Limericks After #indyref: Just for Fun!

Poetry month on the blog continues. So far we've had some cheeky Scots Verse, An Ode, A Sonnet and now on to Limericks for a wee bit fun. Not sure what the next form will be but if there is room for all voices and views in the indyref, there should surely be room for all art forms, all emotions and all tastes. There are 8 - obviously!!! Hope you enjoy!


There was a dour man called Brown,

Who was known for his terrible frown.

He made us a vow,

But where is it now?

At least we can see he's a clown!

Said George Osborne to "Call me Dave",

"Those bloody Jocks just won't behave,

We tried using fear

But they're still full of cheer

And Maggie will spin in her grave!"

Poor foolish gullible Nick,

The tories made him look a Prick,

"To get anything Clegg,

You'll bow down & beg."

An Amoeba could see through that trick?

There was a smart man called 'Alec',

He got Westminster all in a panic,

Though the vote we have lost,

It is not at all cost,

Cause now Party membership's manic. 

The media make me feel sad,

Their reporting is terrible bad,

With the powers we've got,

Nationalise we cannot,

But still Keith Brown is painted as mad!

Be careful when posting on twitter,

That from your cruel mouth doesn't slitter,

Any hurtful bad thought

That you ought to post not

Cause to strangers you'll only seem bitter. 

Last week's poem contained an omission,

Robert Peston missed out on derision,

I am so sorry that

Nick R got all the tat

But at least I have made this admission! 

http://thewisdomofeight.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/and-heres-to-you-mr-robinson.html

We  really SHOULD thank Russell Brand,

For giving us news that was grand.

We all loved the Trews,

For its humour and views,

And we hope very much it's not banned!

A Harvest Dream

When Harvest Moons ascend in Autumn skies,

And peach kissed sun beams dance til their last breath,

Our hope does not fly out as summer dies,

But bathes itself in light and conquers death.

The geese come fast to winter on our land,

In hundreds strong to make their voices heard.

They gather now with space to only stand,

The quiet dream at last with millions shared.

With vigour flows our passion once again,

A chorus echoes loud from every field.

United songs sing strong from every pen,

Our movement has its time and shall not yield.

For now the path we seek is lit and clear

As one, we take each step, our prize is near.

Ode to the Falkirk "Yes Gazebo"

We bid farewell to our Yes Gazebo

For two years plus, our warmth placebo,

That’s sheltered us through wind and rain,

Guarded our hopes as we tried in vain,

To bring enough people towards our dream,

Believe in a vision not harsh and extreme,

Yet full of hope - which still remains,

That we now take forward to seek new gains,

In a quest for a country that’s fair and just,

For the sake of our children, we know that we must,

BUT not with you, our trusted friend,

Your spokes and bars have begun to bend,

As you’ve watched conversions to Yeses from Noes

Between nipping our fingers and stubbing our toes!

To the next generation we’ll make our case well,

But dear old Gazebo, you’re starting to smell,

So we’ll pack you away for the very last time,

No more will you listen to Steeple bells chime,

You’ve snared your last bungee & dripped your last mess,

But we swear to your memory – the next vote will be YES!

# And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson #

For National Poetry Day....my 'hour flat' poetry challenge....just for fun ;)

(Scroll to the bottom if you really need the translation!)

# And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson #

On this braw day o’ poetry,

A sang ah’ll sing tae the BBC.

O’ how ma life has changed fir guid,

Since a’ took the step that a’ ken’t a’ should.

Tae pay nae mare fir its half sourced lies,

Edited nonsense an’ fearfu’ cries.

‘Cause a dinnae care fir yer state owned crap

An’ am no greetin aboot yer weather map….

Naw, it’s aw thon pish ye spout most daily

Tae mak our folk feel dumb, BUT gailey,

Fir there’s aboot as much truth in the brothers Mitchell

As whit the Queen thinks told by Nicholas Witchell

An’ Nick Robinson, who the heck is he onyway,

Makin an ‘erse of himself on th ‘economy,

Nah, feck off, an’ let us think fir ourselves,

Gie us AW’ the sources so WE can delve.

Cause despite whit ye think, Scotland isnae daft,

So stop crushin’ oor hope wi’ yer evil craft.

Gie people credit an’ let US decide,

Tell us the NEWS but dinae misguide!

So until ye do and stop wi’ yer guff,

For me an’ the bairns, enough is enough.

Sure ah’ll miss ma Strictly Come Dancing,

Hours o’ ma life stripped o’ near naked prancin’!

But ye ken whit, ah’ll no be deprived o’ Peter Capaldi

Fightin the daleks an’ gee’in it laldie,

There’s ay a way tae watch efter online,

Wi-oot riskin the curse o’ an awfu’ fine.

Wan problem remains tho’, an’ it’s quite a glitch

Cause, obviously am a MASSIVE Cumber-bitch

An’ a cannie wait mare than a meenit or twa

Til ma man Benedict swoons on, aw’ braw.

SO SORT IT OOT!!!! Cause no case he’ll solve

On an hour’s delay, will you absolve!!!!

By Christmas next ah’ll no behave

If a’ve tae watch wan mare thing on bloody DAVE.

Let the guid folk ye’ve got rise tae the tap

Stop fillin’ yer airwaves wi’ vacuous crap,

It’s no like we’re askin’ fir total perfection,

Jist listen and act on oor objection.

But ken, if the price in the end o’ ma non-conformance

Is tae demand fae Benedict a private performance,

In ma livin’ room…o’ the Sherlock script,

Jings, there’s nae danger I’ll be tight lipped.

So fix it up an’ fix it quick

Get yer fing’er oot and mak it stick,

If ye cannie, ye ken it’s the end o’ the party

On yer ‘erse Scotland’s going aw’ Moriarty ;)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On request (and despite this rather burning my poetry soul) I have translated the best I can below. Not for the benefit of our much loved and respected comrades across the Southern Border of course, but for some dearly loved international lost souls, to whom I can never refuse anything. I hope it still works!

# And here’s to you, Mr. Robinson #

On this great day of poetry,

A song I’ll sing to the BBC.

Of how my life has changed for good,

Since I took the step that I knew I should.

To pay no more for its half sourced lies,

Edited nonsense and fearful cries.

‘Cause I don’t care for your state owned crap

And I’m not crying about your weather map….

No, it’s all that sh!t you spout most daily

To make our folk feel dumb, BUT cheery,

For there’s about as much truth in the brothers Mitchell

As what the Queen thinks told by Nicholas Witchell

And Nick Robinson, who the heck is he anyway,

Making an arse of himself on the economy,

No, f@ck off, and let us think for ourselves,

Give us ALL the sources so WE can delve.

Because despite what you think, Scotland isn’t daft,

So stop crushing our hope with your evil craft.

Give people credit and let US decide,

Tell us the NEWS but don’t misguide!

So until you do and stop with your guff,

For me and the kids, enough is enough.

Sure I’ll miss my Strictly Come Dancing,

Hours of life stripped of near naked prancing!

But you know what, I’ll not be deprived of Peter Capaldi

Fighting the Daleks and “gee’in it laldie”,

There’s always a way to watch after online,

Without risking the curse of an awful fine.

One problem remains though, and it’s quite a glitch

Because, obviously I’m a MASSIVE Cumber-bitch

And I can’t wait more than a minute or two

Until my man Benedict swoons on, all…oooo

SO SORT IT OUT!!!! Cause no case he’ll solve

On an hour’s delay, will you absolve!!!!

By Christmas next I’ll not behave

If I’ve to watch one more thing on bloody “DAVE”.

Let the good folk you’ve got rise to the top

Stop filling your airwaves with vacuous slop,

It’s not like we’re asking for total perfection,

Just listen and act on our objection.

 

But look, if the price in the end of my non-conformance

Is to demand from Benedict a private performance

In my living room…of the Sherlock script,

Gosh, there’s no danger I’ll be tight lipped.

So fix it up and fix it quick

Get your finger out and make it stick,

If you can’t, you know it’s the end of the party

On your arse, Scotland’s going all Moriarty ;)