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Wee Angus on his wae frae work
would hit tha pub fa a perk
O' Tennents lager frae tha keg
whiles chatting up tha barmaid Meg
A pint or twa there wae friens
a' bleathering awa like scholars an Deans
Debators O Parlimentary views
Ministers preaching o'er tha pews
Wae drink in hand they'd laugh their fill
tha glory Mead upon their bill
Yelping like some bairney pups
catching breeths atween their sups.

(nae wiser a man than yin filled wae ale
Nae greater a time than while drinking frae tha Grail.)

In football games they A' would linger
or singing songs for all's a singer
Nae matter how bad tha voice
a' would request their favorite choice
Happy all wae drink in hand
while holding up the bar they stand
In rattled curses tae tha bumping airms
while viewing o'er some lassies chairms
Whispering oot all dreams an desires
that drink within them all inspires
An' Angus kens that soon or late
he tae hame must tak tha gate.

Kenning tae deep doun inside
his drunken breath he'd better hide
Saying fareweel tae friens and foes
leaing ahind tha pub's warm burning coals
Doun he stummels tae tha chippy
tha air ootside tis crisp an nippy
Making him drunker than afore
he side steps frae door tae door
Eating his fish supper, enjoying each bite
thinking aboot all that's happened tha night.
Till there he rouns tha corner street
His hame sae warmly it does greet,
Falling o'er tha step ootside his hame
Tha door it opens, Behold his sullen Dame
Trying tae act sober wae all his might
afore his wifie here tha night
But she's nae fool nor blind tae see
his daft antics, his blabbering plea.

In comes Angus wae words O' love
tae face tha thumping slap an shove
Her roaring voice would put fear intae tha Deil
Hear wee Angus weep an squeal.

(What type O' life drink it brings
that great at first yet later stings
What worth has man tae waste his life
wae drinks illusions an its strife.
Sooner or later as true as Hell
Yin cannie live save by its spell
getting worse an worse day by day
while friens an family turn away
An Angus wheither he kens or no
has drifted where tha drunkards go
An time shall tell what fate bestows
for tha Curse O Ale, nae man knows.)

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
The doctrine lines,
The white brick walls,
Coffee creeps,
We still drink,
Our tastes have just changed,
Who took the last of the ******* sugar?
It's been empty for weeks,
But mainstays stay, mainly,
Another 24 hours,
Some look less,
Another victim of violence visitation,
Rattling sign, the wind makes it's appearance,
We made it,
Johnboy the ****** tells aboot,
His momentum,
Taking his mom oot to dinner,
He wore his tattoos on his face,
One cheek said sin, the other, ner,
Shakey Sam comes every meow and then,
Saying nothing has changed again,
Lights are flickering,
While Jesus Jane is on another rant,
You know, aboot Jesus and whatnot,
Atheist Jocoby just groans,
The coffee is a bit burnt,
So is my tongue,
New cats, alley cats,
Dogs and birds,
I couldn't tell you which one I am,
Emergency alarms a buzzing all around,
We just turn down the sound,
As it's another go round,
to speak,
I'm James and I'm an alcoholic,
Hi James,
Turn over turn on,
Hold hands with scumbags turned saints,
All because of the fire we got from a drink,
A smoke,
A burnt down life turned to building,
We hug once again,
And step ootside,
Open door policy,
And fire in the sky is there waiting,
Some run,
Some cry,
Shakey Sam wonders aloud,
Will his dealer deliver,
****** Johnboy calls his mom,
Jesus Jane prays,
And Atheist Jocoby drives away,
I put the sign back on the door,
And make a new ***,
I want to hear that story,
Of how that newcomer once got shot,
By a disgruntled **** in San Francisco bay,
At least I don't need a drink today.
"It's end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine"
R Dickson Jan 2015
I'm just back frae The Kirk
Doon Canongate way,
Afore yi get tae Parliament,
That was brand new yesterday,

Way back tae the 1700's
A poet in his grave,
Fergusson the poetry man,
He couldnae be saved,

Banging his heid  in a fa'
Tumbling doon a' the steps,
Hadnae sterted livin' yet,
His poetry had some depth,

Rab trained as a minister,
He abandoned fir poetry,
At the age of twenty two,
With no heart for the ministry,

He took a job as a copyist,
Tae earn a crust tae live,
Probably hated it,
So much poetry for tae give,

If he wis alive the today,
He'd be pertying in Ibiza,
DJing wi' the discs,
Rapping like a geeza,

He was only 24,
At Cape Club he'd dae a gig,
I'm sure he enjoyed himsel',
It's something that he did,

After the fa',
Darkly melancholic,
Depression followed,
He  wisnea an alcoholic,

Straight to Edina's loony bin,
Then ca'd Darien House,
On Bristo Street used to stand,
Can't think what'd be worse,

He was born in 1750,
Died penniless in '74
Unmarked grave in Canongate,
Nae headstane was in store,

Many years later,
Head stane was selected,
Rabbie Burns inspired,
Was paid fir an' erected,

The date upon the stane was wrong,
Hopefully wis being changed,
By Robert Louis Stevenson,
But died before old age,

Grave is now restored,
Tae it's former glory,
Ironwork and stane cleaned,
But it's no the end o' story,

A statue wis erected,
On the street ootside the Kirk,
The way they positioned him,
He's on his way tae work,

You'll see the Parliament building,
If you wander doon the road,
Poems and poetry on the wa's
But none in Fergusson mode,

It seems he's been forgotten,
In this day and age,
Someone with his talent,
Wan o' Edina's greatest sage,

Let's hope we'll see his poetry,
On Scotland's parliament wa,
I dinae mean graffiti,
I mean poetry fir a'.
David Bremner Oct 2018
I
Ernie struck up his pipes
Ten seconds TOO SOON
And in the wrong millennium

Fiona still had her SKIRT up
Adjusting the top of a nylon stocking
Whilst the KING OF THE JEWS
Left an unfinished drink on the bar
Of the Portland Arms Hotel.

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
Striding out through the Portland's door
All Hail George Munro
Best dry-stone dyker in the parish
And owner of a MOPED.

II

The procession moved SOUTH
Across the former A9
Careful never to exceed 30MPH
Fiona didn't go
(Preferring a young stranger's hand stroking her thigh)

Then -                                                                                    
The minister appeared, but.......
DIDN'T BELIEVE
That this was the Second Coming
He stood on the front steps of the kirk
That was now a Cathedral ( Lybster henceforth a SHINING CITY!)
Wishing all a HAPPY NEW YEAR
Including the KING OF THE JEWS
Whom he treated like all others
In true Presbyterian fashion
All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail The LYBSTER STONE
Left outside in a forgotten corner
In true Presbyterian fashion

Beyond the Police Station and Primary School
A GREAT BEACON blazed
Lit by two schoolgirls and Mr Marshall Bowman
Pyre for a thousand years
Sinners preheated their teenage **** and middle aged bums at it
The nearby football pitch was illuminated by it
Nobody remembered the forgotten old folk because of it
They held their drinks and met their eyes
And as the procession arrived
Departed for the COMMUNITY CENTRE
A veritable Sodon and Gomorrah (BYOB!)

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail Mr Marshall Bowman
Rm32, Geography Block, WICK - HIGH - SCHOOL

(This part rhymes to appease the DEMANDERS)                        

The hall wis fill wi' yowng and owld
An' packed lek at hid wisna' cowld
Some were timid, ithers bowld
Little bairnies wid no be towld

When the lot hed gethered in
(The fire ootside hed raxed their sin)
They rolled their sleeves an got stuck in
Til grub an ***** an.. well.. ******!

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail Andrew Gunn
Fumbling with a fifteen year olds brassiere
In Donald Eyers' back garden

Jesus turned away from the COMMUNITY CENTRE sinners
leaving them with these words:
The Scribes and Pharisees of LYBSTER COMMUNITY COUNCIL
Will raise here a PAGAN STONE to mark this night
So that Alan Henderson can henceforth
URINATE on it on Gala night
in a political DEED.

And the Scribes took down these words for the minutes
As carefully as I imagined
Taking down the posties knickers.

Whenceforth -                                                                                    
Heralded by three giggling lassies
Jesus entered the great square of the SHINING CITY
Grey's Place
Thst held one butcher shop, two convenience stores
The Commercial Bar and a Post Office
That sold postcards of the harbour
and the Silver Cloud II.

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail the Silver Cloud II
That landed a record haul of 365 boxes
In 1973!

Bare was the square
That lay before the King of the Jews
Only Tony Ryrie's cat Patchy
Moved in its GREAT WASTES
Patch and an empty packet of Salt n Shake
The only witnesses
To the GREAT MILLENNIUM MIRACLE

Whereby -                                                                                  
A shaft of blinding light
Shone forth from the British Telecom phone box
Deflected off the Cathedral weathervane
Up, up (like a great *******) in to the heavens
Where the inhabitants of the moon Titan
Looking up through their dense, noxious atmosphere
Saw this light and sent
INTERPLANETARY FRATERNAL GREETINGS
To their sisters and brothers of Lybster (twinned with Fort Mackinac USA)
That were not returned

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail Johnny Mackay
Envoy from the plannet Titan
to the Court of St James

Jesus was NOT angered by this
For he knew that DEEP inside the people were good
And as Fiona (still in the Portland Arms) dabbed the TIA MARIA off
Her blood red lips
He struck south
Down past Donnie Mackenzie's

All Hail Jesu, King of the Jews
All Hail Donnie Mackenzie
Jannie of Lybster Primary
Pulling out your wobbly teeth in his cupboard
Then giving you a POLO

Until -                                                                                        
He reached the Harbour Road bus shelter
Where a choice was offered
To proceed to the harbour and part the Moray Firth
Or live amongst the lepers
Of SHELLIGOE ROAD.............

III

I was sent to the harbour
To pump the boat
The early morning frost glinted on a half-full Tia Maria bottle
That lay discared on the grass
I pulled the cork                                                
Took a long, sickly draw
                       Then threw it back  

In the SHINING CITY only some things had changed.
Riz Mack May 19
In the thicka the Perth Road's pretence
millin aboot the fustian
o the ald "Hunter S." basement
(cuz there's nae Scottish writers ti name a pub efter)

cap scrapin the ceilin
Bohemian Monk Machine
gettin set on the tiny stage fir a bit o
funk-jazz-sumin-or-other

a hud ti step ootside
wee bit o fresh smoke
a few lads sauntered past in thir
designer gear an zirconian ears

"let's go in here -
nah, am no into country music"

it's ca'd Maker now but
ah it maks me is restless
true story

— The End —