonna **** against now that the wall's fallen down?
If we built it and it tilts,
tough.
Them with the kilts on have still got the hots on ( hoots mon) for Euro
I dunno though
it could just be the weather.
But we don't have to explain we're too busy complaining and I'm really ****** off because outside it's raining
and it's British rain not dependant on Brussels
(he flexes his muscles)
tremors are felt
seismic events on the trading floors
It still bores me and I need a ***
where's the wall?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
Mrs Scot had let me
into the flat
and sat me
in the sitting room
without a word except
*** en"
rather bruskly
at my back.
Hannah I assumed
was still in bed
or dressing
or fast asleep.
I gazed around the room
like an explorer
in some ancient land.
It was tidy but drab.
Statuettes stood on shelves
with photographs of people
in kilts who looked
and stared
with a certain pride.
The window revealed
a span of grass
a fence
and a sight of road.
Hannah went past
in a flash
and closed a door.
I thought I saw her
part naked
but I wasn't sure.
"She'll nae be lang"
her mother said
standing by the the door
eyeing me severely
with her dark eyes
and sign
upon her forehead
should say "
Death this way lies".
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC