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Showing posts from December, 2014

What happened there?

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And so we reach the final day of an extraordinary year. I increasingly find as I get older each year is extraordinary in myriad ways. It's surely the lesson of life that the extraordinary is both around and within us all if we but take the time to look and listen.

For a time at least the worlds eyes were on us and expectations were that something extraordinary was about to happen. Although it wasn't the extraordinary thing I believed was upon us, something extraordinary has happened. It seems that change has happened and that change may ignite a chain reaction which has potential to be a game changer in UK politics. It has the potential, mainly I believe, because the old order, the establishment, have yet to wake up to the reality, to understand that the very ground has shifted beneath their feet, They are still behaving in the same old ways, even the new leader of Scotland's premier {in their mind anyway}political party has failed to understand the depth of change that h…

The Sunday Posts2014/Embro Toun

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Salt on yer tail – she’s a hotterin stew
O the kent, the fremmit, the auld, the new
The cassie-claik o the Embro hoors
Rikkin an rerr as Turkish flooers
Fur coat frills on a bare bumbee,
Is the show a stoater? Pye an see!
Clinkin thochts are a chinkin glaiss
Wit is gowd, an pretension’s braisse
Dour an dozent, or sherp’s a gleg
Are they takkin the rise? Are they pullin yer leg?
In howf, or close, or a wee stairheid
Bards in the makkin, bards lang deid
Shak doon wirds like a watter spoot
Idée fixe’s a cloot wrung oot
Haive yer havers heich on the pyre
Gin ye’ll nae thole heat – bide ooto the fire
Embro toun – yer a blacksmith’s haimmer
Scotia’s anvil – strike ye limmer!

Sheena Blackhall

Merry Christmas one and All

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On window panes, the icy frost
Leaves feathered patterns, crissed & crossed,
But in our house the Christmas tree
Is decorated festively
With tiny dots of colored light
That cozy up this winter night.
Christmas songs, familiar, slow,
Play softly on the radio.
Pops and hisses from the fire
Whistle with the bells and choir.
My tiger is now fast asleep
On his back and dreaming deep.
When the fire makes him hot,
He turns to warm whatever’s not.
Propped against him on the rug,
I give my friend a gentle hug.
Tomorrow’s what I’m waiting for,
But I can wait a little more.

Bill Watterson

The Sunday Posts 2014/Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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Whose woods these are I think I know.    His house is in the village though;    He will not see me stopping here    To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer    To stop without a farmhouse near    Between the woods and frozen lake    The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake    To ask if there is some mistake.    The only other sound’s the sweep    Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,    But I have promises to keep,    And miles to go before I sleep,    And miles to go before I sleep. Robert Frost,
Photo By Alistair.