The Sunday Posts 2017/ Hush Hush

Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';
Dreams of peace and of freedom,
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.

Once, our valleys were ringin'
with sounds of our children singin',
but now, sheep bleat 'til the evenin'
and shielings stand empty and broken.


Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';
Dreams of peace and of freedom,
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.

Where stands our proud Highland mettle?
Our men, once sae feared in battle
now stand, cowed, huddled like cattle,
and soon tae be shipped o'er the ocean.

Oh, we stood with our heads bowed in prayer
while Factors laid our cottages bare.
The flames fired the clear mountain air,
and many were dead in the mornin'.

Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';
Dreams of peace and of freedom,
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.

Nae use greetin' or prayin' now.
Gone. Gone, all hopes of stayin',
sae hush, now. The anchor's a-weighin'.
Don't cry in your sleep, bonny baby.

Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';
Dreams of peace and of freedom,
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.

The Sunday Posts 2017/ Breaking News

We interrupt this poem to bring you reports
of an explosion

of wild untruths and other signs that the news
is broken.

Early indications from those who were first
on the scene

have led to widespread fears of another Sweden
or Bowling Green

and that peace might erupt at any moment
in other places.

It is believed that amongst the rubble of reality
were found traces

of humanity and an understanding that stretches
beyond borders.

Many experts predict this will lead to a new wave
of presidential orders

for such trumped-up charges form part of
a familiar pattern.

But back to the poem: we’ll bring you more news
as it doesn’t happen.

Brian Bilston

The Sunday Posts 2017/ As I Grow Old I Will March Not Shuffle

As I grow old
I will not shuffle to the beat
of self-interest
and make that slow retreat
​​​to the right.

I will be a septuagenarian insurrectionist
marching with the kids. I shall sing
‘La Marseillaise’, whilst brandishing
homemade placards that proclaim
‘DOWN WITH THIS SORT OF THING’.

I will be an octogenarian obstructionist,
and build unscalable barricades
from bottles of flat lemonade,
tartan blankets and chicken wire.
I will hurl prejudice upon the brazier’s fire.

I will be a nonagenarian nonconformist,
armed with a ballpoint pen
and a hand that shakes with rage not age
at politicians’ latest crimes,
in strongly-worded letters to The Times.

I will be a centenarian centurion
and allow injustice no admittance.
I will stage longstanding sit-ins.
My mobility scooter and I
will move for no-one.

And when I die
I will be the scattered ashes
that attach themselves to the lashes
and blind the eyes
of racists and fascists.

Brian Bilston

The Sunday posts 2017/ Brexit In Pursuit Of A Bear

Please look out for this bear. Thank you.
He's been getting ideas above his station.
If found please hand him in to the Home Office.
Section: UK Visas and Immigration.

He is wearing a blue duffel coat,
Red wellies and a wide brimmed hat
in an attempt to look like one of us
but do not be fooled by that.

He's one of those funny foreign types,
who try to come here nowadays
to take our homes and steal our jobs
and eat our Great Nation's marmalade.

It is thought he may have terrorist connections
and may be planning to do us harm
so please beware of his hard stare
not to mention his right to bear arms.

Also reported in this area.
Illegal economic migrant
Great Uncle Bulgaria.

Brian Bilston