Wednesday, July 24, 2013


Abroad you see class war and you call it noble
While in your front garden,  children are starved
A government wages war on its own people
Dehumanising, dividing, society scarred
You talk a good game,  but you won't raise a finger
You call out for justice,  but won't take up arms
You bicker and slander and join in division
It's easier to do that - fighting is hard
But soon you'll be caught out by those who are watching
The won't's will be toppled for those who are will's
The folk on the bottom can't handle this pressure
They will rise up and resolve all their ills.

The scan

A still image,  monochrome,
Yet so redolent of potential,
Of life,  of hope.

Taking nurture from a mother,
Growing,  developing every day
Towards new life.

The mother's womb develops,  defends
A babe not yet ready to face
What lies without, yet soon they will
Spring forth into a wider world

The world they shall enter
Lacks compassion, lacks fairness,
Amoral, it leeches spirits.

But they shall not want for either
At home they will find both
And love. Always love.

And that home shall defend them
From the world and its leeches
Until they leave that second womb
strong enough to take them on.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Constitutional monarchy

Things are not the way they should be
One baby screams its way into a world
Conditioned to honour it
While thousands are born that will never
See their first birthday for want in a world of plenty.

To offer owt but joy for an unnamed sprog
Whose parents do *such a good job*
- In positions never advertised -
Is babyhating bucolic bluster
To be accepted is to toe the line.

The industry of adulation may well intrude on his private life,  
but the pay,  I hear, is good,  and the perks are marvelous.
You even get a uniform and staff discount on tax. 
And as for National Insurance...

My baby,  yet to come, 
will be loved and looked after.
My baby will learn that respect is earned through effort and application
My baby will learn to play,  and my baby will Learn to resent those that play the system
Of British hereditary wealth to maintain positions they don't deserve.

But they do *such good jobs*
*such hard jobs*
*Such noble jobs*

Tender the lot of them.
Advertise for others to take on their roles.
Pay them a market rate for these.
Let the market - which knows all -
decide if we might not be better
with a head of state that has lived a real life.

Then buy them a nice big suburban house, 
 pension of 25k a year each and let them reign over it. 
Possibly a cul de sac .
Maybe in Blantyre.
They knew about hard work there.

Saturday, July 20, 2013


Not being the same
As others or myself before
Constantly reinventing,
Challenging, renewing
To be original
And different
To be me.
Because to be the same holds no appeal
To recycle, to reheat,  to reprise
Holds no challenge,  and what is not fresh
Fails to excite me
So how can it excite another?
To feel that I have done something mine
And mine alone
To be me for others.
To be me for me.

Kim and the Clock

Once every hour
Of the day that is our lives
The hands of the clock touch
Entwined,  as one,  they rest
Experiencing together a moment
Pure and relaxing,  of unity and love.

But the moment ends
And hands are rent asunder
Unsure if they shall meet again
Ere the clock stops.
But for that moment, that isolated
Minute of perfect contentment
And harmony,  they know love.

If it comes to pass that
They should meet again, where will each be?
They meet at different times,  in different places,
But each knows the other for what they are,
Were and will be.

Each knows love.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Dust of Jarama

These boots bear the dust of Jarama.
In the grain of their leather
Lie the ashes of ideals.
I will not polish them away.

No shine could make them mean more
To scrub off history is not to improve
But to forget those who lived and died a truth
I will not polish them away.

Children raised without fathers
That died in Spain for what was right
Should not be erased from our minds
I will not polish them away

These boots bear the dust of Jarama
That dust is borne with pride.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Platitudes and truisms

The bland mediocrity of "this is nice" 
Is not for me. 
The saying of something to fill a vacuum 
Of words to try and bridge a void
Is an abuse of language 
And of nature's gifts

I want to engage on a plane of ideas
I want my mind to feel tested,  challenged
To travel in thought and to set the world right
I want to soar beyond
The tedium of toe tapping torpor.

With you,  a door opens to decades of discussion 
Of doubt and debate, of life. 
With you,  ideas take on a life that moves me. 
With you,  I come alive. 
With you,  I could live.

Friday, July 12, 2013

A gamble

A companionable silence
Hands clasped
A discussion of life
And redemption from
Past sins

Never to be lost
Your affection 
Brings to me
A knowledge of self
That is new

A desire unfolds
To know this forever
To feel this without end
To feel you

Is it possible 
That this could last? 
That we could know this
Gentle jumble of emotion
ever more?

We will never know
Unless we try
Unless we roll those dice
Gambles scare, but
Can reward.

Monday, July 08, 2013

Kristy's cake

Kristy's cake
By Hamish Drummond, aged 33 and a bit

It isn't just pizza that Kristy delivers,
But birthday cake treats that go straight to the withers*!
Topped off with icing and tasting of yum
What's not on my withers it goes on my tum :(

*horses have them,  I think,  so I assume we do too.  And I'm choosing to interpret it to mean 'bum'  here. So I'm using quite a lot of poetic licence, really.



slowly digesting myself from within
the pressure builds and limbs grow weary
sweat forms, drips, chills
mouth waters.

No ready cure, no medication
can end the torment or clear a mind
distracted and distorted by acid
that eats away.

stillness for fear of worsening
its hold on me, of agitating the
already agitated self that
would consume me from within

Please note that no king rib suppers were consumed in ten days prior to writing this. I've actually mostly been eating salad.

Which is why I was thinking wistfully about king ribs.

Sunday, July 07, 2013

Woodland sunrise

Waiting amidst the trees 
For sun to rise o'er distant hill
Hands entwined, smoke in our eyes
We can face the world
Nobody but us to see it
For all we know this purity
Is ours alone.
The soft tumult of waking birds
Our only accompaniment
Together in our silence we listen
To the birds,  to the trees,
To the morning
Sleep holds no charm
Compared to this contentment
The breeze blows smoke all around, 
But smells fresh, brings promise
of a sweetness that we will share
Together amidst the trees



Amidst trees and smoke
Contentment reigns
As friends old and new
Forget the city and settle.
In song they come together
Around the fire
Forgetting the pains and worries
Of another day,  another life
Without caution they enjoy
What it was, once, to be alive
The sound of the trees
Of birds and beasts
Of ale and wine they sup
And cast off all that ails them
In glenesk , they find something.
In Tarfside, they know
all they need is peace.

The Scottish King Rib Supper

The Scottish King Rib Supper

Sae wrang it's right!
It's made ae shite!
The Scottish King Rib Supper!
Made o mystery meat,
Pure seasoned feet,
Deep fried in lard or butter!
Wi salt n sauce
Nae vinegar tosh
An aroma that's amazin
Through chip shop windows
Noses to glass
bairns at King ribs are gazin
Fur the flash there's fish
And chicken too
But they cost a pretty penny
For a massive feast
That'll stuff yer breist
King ribs are the choice ae many.
If I get wed
Afore I'm dead
At the wedding I'll be scoffin
That mystery meat, 
made ae Seasoned feet
That'll put me in ma coffin


They call it progress
But we call it pain.
For poor working people
It's always the same
Our jobs they are cut
As machines they do more
They call it advancement
But we know the score
Our pay it is frozen
Our living costs rise
But all they can offer's
More pie in the sky
The bosses they tell us
We have it so good
But people are struggling
To give children food
We can make a difference
Things can't stay this way
If we stand together
We will win the day
The moral is simple
Hae no heed for their lies
Let us stand together
Let us do, or die.

Monday, July 01, 2013

Statement of intent

I've tried to blog before personally, but didn't really manage to find a coherent theme, and time constraints meant that I didn't keep it up and tailed off very quickly.

I have,  however,  started writing a bit more of late in a slightly (but entirely untrained) poetic vein,  and I thought I might as well put it out there in case anyone is interested.

I'm going to try and theme this around the basic first principles that inform my politics and my life in general,  but there may well be a deeply disturbing insight into my romantic life from time to time,  and there will be at least one about the delights of King Rib Suppers.