Poetry by…….me

    A Flat Earth


At the end of things, is a barrier
Of ice
And things
That move quietly in the darkness of the night
Gently onwards until they fall, off the edge

De-cis-ive-ness makes all things capable of

I’ll tell you this. You may be English, Scots, Irish or even Welsh
But you’ll still fall off
The Edge.

You are deluded if you think that it’s a globe we all live on.
How can it be so? We would all slide round and fall off underneath
To who knows where?

For goodness sake, what’s down there? Hades?
……Who knows.



    It’s Britain in the Nick

When you see the flag they raise
From behind iron bars
When they serve you tea and toast
On the cell block without stars

Its Britain they salute
Not Scotland the Brave
Were all part of the telly
Do what the telly says

It’s Britain in the Nick

Not Scots ‘Wha Hae’
To look at Alex Salmond
You would think a different way

It’s Britain in the Nick
On the Dole
In the hospital bed

It’s Britain when you vote
It’s Britain when you’re dead

But when you feel the fear subside
And dare to dream of better things
Scotland’s awfie bonnie
Scotsmen are my friends!

Ma wane looks rid and hairy
An blisters in the sun
The sky’s a braw grand thing
I’m feelin somewhat glum

Perhaps I am a Scotsman
But that I’ll never know
It’s Britain when you’re in prison
And maybe that’s where I’ll go!



Sea Like a Carpet

Sea like a carpet, crinkled up.
Rough movement

Oriental pattern, complicated, stormeee
European abstract
Formless, flowing, free
Whatever you are, you are almost always in a clash
With smoother, deeper piles
Held to the floor with fancy tacks

You are wide and boundless
What’s visible to me
Is constantly fluctuating
Like your being waved in the air, beaten
Tripped over

Constantly at sea
You see, your flexible fibrous nature, is
At One with me
Peace in strife
Calming colours

You are wall to wall
Horizon bound
Socks, no shoes, please
Tints the blue, you see.



    Monster of the Slums

In the network of streets we tread, beneath our feet
In the tenemented halls, stacked
Poly-topped, absurd
In this creeping network, dimly lit

Stalks a masked marauder
A murderer it seems
Who walks the streets by daytime.
At night retreats the scene
To stalk and creep
Round flats, where people once lived.

Grinding coffee for broken machines
Until at last
There’s someone there to scare

First he frightens you
With his scarred face
And daring glare
Turns down the lights
Flickering bulb, then bare.

Then he sticks the knife in
You’re in his lair
Perhaps he’ll electrocute you

With those things you use to straighten your hair.

Look out – there’s a monster in the slums.
When’s he comin, where’s he going, that miser over there?



State of the Nation by Duncan Wallace

Stirling is much of a muchness
Paisley is poorly and heartless

Aberdeen stinks o’ the Tweed
Berwick, a town in need.

Build my gallows high in Glasgow
For a lady, frae eastward departed
From Edinburgh town

Hope they pull that town down
And dump it wherever it started.


Duncan Wallace
Patterned, like the stars are patterned.
Tracing a vein through semi-opaque matter, splitting and diverging into delicate fragments.
Not necessarily green but changing with the seasons, like us all.
Forming rich, red and brown hues before falling endlessly and inevitably to the ground
To be trampled underfoot or gathered up in a basket
Or with a brush,
Or hoover
‘til next year, when the whole thing begins again.



You’ll be Needin the Gallows by Duncan Wallace

You smiled a smile of trust
Blinked your eyes, as if by chance
Put your faith in teenage kicks
Laughed at rockers fading fast

But when you were asked whose
side you were on.
Take an oath of loyalty
For Goodness sake

Your hands and fingers twitched
And head shook all the more
Casting forth expletives
From behind closed doors

The gallows come like mercy
Closing such perfidious
Such a traitorous
Such an ignoble, bearing

Let us hope that in the future
Such thoughts are in the past
For now, you’ll need the gallows.

Get it over fast!


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