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John Hosack Mar 2010
The common cough potato
will sit, laugh, and enjoy,
these bizarre recreations
of life in Illinois.

Springfield sprung inspiration
for two who followed suit.
The Colorado duo
made a worthy substitute.

But from yellow men to paper dolls
most just sit and chuckle.
Yet many fail to notice
that its our world that they muckle.

In addition to your laughter
the writers hope for thought.
They are not just entertainers,
but artists quite distraught.

So while we laugh at Jew jokes
and George Burns makes more dough,
examine what's important
and let the artist's message grow.
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
Ma Bonny Breeks is Buggert
a wordy pair they were
was havin' a jink an' ******
an' split ma favorit pair

made me raize an' made me rair
man a was mad reamin'
fien-ma-care be buggert
set me to a-screaming

I had ta' pang my muckle belly
fair rax'd it in yin breeks
need a'skyrin pair the noo
Ta hoord will tak' ten weeks  !
Trying to be a wee bit Burnsy......and failing, sigh.....
Anais Vionet Aug 2021
To say I'm excited about going to college is like saying Godzilla is big - you don't get the complete picture - you don't see the buildings crumbling and civilians running for their lives. Leaving for college is one of those foundational moments in life...

My mind’s been racing, I’ve felt a disquieting anxiety and I realized what I’m experiencing is a new kind of sadness - a “delta” strain new in my experience.

In less than a week I‘m off to college and I can’t help knowing that things will never be the same. I’ll step out of this house or we’ll hug at the airport and somewhere in there - I’ll cross a line.

Will my childhood be over or is it my adolescence? I’m not sure.
Oh, God, should I hand in my key??

I can hardly let my mind linger on the subject of leaving - it’s as sensitive as a tooth - it’s radioactive.

The most fleeting or off-handed reference to leaving and my heart hammers, my throat clumps and the room transforms into a thrill ride that starts to slowly spin until the floor drops a bit like an elevator. 30 seconds of focusing on leaving and I’m a muckle of tears.

I’m mindlessly, Flamin' Doritos excited about college (the going to) but like a sacrifice, or a coin - there’s a cold, flip-side, almost death-like sadness (about leaving) happening too.

So far, I think I’ve masked the sadness, with the cat’s lazy poise and razzle-dazzle and I’m sure this feeling of loss is some sort of pre-home-sickness that will pass. Until then, I'm stoically trying to wear a big-girl skirt here.
Look out! Here comes my next big life moment.
A misst ye sae muckle.
'tis achin' me ****** heart sae fragile.
Come wi's me, will ye nay.
Tae me shore o'er the ocean a' say.

Auld as time yet radiant.
Dancin' a fling me, cold and patient.
Ol' green cabres, leaves fallin' aff
On me shore, ye nay in sight.

Before th' auld red hoose a' stood still.
A glimpse o' sun o'er the ocean shinin' on me still.
Ye, nay in sight.
Me, seeking fae light.

A' sae misst ye, me heart.
Ye took yer path tae part.
John F McCullagh Dec 2013
I said my plans out loud
and heard a deep throated chuckle.
I felt so foolish and exposed
and in a muckle of trouble.
For there’s many a slip
Twixt the cup and the lip
For those who chance to dare
And though you flee from
City to City
Fate will find you there.
So keep your secrets to your self
and shelter your designs.
Don’t dare to whisper on the wind
The debts you owe to Time.
a riff on a Woody Allen quote
Ryan May 2020
From the East Coast of Ireland to the Lowlands of Scotland,
a well-trodden path,
Grandma going to Whiteinch Baths,
to do the family laundry,
And to take my Auntie for a swim,
the black and white photos look a bit grim.

She mispronounces certain words.
When you put your dinner in between some bread,
she'd look at you, dead, and say,
"If yis waanted sangwhiches, I'd have made yis sangwhiches!"

And, "you're very pass-remarkable,"
I think it means you're quick to comment on others,
my Mother's also from Glasgow,
and doesn't know why Grandma speaks like that,
so this isn't just me being a Sassenach,
or a daft English ****.

25th of January is Burns Night,
serve the neeps, tatties, a glass of fizz,
and of course, some Haggis.
Some say offal's awful,
but I just can't get enough of the stuff.

A firm favourite of our clan is a creamy dessert named Cranachan.
Topped with berries and a splash of whiskey,
you can guarantee a thumbs up from me.

The ancient family tartan is red and blue,
then there's the family crest too,
a knight with a shield under a tree,
I think it represents gallantry.

I sometimes wish I had a proper Scottish name,
like Hamilton, Douglas, or McCain,
don't suppose it matters,
at least I can understand the patter,
(that means joke or language.)

A saying about saving your coins,
"Mony a mickle macks a muckle,"
always makes me chuckle.

"Does it, aye?"
is a very dry reply,
used to take the **** and can be easy to miss.

When my Mum was younger, the family liked to roam,
but when she visits Glasgow,
she says it feels like home,
her voice even changes when she's on the phone.

Sounds English most of the day,
then my Auntie calls, and she's on her way,
"Haud ye weesht!" when she picks up the phone,
that means be quiet,
but you wouldn't have known,
that isn't her normal speaking tone.

Scottish family,
some are distant to me,
but through my parentage,
it's nice to have the heritage.
A beginner who is looking for some constructive feedback.
Ubaid Majeed Feb 2017
I whirled muckle of
itineraries to reach Eden—
then I found your eyes.
Your eyes represent your soul and soul is always Heavensent or Heaven itself.
John F McCullagh Dec 2016
I said my plans out loud
and heard a deep throated chuckle.
I felt so foolish and exposed
and in a muckle of trouble.
For there’s many a slip
Twixt the cup and the lip
For those who chance to dare
And though you flee from
City to City
Fate will find you there.
So keep your secrets to your self
and shelter your designs.
Don’t dare to whisper on the wind
The debts you owe to Time.
Sophia Oct 2018
Fields are sown with muckle corn,
And ruby roots, and dust of bread,
And tended by a buxom girl
With plaits wound round her golden head.

Her womb a dripping, ripened fruit,
Eaten by a sleeping babe,
A product of her fervent lust,
Seduced amongst the summer hay.

A flashing smile, and muscled thigh,
And hand gripped round her slimmer curves,
The smoke and ale upon his breath
commingle with her urgent love.

— The End —