Perspective

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.

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.

self

Not being the same

As others or myself before

Constantly reinventing,

Challenging, renewing

To be original

And different

To be me.

Why?

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.

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.

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.

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

Forever

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.

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.

reflux

reflux

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.

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
Together.

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
Tomorrow.

Tarfside

Tarfside

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

Progress

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.

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.