Populism (A very short and rather basic poem)

POPULISM (A very short poem)

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite.

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite.

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite.

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite.

I’m neither left nor right just full of shite.

Repeat until elected…

 

Cobwebs (Poem)

Had that dream again…wrote a poem.

There are certain cobwebs that just cannot be reached
And as I wake from dreaming you’re back here among the sheets
Over years the dream it changes as the mind rewinds
Memories that first were scathing turn into something kind
Young love is strewn with flowers bright as early morn
But some flowers like the roses also come with thorns
And upon those thorns we get pierced and we see a little blood
But time is like a plaster that mends you back to love
And now that both our lives are fine and strangers we remain
You remember only good things so it wasn’t all in vain
There are certain cobwebs that just cannot be reached
They dance and stir upon the air they rest on memories beach
Some cobwebs are for keeping
To be snagged on when you’re sleeping
And I send you my love
With a laugh and a smile and a shove

Consume (poem)

Just recently I found myself saying “Over thirty years ago we decided we were all just consumers…and now we’re utter c**ts because of that” So that inspired a wee poem

CONSUME.

I want I want I want it all
Work buy get paid
Hoping to get laid
Give me more stuff
As I work rest
And get played
For that new phone
Over glass I would crawl
I only let Nike
Ever kick at my balls
I need I need I need everything
G string nose ring
Cling to the bling
Only drink this brand
Cos its the real thing
Eat drink
Piss in the sink
Work hard play hard
For everything else there’s MasterCard
I have I have I have all the best stuff
I bet he drinks Carling
He looks kinda rough
Gas coal and oil
The planet it boils
Screw it
Just do it
Who cares if it spoils
If there is shit
Then we’re shovelling it
But we care not a bit
Because we are loving it
This can’t last forever
It’s a fairly safe bet
Is this really
The best a man gets
Consume deplete
Live in compliance
This is the rot
The appliance of science
Advertising hoods
Finger lickin’ good
My health fuck it
Eat shit by the bucket
This credit card’s a git
Don’t leave home without it
We’re ravers and cravers
We’re masters and slavers
Lost sight of ourselves
Should have gone to spec savers
Does this fit that bit
Cashmere fine knit
Close pit job quit
Because we’re really worth shit

 

 

 

Being a Tory at Easter.

meme 43.

Of all the ironies this life can throw at us the one I find raises an eyebrow most is the notion of the Conservative Christian.  Ruth Davidson proudly claims to be one (and a feminist) while pursuing brutal policies against women just this week. David Cameron did the same while his appointed welfare minister Ian Duncan Smith’s policies contributed to over two thousand deaths of those declared “fit for work.”

The list could go on for days. If there’s any truth in Christianity, the hypocrisy of being both Conservative and Christian is perhaps among Satan’s best work.

There’s a joke I sometimes do. It goes…”So I see our Tory prime Minister has declared themselves Christian. That makes sense. Because Jesus hated the poor didn’t he? There was that time he cured the cripple. He said those famous words. “Take up thy bed and walk…You’ve been declared fit for work you scrounging bastard.”

And now a poem…

  

CONSERVATIVE CHRISTIAN.

So you’re a Conservative Christian

Gods Heaven is your future

To me you’re just a paradox

Like some vegetarian butcher

Did Jesus cure the cripple

With almighty power of kirk

Just to sanction all his benefits

‘Cos now he’s fit for work

Two Thousand disability deaths

Of the lame you are a hater

I don’t think “blessed are the money lenders”

Were the words of our creator

So you’re a Conservative Christian

Because you go to church

Yet immigrants from holy lands

You’d like to give the birch

I don’t think Jeesy Peeps ethnicity

Sits well with Nigel Farage

Does this mean that you proclaim

“I’m a car” when standing in a garage

So you’re a Conservative Christian

Your Pro Life stance is nonsense

The stuff of fluff and gloss

For once we’re born into this world

You couldn’t give a toss

So on you go you hypocrite

Ring loud the old church bell

If your imaginary friend goes by his book

Well see you all in hell.

 

 

 

Endings.

I’m writing a new show that will be biographical and feature tales about mental health. Last time I felt the black dog tugging on his leash was after the death of my dad. In truth though that wasn’t depression it was me grieving, which is perfectly natural. I feel it’s important we recognise that and don’t define ourselves via a condition…some of these jokes are in bad taste…good.  

I hold everything the NHS does in the highest regard. Being Scottish I’m quite reliant on them. I hate these twits that say, “Ah but you can’t expect free care forever.” It’s not free. We pay for it. And being an ex smoker of 20 years, with the amount of tax I’ve paid, when my time is up I want a gold plated bed and disgraced Tories washing my feet while I whack their arses with a rolled up copy of the Morning Star.

I’m not claiming NHS care is perfect. I used to have an uncle who had an NHS pacemaker and every time he farted the garage door would open.

My dad went out in an NHS bed. Not so much to do with a Scots lifestyle and more to do with he was chock a full of white asbestos from his job. The funeral was lovely and very well attended but his cremation went on forever.

That was the last time I felt depressed. But the point is it wasn’t depression I was just grieving. We should recognise that, I feel it’s very important we don’t define ourselves via conditions. Being sad is sometimes the right way to be. I really don’t like how we romanticise bad mental health. Poor old Van Gough get’s that, “Ah well, the reason he was so great was because he was so tortured.”
Bullshit. They claim his last words were  “la tristesse durera” meaning  “The pain is eternal” Well that was conveniently poetic of him wasn’t it?…and just not true. You know what my dads last words were? “You maybe better get a doctor. I think there’s something really wrong with me.” Which makes perfect sense. He wasn’t rattling out little bon mots on the nature of being. “Ah the universe is a hurricane and we are nought but farts.” What? What’s he saying? I’m not sure, something about farting like a hurricane. Ah…it’s probably the mixture of hospital cabbage and morphine.

I reckon Van Gough’s last words probably were more along the lines of, “Speak up you fool, I’m missing a lug. What? No I don’t feel like getting it down in a painting! I’m really fucking depressed! Send out for some prostitutes and Absinth, that tends to work”

And if those really were his last words then he was wrong. Pain isn’t eternal…Well unless you’re watching Scotland in a world cup qualifier. In which case it can feel like it. The point is you get better. Of course I can still feel a swelling of emotion when I think of my dad, but it’s a nice feeling. I was just thinking today how he could be full of constant surprises. I remember watching indie band The Smiths on telly one day and he looked up from his paper and said, “What a lovely singer that man is. Perfect diction, you can make out every word.” I was stunned. As far as music went he wasn’t into anything post Sinatra. Now he’s gone from Sinatra to The Smiths and cut out pretty much everything in between. That’s some gap. Or maybe he just liked the idea of “hanging DJs” Then there was the time gay icon Boy George first appeared on Top of the Pops. Again he looks up from his paper, “What’s that.” He enquired? Not who, what. I said, “It’s Boy George. He’s gay.” To which he replied, “Well if gay means happy then that man’s ecstatic.” A joke I feel good enough to go in this show.

Although the death of my dad from cancer was anything but pleasant I didn’t find it horrific either. Life kind of prepares you for such stuff. And even in among all the pain nice things would happen. The day before he went he decided to rally round and find the strength to watch Scotland play England at Rugby. We hadn’t defeated England in an age…that day we won. Nice one God. I always reckoned if he did exist he’s probably Scottish and invented England to punish us for our sins.

Even on the day of his passing quirky stuff was happening. My family is like The Broons. There’s as many of us as them and like The Broons if one heads out to solve a problem then another nine follow behind them. On the day my dad was at the end he had been put into twilight to ease his pain. It was decided a word with the nurse was required and in typical Broons/Scott family tradition nine of them set off down the corridor and I was charged with watching my dad as I had a “nursing background”. I’d worked for nine months in a psychiatric hospital about ten years prior. They hadn’t been out the room more than two minutes and my dad decided, from whatever level of consciousness he was on, It seems to have gone a bit quite I’ll just sneak away now. And he stopped breathing. I got a fright. I then said, “Shit dad they’re all out the room. Could you please just hang on.” And he promptly started breathing again.

So then I lean out his room and call on the family. As I was doing this I did the most ridiculous thing of keeping one hand on his bed, like you do with a shopping trolley in the supermarket…in case someone is looking for exactly the same groceries as you and makes off with your stuff. I’ve no idea where I thought he might be going. I think the chances of him leaping up and announcing there’s maybe some time left for a final bet at the bookies were slim.

PS My dad’s the one on the left in this photo.

 

 

 

Celebrity deaths 2016. #WorldPoetryDay

When you kicked off we were all crying No Way!
That can’t be the end of our David Bowie.
But the Reaper this year had a much bigger plan.
As he moved straight on to Alan Rickman
Seems we’re not immortal like Wolverine Logan.
As the house wives wept for old Terry Wogan
Even a Mockingbird death he would kill.
Turns out Harper Lee was feeling quite ill.
By the time he took out producer George Martin
We’re beginning to think, “this Death guys just startin’”
Paul Daniels didn’t like this, not even a lot
Then in Deaths grasp he was finally caught
The reaper moved on in an endless orbit
And it’s goodnight from him, wee Ronnie Corbett
Why are you taking the great and the good?
Oh come on man, not Victoria Wood
This slaughter of yours is making us wince
We’re not even sure what was wrong with Prince
Every week sees another, who is the latest?
Muhammad Ali no longer the greatest
The situation was getting fair bonkers
As Gene Wilders heart went a bit Wonka
But Death just continued, and he danced and he turned
Time to stop spinning Mr Pete Burns
Next was our U.N.C.L.E dear Robert Vaughn
Out like a light, then he was gone
And on and then on and then on he kept goin’
A last Hallelujah for nice Mr Cohen
What is it with you and these folks we adore?
Next up on his list goes Zsa Zsa Gabor
Death just continues, relentless his cycle
You really are kidding, it can’t be George Michael
We are your fans, this year’s made us blue
Goodbye Carrie Fisher, he’s finally through

 

Youth #WorldPoetryDay

I remember a boy who always loved rivers
As he screamed and he skipped and he ran
So when the last light is naught but a sliver
I’ll take pride in his complete lack of plan

An infectious laugh brimming in joy
Just another face in the Oi polloi
And we danced
Castles float
Keith transmits
Ice expands
Plastic spins
Charlie fights
Acid lights
Raymond disappears
Nobody here

I remember a boy with no thoughts of the mortal
How he drank and he swore and he sang
And when I see that I let out a chortle
Yet some are long gone from the gang
And we danced
Twirling your stuff
Strutting a bluff
Where is she going
Enough is enough
What have you done with your hair
You burn and you dim like a flare
I can’t remember
It’s fading like embers
Play turns to working
Your bones are for hurting
Warm summer sun
Is this the last one
Sea was for swimming
Nettles for stinging
Is there money for one more ride
I don’t need anything with you by my side
Life is a bitch
Forgive us our sins
Life is a beach
An the tide’s coming in.