tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23887175405459876052024-02-07T03:02:09.539+00:00crivens jings and help ma blogA mans best friend is his blog. Or something like that.....Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.comBlogger783125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-82295061871552041872018-06-03T00:17:00.000+01:002018-06-03T00:17:00.310+01:00The Sunday Posts 2017/Mince and Tatties.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VXYWWlUQAd7cKKKTsl963frAw3h63wtITuHT1Jv2hUC2fDAg2MXILB0JVGQlH2IllOSt-CG2SBehfsYYHNnOPF0mz6iV7uop9Z_OFbrrtPI5obDSDVMhquZ2QlYZU3vHxMaWCWCDDJH1/s1600/FB_IMG_1447965984555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="345" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1VXYWWlUQAd7cKKKTsl963frAw3h63wtITuHT1Jv2hUC2fDAg2MXILB0JVGQlH2IllOSt-CG2SBehfsYYHNnOPF0mz6iV7uop9Z_OFbrrtPI5obDSDVMhquZ2QlYZU3vHxMaWCWCDDJH1/s320/FB_IMG_1447965984555.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Mince and Tatties<br />
<br />
I dinna like hail tatties<br />
Pit on my plate o mince<br />
For when I tak my denner<br />
I eat them baith at yince.<br />
<br />
Sae mash and mix the tatties<br />
Wi mince into the mashin,<br />
And sic a tasty denner<br />
Will aye be voted ‘Smashin!’<br />
<br />
J. K. AnnandAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-67746083823235679202018-05-27T14:05:00.001+01:002018-05-27T14:05:51.405+01:00No Promises, No Demands.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVgsKjinoaKOwivKqa8fKZjR3o_wyoM1aI9uuJsTsv4bsARSg8v0D5KamRBJfR3NMsam9PiAbIa0xBw3CTpjlNFUJTiCNYz9e6C7nB9HJdQN68SWNFpHOVm8MIWOPbtX2-yCUgwVdZBN1/s1600/FB_IMG_1520485180936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="719" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVgsKjinoaKOwivKqa8fKZjR3o_wyoM1aI9uuJsTsv4bsARSg8v0D5KamRBJfR3NMsam9PiAbIa0xBw3CTpjlNFUJTiCNYz9e6C7nB9HJdQN68SWNFpHOVm8MIWOPbtX2-yCUgwVdZBN1/s320/FB_IMG_1520485180936.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Hullo, ma wee blog,<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Well, it's been a while and, as I sit wondering what the heck I might write here, the lines of an old song by {I think} Pat Benatar come to mind. Yes, I really am that old I'm sad to say! It's been a long time -years - since I've interacted with this blog in any meaningful way. I kept it running for a couple of years after I'd hit the wall by posting a weekly poem, partly hoping that I would get things back on track, partly because the blog, and the people who it had connected me to through writing, had been incredibly important, positive and helpful at a particular time in my life and partly because I felt guilty and wasn't ready to admit I'd run out of steam. But reality has a way of overriding such obfuscations and the blog stuttered and stumbled on for a while until it effectively died of neglect until now, a few years later things are where they are.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOw2CFKt7RiY_hUJEIVlyss3mG5QHrtxQnadGojMRXS70KgoOnQiQ0ZgjDKf-qREpd3N-ac6tdX6lxuwPkWg2w7p9X0X83fN3jrb0SDyeusSlsz4mONJDiy7r3m8Z_aDixrn16gO3hxYt/s1600/FB_IMG_1503904404182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="720" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOw2CFKt7RiY_hUJEIVlyss3mG5QHrtxQnadGojMRXS70KgoOnQiQ0ZgjDKf-qREpd3N-ac6tdX6lxuwPkWg2w7p9X0X83fN3jrb0SDyeusSlsz4mONJDiy7r3m8Z_aDixrn16gO3hxYt/s320/FB_IMG_1503904404182.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Our lives no doubt have moved on and evolved in myriad ways, some unforeseen, some predictable, some fortuitous and some less welcome. All the while this wee blog has been sitting dormant until now. I've been without a computer for some time. We've been in a building site of a house with no wifi and my laptop had developed a problem some time back that hadn't been dealt with, then the realities of building a major extension on a limited budget, compounded by some health niggles and unfortunately having engaged what proved to be a cowboy builder brought problems galore that sucked the life out of me and pushed mere internet into the long grass for, well, far, far too long.<br />
<br />
Now The Lovely G and I have a house that is habitable but less than finished, some furniture still in storage and lots of work to do {and pay for} to get the place to where we want it. But these things will come to pass in their own good time no doubt. Meanwhile, life bumbles on and lo and behold, the internet has been restored. Even my old laptop has been able to be resurrected after much head scratching and some luck and flaw on my part. It's not been near a repair shop that's for sure. I can't afford that yet by a long chalk. Now I can engage with all the wonders {ha} of the modern world once again even if it is only by plugging directly into the router and I feel connected. Just being able to surf the internet in something other than a phone in a free wifi area and in a finally clean and comfortable environment has brought a level of normality back that has been missing so long it feels almost alien.<br />
<br />
The wonder of raising this old laptop from the dead also brought me back to places and content I hadn't thought of for some time. Old friends neglected for far too long. All my blogging favourites still saved, the blog admin suite and many others. In a quiet moment I began to track back through some favourite places and found myself reading some of the old blog posts and that raised a hankering to do spend more time, perhaps diverting from some uncomfortable reality, perhaps reclaiming something that was 'just me' again. I always valued the solitary element of blogging, of taking time to gather a though and having the help of getting it down somewhere as a means of sorting through stuff, or of focussing on bits of life that are more important. The stuff that should be celebrated or better considered, the bits that should be vented and those that should be held up for some healthy ridicule. No doubt there are also elements of going back to a happy place, to get away from some of the daily rubbish that pervades our lives.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I think I'm going to be blogging again. It won't be in the same regularity as before, it'll be more sporadic in all likelihood. Who knows? Not me for sure, but if it brings me some of the fun and satisfaction it did once then that will be just grand and a welcome addition and some antidote to the present frustrations. In many ways, I wish I'd never given up on the blog but I did.<br />
<br />
Let's give this another go and see how it develops.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLfPzIkhrkIVQQqyv0_DgFVALLD1B-55joVAK0j4LB0RLFhM-j6oFfbchiLO33SYTfgK1806MKmm6rEW7PC_qxn8yMtAkcCWoMtPJ19YMtnqYFrgq_q-Mlj5eLKV3129eQd2h9urlvjO6/s1600/FB_IMG_1521900632512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="478" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLfPzIkhrkIVQQqyv0_DgFVALLD1B-55joVAK0j4LB0RLFhM-j6oFfbchiLO33SYTfgK1806MKmm6rEW7PC_qxn8yMtAkcCWoMtPJ19YMtnqYFrgq_q-Mlj5eLKV3129eQd2h9urlvjO6/s320/FB_IMG_1521900632512.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
No promises. No demands.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/CjY_uSSncQw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CjY_uSSncQw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
Listening to 'Love is a battlefield' by Pat Benatar.<br />
<br />Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-38441038320933822972018-05-27T00:32:00.000+01:002018-05-27T00:32:04.203+01:00The Sunday Posts 2018/Covering Two Years <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDtjJKyexLzlVeiDkrmMzh9ujdyTsYQ7NkBdI69pB6n6Q-06j6hji7O0jw5t1Zf4v7i5PTuxTHKVyCxoTtpRYTm3mO07YdIMb9k_fb_IUzu_ObSdpS8yjqZ-8pr4HTXnaeutUv9LGmJwR/s1600/Languedoc+day+six+102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDtjJKyexLzlVeiDkrmMzh9ujdyTsYQ7NkBdI69pB6n6Q-06j6hji7O0jw5t1Zf4v7i5PTuxTHKVyCxoTtpRYTm3mO07YdIMb9k_fb_IUzu_ObSdpS8yjqZ-8pr4HTXnaeutUv9LGmJwR/s320/Languedoc+day+six+102.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This nothingness that feeds upon itself:<br />
Pencils that turn to water in the hand,<br />
Parts of a sentence, hanging in the air,<br />
Thoughts breaking in the mind like glass,<br />
Blank sheets of paper that reflect the world<br />
Whitened the world that I was silenced by.<br />
<br />
There were two years of that. Slowly,<br />
Whatever splits, dissevers, cuts, cracks, ravels, or divides<br />
To bring me to that diet of corrosion, burned<br />
And flickered to its terminal. - Now in an older hand<br />
I write my name. Now with a voice grown unfamiliar,<br />
I speak to silences of altered rooms,<br />
Shaken by knowledge of recurrence and return.<br />
<br />
Weldon Kees.<br />
Photo by AlistairAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-62406227918206679252017-03-12T00:00:00.000+00:002017-03-12T00:00:36.002+00:00The Sunday Posts 2017/ Hush Hush<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Rwi9fBF4H_U" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.<br />
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';<br />
Dreams of peace and of freedom,<br />
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.<br />
<br />
Once, our valleys were ringin'<br />
with sounds of our children singin',<br />
but now, sheep bleat 'til the evenin'<br />
and shielings stand empty and broken.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.<br />
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';<br />
Dreams of peace and of freedom,<br />
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.<br />
<br />
Where stands our proud Highland mettle?<br />
Our men, once sae feared in battle<br />
now stand, cowed, huddled like cattle,<br />
and soon tae be shipped o'er the ocean.<br />
<br />
Oh, we stood with our heads bowed in prayer<br />
while Factors laid our cottages bare.<br />
The flames fired the clear mountain air,<br />
and many were dead in the mornin'.<br />
<br />
Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.<br />
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';<br />
Dreams of peace and of freedom,<br />
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.<br />
<br />
Nae use greetin' or prayin' now.<br />
Gone. Gone, all hopes of stayin',<br />
sae hush, now. The anchor's a-weighin'.<br />
Don't cry in your sleep, bonny baby.<br />
<br />
Hush, hush, time tae be sleepin'.<br />
Hush, hush, dreams come a-creepin';<br />
Dreams of peace and of freedom,<br />
So smile in your sleep, bonny baby.<br />
<br />Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-45698025443858684952017-02-26T13:59:00.001+00:002017-02-26T13:59:57.090+00:00The Sunday Posts 2017/ Breaking News<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHTyfzLongU/USqMHBRQUZI/AAAAAAAADrc/Xz1RSvS-bbIQ3aWCv2Ftk9Y9dFLIl5LxgCPcB/s1600/imagesCAS45IXY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHTyfzLongU/USqMHBRQUZI/AAAAAAAADrc/Xz1RSvS-bbIQ3aWCv2Ftk9Y9dFLIl5LxgCPcB/s1600/imagesCAS45IXY.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
We interrupt this poem to bring you reports<br />
of an explosion<br />
<br />
of wild untruths and other signs that the news<br />
is broken.<br />
<br />
Early indications from those who were first<br />
on the scene<br />
<br />
have led to widespread fears of another Sweden<br />
or Bowling Green<br />
<br />
and that peace might erupt at any moment<br />
in other places.<br />
<br />
It is believed that amongst the rubble of reality<br />
were found traces<br />
<br />
of humanity and an understanding that stretches<br />
beyond borders.<br />
<br />
Many experts predict this will lead to a new wave<br />
of presidential orders<br />
<br />
for such trumped-up charges form part of<br />
a familiar pattern.<br />
<br />
But back to the poem: we’ll bring you more news<br />
as it doesn’t happen.<br />
<br />
Brian BilstonAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-68598641643798068912017-02-12T10:22:00.000+00:002017-02-12T10:22:14.846+00:00The Sunday Posts 2017/ As I Grow Old I Will March Not Shuffle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdQ4JXdavEaPh-2Lcf9N5hqjwC-lbRus13n5giGvhi8MiMfYb0Lqjtv0Iy_r2NOHN1nE6-uRrBhADgugwuaro68GvtrZafQqTBRF3TrZxQ7G6QNq0GRL1yCASMf-pWJVc_TQDzkAALuM2/s1600/_MG_2822.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBdQ4JXdavEaPh-2Lcf9N5hqjwC-lbRus13n5giGvhi8MiMfYb0Lqjtv0Iy_r2NOHN1nE6-uRrBhADgugwuaro68GvtrZafQqTBRF3TrZxQ7G6QNq0GRL1yCASMf-pWJVc_TQDzkAALuM2/s320/_MG_2822.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
As I grow old<br />
I will not shuffle to the beat<br />
of self-interest<br />
and make that slow retreat<br />
to the right.<br />
<br />
I will be a septuagenarian insurrectionist<br />
marching with the kids. I shall sing<br />
‘La Marseillaise’, whilst brandishing<br />
homemade placards that proclaim<br />
‘DOWN WITH THIS SORT OF THING’.<br />
<br />
I will be an octogenarian obstructionist,<br />
and build unscalable barricades<br />
from bottles of flat lemonade,<br />
tartan blankets and chicken wire.<br />
I will hurl prejudice upon the brazier’s fire.<br />
<br />
I will be a nonagenarian nonconformist,<br />
armed with a ballpoint pen<br />
and a hand that shakes with rage not age<br />
at politicians’ latest crimes,<br />
in strongly-worded letters to The Times.<br />
<br />
I will be a centenarian centurion<br />
and allow injustice no admittance.<br />
I will stage longstanding sit-ins.<br />
My mobility scooter and I<br />
will move for no-one.<br />
<br />
And when I die<br />
I will be the scattered ashes<br />
that attach themselves to the lashes<br />
and blind the eyes<br />
of racists and fascists.<br />
<br />
Brian BilstonAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-70320007180424713462017-01-29T16:27:00.000+00:002017-01-29T16:28:22.232+00:00The Sunday posts 2017/ Brexit In Pursuit Of A Bear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbpZgdG6pJublTgW0BErL3JGL8CIQTlX4S5UPoyYnY4FHDq0wgbiI1wWp11ACwT9RhX0qN-35Ays-sD0zXVuwEL1BvtJ1ODr2m_aAnd5WcD7BhwDzNBkZc0ICLwqgvngk-tZD3xbnBXti/s1600/CroppedFocusedImage128085350-50-paddingtonbear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbpZgdG6pJublTgW0BErL3JGL8CIQTlX4S5UPoyYnY4FHDq0wgbiI1wWp11ACwT9RhX0qN-35Ays-sD0zXVuwEL1BvtJ1ODr2m_aAnd5WcD7BhwDzNBkZc0ICLwqgvngk-tZD3xbnBXti/s320/CroppedFocusedImage128085350-50-paddingtonbear.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Please look out for this bear. Thank you.<br />
He's been getting ideas above his station.<br />
If found please hand him in to the Home Office.<br />
Section: UK Visas and Immigration.<br />
<br />
He is wearing a blue duffel coat,<br />
Red wellies and a wide brimmed hat<br />
in an attempt to look like one of us<br />
but do not be fooled by that.<br />
<br />
He's one of those funny foreign types,<br />
who try to come here nowadays<br />
to take our homes and steal our jobs<br />
and eat our Great Nation's marmalade.<br />
<br />
It is thought he may have terrorist connections<br />
and may be planning to do us harm<br />
so please beware of his hard stare<br />
not to mention his right to bear arms.<br />
<br />
Also reported in this area.<br />
Illegal economic migrant<br />
Great Uncle Bulgaria.<br />
<br />
Brian Bilston<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-1204549425367638352016-12-25T03:45:00.000+00:002016-12-25T03:45:00.191+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Da Night at Christ wis Boarn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxFZiLoXJGnWCkX8Qq75GoPvGMQMXvGJodx4w-Y9oDdb92t5U5MA1w6BqZke44mvP8lj5efHmRFbYwN3YAoa6WZknMdEpsS38ikTBEeBXolbhgxafyGHdUWFR4HcoF4-mGBLZtqcZEWcg/s1600/Languedoc+Three+037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYxFZiLoXJGnWCkX8Qq75GoPvGMQMXvGJodx4w-Y9oDdb92t5U5MA1w6BqZke44mvP8lj5efHmRFbYwN3YAoa6WZknMdEpsS38ikTBEeBXolbhgxafyGHdUWFR4HcoF4-mGBLZtqcZEWcg/s320/Languedoc+Three+037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span class="bellaband bottom"><section class="postcontent content"><div class="selectionShareable">
A lass, wis gaen ta cry,<br /> ta Bethlehem cam, weary an makkin maen,<br /> an fan dey wir nae wye<br /> ta lay her doon, for aa da beds wis taen.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Da lodgin-mistress said<br /> da byre wid hae ta du dem, till da moarn:<br /> dere, twa clean windlins spread<br /> athin an empty stall, Goad’s Bairn wis boarn.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
A peerie whaig, wi a starn<br /> athin her broo, wis tied apo da waak,<br /> an, inbye i da barn,<br /> wi sleepy peesters, hens upo da baak.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Whin aa wis ower an düne<br /> da Midder’s een droopit in sweet relief;<br /> Joseph sat winderin on<br /> dis marvel at wis nearly past belief.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Dan suddenly, da lift<br /> wis filled wi light an singin fae abüne! –<br />as Pretty Dancers shift,<br /> sae moved da singers o da heevenly tüne,</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
an whin dey aa wir geen,<br /> doon da lang hilly gait da shepherds cam,<br /> winderin what hit might mean –<br />an ane wis kerryin a ting o lamb.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Dey cam in trow, an bent<br /> afore da Infant in a glüd o light:<br /> intae demsels, withoot a doot dey kent<br /> hunders o years wid hear aboot dis night.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Stella Sutherland.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
Photo Cathar Memorial, Minerve, Languedoc.</div>
<div class="selectionShareable">
By Alistair.</div>
</section><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span></span><span></span><br />
<div class="short">
<span></span><span></span></div>
</span><input id="searchsubmit" type="hidden" value="Search" /><br />
<div class="clearfix">
</div>
<article><section class="purple postinfo"><div>
<div class="wrap">
<ul class="left postdetail"><span class="author"> </span></ul>
</div>
</div>
</section></article><article><div class="wrap">
<section class="postcontent content"><div class="selectionShareable">
</div>
</section></div>
</article>Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-67488599963165559952016-11-11T07:30:00.002+00:002016-11-11T07:30:00.160+00:00In Memoriam. One Hundred Years On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIR40QHKYVxxCEC2FRct0WJ7UIGWsbzs0iQiwoO6oKsYaOjmlUyDIQV3GQz-Vol4PpYeq8xl7KrwCfHJA5Aiy-QPZgUBlWqfCpqcZZhYnlOuwddSd5IbeHISjcoB2QESMuEsAqjCWYa6SO/s1600/large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIR40QHKYVxxCEC2FRct0WJ7UIGWsbzs0iQiwoO6oKsYaOjmlUyDIQV3GQz-Vol4PpYeq8xl7KrwCfHJA5Aiy-QPZgUBlWqfCpqcZZhYnlOuwddSd5IbeHISjcoB2QESMuEsAqjCWYa6SO/s320/large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Written For Private D. Sutherland<br />
killed in action in the German trench,<br />
and the others who died<br />
<br />
So you were David’s father, <br />
And he was your only son, <br />
And the new-cut peats are rotting <br />
And the work is left undone, <br />
Because of an old man weeping, <br />
Just an old man in pain, <br />
For David, his son David, <br />
That will not come again.<br />
<br />
Oh, the letters he wrote you, <br />
And I can see them still, <br />
Not a word of the fighting, <br />
But just the sheep on the hill <br />
And how you should get the crops in <br />
Ere the year get stormier,<br />
And the Bosches have got his body, <br />
And I was his officer.<br />
<br />
You were only David’s father, <br />
But I had fifty sons <br />
When we went up in the evening <br />
Under the arch of the guns, <br />
And we came back at twilight - <br />
O God! I heard them call <br />
To me for help and pity <br />
That could not help at all.<br />
<br />
Oh, never will I forget you, <br />
My men that trusted me, <br />
More my sons than your fathers’,<br />
For they could only see <br />
The little helpless babies <br />
And the young men in their pride.<br />
They could not see you dying, <br />
And hold you while you died.<br />
<br />
Happy and young and gallant, <br />
They saw their first-born go, <br />
But not the strong limbs broken <br />
And the beautiful men brought low, <br />
The piteous writhing bodies, <br />
The screamed ‘Don’t leave me, Sir’, <br />
For they were only your fathers <br />
But I was your officer.<br />
<br />
E. Alan MackintoshAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-69769283949734799312016-08-14T19:14:00.000+01:002016-08-14T19:14:10.714+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Galaxy Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUo_Ev6mboU9AYCOp4Ovqjt9GDYNuR5vJVy7jXdhVg2pj07S4GT8_v5MvtEeNV83BoO3-fpLZRlN6BEQULZXouCN7h1cY3_nQ9D3wTdea21yOP6Ya-ebH0e_a8YU5TAKAemUkc2HdP9Ir/s1600/imagesCA9XIHWH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUo_Ev6mboU9AYCOp4Ovqjt9GDYNuR5vJVy7jXdhVg2pj07S4GT8_v5MvtEeNV83BoO3-fpLZRlN6BEQULZXouCN7h1cY3_nQ9D3wTdea21yOP6Ya-ebH0e_a8YU5TAKAemUkc2HdP9Ir/s1600/imagesCA9XIHWH.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Whenever life gets you down, Mrs.Brown<br />
And things seem hard or tough<br />
And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft<br />
And you feel that you've had quite enough<br />
<br />
Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving<br />
And revolving at nine hundred miles an hour<br />
That's orbiting at nineteen miles a second, so it's reckoned<br />
A sun that is the source of all our power<br />
<br />
The sun and you and me and all the stars that we can see<br />
Are moving at a million miles a day<br />
In an outer spiral arm, at forty thousand miles an hour<br />
Of the galaxy we call the 'milky way'<br />
<br />
Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars<br />
It's a hundred thousand light years side to side<br />
It bulges in the middle, sixteen thousand light years thick<br />
But out by us, it's just three thousand light years wide<br />
<br />
We're thirty thousand light years from galactic central point<br />
We go 'round every two hundred million years<br />
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions<br />
In this amazing and expanding universe<br />
<br />
The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding<br />
In all of the directions it can whizz<br />
As fast as it can go, the speed of light, you know<br />
Twelve million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is<br />
<br />
So remember, when you're feeling very small and insecure<br />
How amazingly unlikely is your birth<br />
And pray that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space<br />
'Cause there's bugger all down here on Earth<br />
<br />
Eric Idle.Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-25530851470033174432016-07-31T08:21:00.001+01:002016-07-31T08:21:42.693+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ You've Got A Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ydGfiJ4SBGgQrjFpTSUEgr0Hh3Rk8MSrlBBo7H3HqxDm4yOkIEN4qUP2Vzf1ydbUKwXgiOE7qDUn2-gGFx0xc4VzPtZhm_b-23-ybx96E4rrmP9p55dCDrZ6Vmzq8ePY8ILYkmR3f5M4/s1600/_MG_4318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ydGfiJ4SBGgQrjFpTSUEgr0Hh3Rk8MSrlBBo7H3HqxDm4yOkIEN4qUP2Vzf1ydbUKwXgiOE7qDUn2-gGFx0xc4VzPtZhm_b-23-ybx96E4rrmP9p55dCDrZ6Vmzq8ePY8ILYkmR3f5M4/s320/_MG_4318.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When you're down and troubled,<br />
And you need some love and care,<br />
And nothing, nothing is going right<br />
Close your eyes and think of me,<br />
And soon I will be there<br />
To brighten up even your darkest night.<br />
<br />
You just call out my name<br />
And you know wherever I am<br />
I'll come running to see you again<br />
Winter, spring, summer or fall<br />
All you have to do is call<br />
And I'll be there<br />
You've got a friend<br />
<br />
If the sky above you grows dark and full of clouds<br />
And that old north wind begins to blow<br />
Keep your head together and call my name out loud<br />
Soon you'll hear me knocking at your door<br />
<br />
<br />
You just call out my name<br />
And you know wherever I am<br />
I'll come running to see you again<br />
Winter, spring, summer or fall<br />
All you have to do is call<br />
And I'll be there<br />
You've got a friend<br />
<br />
Carole King<br />
Photo by Alistair.Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-20456941594706973582016-07-17T22:12:00.001+01:002016-07-17T22:12:49.065+01:00The Sunday Posts 2015/In an Artist's Studio <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTbydbEEGxeF-hOO8WaLlS_rkRgSQZ8Cd8SqEwtaf4Q4kq5L0XmW-uVFjIUwWq_EJZWptGD7QoX99c4JEEp_EYeIBUtff5J28UTG-tmrDYg8hqjjMN55-5sWt2Lc7-C4RoUykC0_hOW2u/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTbydbEEGxeF-hOO8WaLlS_rkRgSQZ8Cd8SqEwtaf4Q4kq5L0XmW-uVFjIUwWq_EJZWptGD7QoX99c4JEEp_EYeIBUtff5J28UTG-tmrDYg8hqjjMN55-5sWt2Lc7-C4RoUykC0_hOW2u/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
One face looks out from all his canvasses,<br />
One selfsame figure sits or walks or leans;<br />
We found her hidden just behind those screens,<br />
That mirror gave back all her loveliness.<br />
A queen in opal or in ruby dress,<br />
A nameless girl in freshest summer greens,<br />
A saint, an angel;--every canvass means<br />
The same one meaning, neither more nor less.<br />
He feeds upon her face by day and night,<br />
And she with true kind eyes looks back on him<br />
Fair as the moon and joyfull as the light;<br />
Not wan with waiting, not with sorrow dim;<br />
Not as she is, but was when hope shone bright;<br />
Not as she is, but as she fills his dream.<br />
<br />
Christina RossettiAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-74398075781077696782016-07-10T22:55:00.001+01:002016-07-10T22:57:01.528+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Accountancy Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ic50bYxnBh8kniyVvVXkL2zRtkW7w9ONS376e5lyY075k6aSLu5_LEgZtHARlAgbvkNnMAuVVZoojWyWZHKRf-vn4kA7Z91w7EiKzDHhRcirv5boE3lbynmxDEZJ_wvDzqmas2lFYATA/s1600/BUSINESS-Brexit-meltdown.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ic50bYxnBh8kniyVvVXkL2zRtkW7w9ONS376e5lyY075k6aSLu5_LEgZtHARlAgbvkNnMAuVVZoojWyWZHKRf-vn4kA7Z91w7EiKzDHhRcirv5boE3lbynmxDEZJ_wvDzqmas2lFYATA/s320/BUSINESS-Brexit-meltdown.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's fun to charter an accountant<br />
And sail the wide accountancy,<br />
To find, explore the funds offshore<br />
And skirt the shoals of bankruptcy!<br />
<br />
It can be manly in insurance.<br />
We'll up your premium semi-annually.<br />
It's all tax deductible.<br />
We're fairly incorruptible,<br />
We're sailing on the wide accountancy!Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-8060925484612295542016-07-01T07:30:00.001+01:002016-07-01T07:30:12.968+01:00Centenary Of The First Day, Battle of the Somme 1916<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnFZruXeYvo_lA-TfdXBuWow2502wr5xgW9OKBJGwjsEgvVlGcI9Lroq8dxU4qjlh8XMKo43udf-o1SwOLYosR2R7XO49UXonC0NxZoIwZNvAu24unOOuVyXdJDmhmECK6a5qZby3wBR_/s1600/large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvnFZruXeYvo_lA-TfdXBuWow2502wr5xgW9OKBJGwjsEgvVlGcI9Lroq8dxU4qjlh8XMKo43udf-o1SwOLYosR2R7XO49UXonC0NxZoIwZNvAu24unOOuVyXdJDmhmECK6a5qZby3wBR_/s320/large.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
To the 51st Division<br />
<br />
High Wood, July-August 1916<br />
<br />
Oh gay were we in spirit<br />
In the hours of the night<br />
When we lay at rest at Albert<br />
And waited for the fight;<br />
Gay and gallant were we<br />
On the day that we set forth,<br />
But broken, broken, broken<br />
Is the valour of the North.<br />
<br />
The wild warpipes were calling,<br />
Our hearts were blithe and free<br />
When we went up the valley<br />
To the death we could not see.<br />
Clear lay the wood before us<br />
In the clear summer weather,<br />
But broken, broken, broken<br />
Are the sons of the heather.<br />
<br />
In the cold of the morning,<br />
In the burning of the day,<br />
The thin lines stumbled forward,<br />
The dead and dying lay.<br />
By the unseen death that caught us<br />
By the bullets’ raging hail<br />
Broken, broken, broken<br />
Is the pride of the Gael.<br />
<br />
E. Alan MackintoshAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-6004885189846860542016-06-19T09:12:00.000+01:002016-06-21T23:31:55.381+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ For Orlando<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNizyv_icBDHLFwyOB5V8TA0Wms1oXUMISb33m2DiZ_Qq96c9Aq83xwELzZeyR2zifXabq5Q4p7DlE3J0OuCHUSQTHnzkwccLi5SXH_wCjjrOS7QoTim2dh5v8Z63pJYFrSLFA_TgilIH1/s1600/calvin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNizyv_icBDHLFwyOB5V8TA0Wms1oXUMISb33m2DiZ_Qq96c9Aq83xwELzZeyR2zifXabq5Q4p7DlE3J0OuCHUSQTHnzkwccLi5SXH_wCjjrOS7QoTim2dh5v8Z63pJYFrSLFA_TgilIH1/s320/calvin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
England is a cup of tea<br />
France, a wheel of ripened Brie<br />
Greece a short,squat olive tree<br />
America is a gun.<br />
<br />
Brazil is football in the sand<br />
Argentina, Madonna's hand<br />
Germany is an Oompah band<br />
America is a gun.<br />
<br />
Holland is a wooden shoe<br />
Hungary, a goulash stew<br />
Australia, a kangaroo<br />
America is a gun.<br />
<br />
Japan is a thermal spring<br />
Scotland, a highland fling<br />
Oh, better to be anything<br />
Than America as a gun.<br />
<br />
Brian Bilston<br />
Photo by Alistair.Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-9744391920916093172016-04-17T02:00:00.000+01:002016-04-17T02:00:03.154+01:00The Sunday Posts 2015/ Culloden Moor - seen in Autumn rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJhyKJfHfdZ6JdHj_AnuVzPKxx7EQDUBBRQY3uiY_qzjCabwl4a1oaUQqp9eiDC84uB7_3TADAU4LJwzf2E3eBPG2K4FxrBiL5mBZR5bsQoL4GbujoDFhJK8217pvwjBMe9_j7ni43mU5/s1600/IMG_4768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJhyKJfHfdZ6JdHj_AnuVzPKxx7EQDUBBRQY3uiY_qzjCabwl4a1oaUQqp9eiDC84uB7_3TADAU4LJwzf2E3eBPG2K4FxrBiL5mBZR5bsQoL4GbujoDFhJK8217pvwjBMe9_j7ni43mU5/s320/IMG_4768.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Full of grief, the low winds sweep <br />
O'er the sorrow-haunted ground; <br />
Dark the woods where night rains weep, <br />
Dark the hills that watch around. <br />
<br />
Tell me, can the joys of spring <br />
Ever make this sadness flee, <br />
Make the woods with music ring, <br />
And the streamlet laugh for glee?<br />
<br />
When the summer moor is lit <br />
With the pale fire of the broom, <br />
And through green the shadows flit, <br />
Still shall mirth give place to gloom? <br />
<br />
Sad shall it be, though sun be shed <br />
Golden bright on field and flood; <br />
E'en the heather's crimson red <br />
Holds the memory of blood. <br />
<br />
Here that broken, weary band <br />
Met the ruthless foe's array, <br />
Where those moss-grown boulders stand, <br />
On that dark and fatal day. <br />
<br />
Like a phantom hope had fled, <br />
Love to death was all in vain, <br />
Vain, though heroes' blood was shed, <br />
And though hearts were broke in twain. <br />
<br />
Many a voice has cursed the name <br />
Time has into darkness thrust, <br />
Cruelty his only fame <br />
In forgetfulness and dust. <br />
<br />
Noble dead that sleep below, <br />
We your valour ne'er forget; <br />
Soft the heroes' rest who know <br />
Hearts like theirs are beating yet. <br />
<br />
Alice McDonnell of Keppoch<br />
Photo by Alistair.Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-44445914084160752552016-04-10T11:28:00.001+01:002016-04-10T11:28:49.174+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ The Messengers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHL8Cpw9yB-EXgqxpEXwSnd05jtocfvleVRr9ZVivwTO7dHVLcb58jACJODo7pXWNzALHiPw4fMThGGenMfr573OSArYdb5aS0xIXMzuWxiApybLk9wjlHI3Gfri4QnLw2nLy5Yda37hhG/s1600/Schaffhausen+2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHL8Cpw9yB-EXgqxpEXwSnd05jtocfvleVRr9ZVivwTO7dHVLcb58jACJODo7pXWNzALHiPw4fMThGGenMfr573OSArYdb5aS0xIXMzuWxiApybLk9wjlHI3Gfri4QnLw2nLy5Yda37hhG/s320/Schaffhausen+2011.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Arriving late sometimes and never<br />
Quite expected, still they come,<br />
Bringing a folded meaning home<br />
Between the lines, inside the letter.<br />
<br />
As a scarecrow in the harvest<br />
Turns an innocent field to grief<br />
These tattered hints are dumb and deaf,<br />
But bring the matter to a crisis.<br />
<br />
They are the messengers who run<br />
Onstage to us who try to doubt them,<br />
Fetching our fate to hand; without them<br />
What would Sophocles have done?<br />
<br />
Muriel Spark<br />
Photo by Alistair.<br />
<br />
<br />Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-42371247336413110342016-04-03T02:00:00.000+01:002016-04-03T02:00:12.762+01:00The Sunday Posts 2016/Helen Keller<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FUPx42UmSng" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
She,<br />
In the dark,<br />
Found light<br />
Brighter than many ever see.<br />
She,<br />
Within herself,<br />
Found loveliness,<br />
Through the soul's own mastery.<br />
And now the world receives<br />
From her dower:<br />
The message of the strength<br />
Of inner power. <br />
<br />
By Langston HughesAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-38960128764225759762016-03-06T23:20:00.001+00:002016-03-06T23:20:29.122+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/Emeralds and Black Diamonds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMQgKnWZRih9lYcuBqN-V-yXygXIz__5FjM-uFLFteQVFfmKNKkcbiuSm3WiRjNrojYbUoodwStNlUZSouRPdYWXmQQpWNtMHnUOfhw8B-LIVLgJ3ZY_5NhRpPvPq9DfW7W2iXgDSmtcc/s1600/Margot+%252B+Richard+172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMQgKnWZRih9lYcuBqN-V-yXygXIz__5FjM-uFLFteQVFfmKNKkcbiuSm3WiRjNrojYbUoodwStNlUZSouRPdYWXmQQpWNtMHnUOfhw8B-LIVLgJ3ZY_5NhRpPvPq9DfW7W2iXgDSmtcc/s320/Margot+%252B+Richard+172.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Lie down lass, lie down, in sage green meadows<br />
Your blouse flouncing open, in the teasing breeze<br />
The meadows, feel so cotton, this time of season<br />
Come lay beside me lass, and sense th' softness<br />
<br />
Open field, sweet honeysuckle....arouses my yen <br />
Shamrock blades in sparkle by th' mid-noon sun <br />
No clouds abide our scape of choice, to pleasure<br />
Again i ask you lass......come lay you down by me<br />
<br />
Come close my love...these hungry emerald eyes<br />
Beg to stare into your warm, black diamond eyes<br />
Take my hand in bond, lov', and let me asure you <br />
That Emeralds and diamonds....never fade away<br />
<br />
Frank James Ryan.<br />
Photo By Alistair. Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-52339729358875410912016-02-28T23:12:00.001+00:002016-02-28T23:12:20.919+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Sleep Weel.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YMqK-MQzRr8/VGS3bRBOZRI/AAAAAAAAEeI/yJAbx5Uh6RE/s1600/IMG_5485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YMqK-MQzRr8/VGS3bRBOZRI/AAAAAAAAEeI/yJAbx5Uh6RE/s320/IMG_5485.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sleep weel, my bairnie, sleep. <br />
The lang, lang shadows creep, <br />
The fairies play on the munelicht brae <br />
An' the stars are on the deep. <br />
<br />
The auld wife sits her lane <br />
Ayont the cauld hearth-stane, <br />
An' the win' comes doon wi' an eerie croon <br />
To hush my bonny wean. <br />
<br />
The bogie man's awa', <br />
The dancers rise an fa' <br />
An' the howlet's cry frae the bour-tree high <br />
Comes through the mossy shaw. <br />
<br />
Sleep weel, my bairnie, sleep. <br />
The lang, lang shadows creep, <br />
The fairies play on the munelicht brae <br />
An' the stars are on the deep. <br />
<br />
Murdoch McLean<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Meaning of unusual words:</i> <br />
bairnie=child <br />
munelicht brae=moonlit hillside <br />
her lane=alone <br />
Ayont=beyond <br />
croon=wailing song <br />
bogie man=ghost <br />
howlet=owl <br />
bour-tree=elder tree <br />
shaw=flat ground at the foot of a hill Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-74450671890336384882016-02-14T15:51:00.000+00:002016-02-14T15:51:27.475+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Valentines Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeaBJbGA-5vX-LwZlmdgx1ptAGXtwyUHsSgch7REbDFkZyNIoEa4Eepr_HhRJIhFf5V4zAM6Xzq3vEOOZ0KL56QUB59aYLTegNhmrjbs-QNyJcnUs7oIUczcZgIGaiFSh_O_07wegvAX4/s1600/10644400_535308539948545_5093139306413153766_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeaBJbGA-5vX-LwZlmdgx1ptAGXtwyUHsSgch7REbDFkZyNIoEa4Eepr_HhRJIhFf5V4zAM6Xzq3vEOOZ0KL56QUB59aYLTegNhmrjbs-QNyJcnUs7oIUczcZgIGaiFSh_O_07wegvAX4/s320/10644400_535308539948545_5093139306413153766_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sure Proof<br />
<br />
I can no more describe you<br />
than I can put a thing for the first time<br />
where it already is.<br />
<br />
If I could make a ladder of light<br />
or comb the hair of a dream girl with a real comb<br />
or pour a table into a jug...<br />
<br />
I'm not good at impossible things<br />
And that is why I'm sure<br />
I will love you for my ever.<br />
<br />
Norman MacCaig. 1968<br />
Photo by AlistairAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-38849958709384188022016-02-07T09:45:00.000+00:002016-02-07T09:45:18.663+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/ Let Me Die A Young Mans Death<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyL8HsYPjYifv2knBYlvu_v2ffWzrRPqMHgdaNci5g5vaY8pzmzoGbdhEfKxAN_j4Xio9B5dlfiX-PuJwgIAAVEaD-6GtlZ_Lzbl5DsNGPUL7IS6KCXGd1_-nCJKhugjKuk_LNad46QMaX/s1600/_MG_6406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyL8HsYPjYifv2knBYlvu_v2ffWzrRPqMHgdaNci5g5vaY8pzmzoGbdhEfKxAN_j4Xio9B5dlfiX-PuJwgIAAVEaD-6GtlZ_Lzbl5DsNGPUL7IS6KCXGd1_-nCJKhugjKuk_LNad46QMaX/s1600/_MG_6406.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Let me die a young man's death<br />
not a clean and inbetween<br />
the sheets holywater death<br />
not a famous-last-words<br />
peaceful out of breath death<br />
<br />
When I'm 73<br />
and in constant good humour<br />
may I be mown down at dawn<br />
by a bright red sports car<br />
on my way home<br />
from an all-night party<br />
<br />
Or when I'm 91<br />
with silver hair<br />
and sitting in a barber's chair<br />
may rival gangsters<br />
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in<br />
and give me a short back and insides<br />
<br />
Or when I'm 104<br />
and banned from the Cavern<br />
may my mistress<br />
catching me in bed with her daughter<br />
and fearing for her son<br />
cut me up into little pieces<br />
and throw away every piece but one<br />
<br />
Let me die a young man's death<br />
not a free from sin tiptoe in<br />
candle wax and waning death<br />
not a curtains drawn by angels borne<br />
'what a nice way to go' death <br />
<br />
Roger McGough.<br />
Photo By Alistair. Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-35342384966995594792016-01-31T16:46:00.000+00:002016-01-31T17:22:55.979+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/what did you learn in school today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4he3aSZxluEvQky0tTINieEA8Nvg_WMN7cfzFqWnYlrl01AP_-tSFNm0VqdOmmct_80J7PwkTt6ALYrOKV8rPrL3UdJGeQQHcKpIopAWiKbc2j1XQMUfdPE2WcQz3i4CYbY1vt9LGdldo/s1600/Swiss+3+July+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4he3aSZxluEvQky0tTINieEA8Nvg_WMN7cfzFqWnYlrl01AP_-tSFNm0VqdOmmct_80J7PwkTt6ALYrOKV8rPrL3UdJGeQQHcKpIopAWiKbc2j1XQMUfdPE2WcQz3i4CYbY1vt9LGdldo/s320/Swiss+3+July+034.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f8f8f8; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that Washington never told a lie.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that soldiers seldom die.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that everybody's free.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">And that's what the teacher said to me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that policemen are my friends.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that justice never ends.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that murderers die for their crimes.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Even if we make a mistake sometimes.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned our government must be strong.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">It's always right and never wrong.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Our leaders are the finest men.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">And we elect them again and again.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">What did you learn in school today,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Dear little boy of mine?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned that war is not so bad.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">I learned of the great ones we have had.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">We fought in Germany and in France.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">And some day I might get my chance.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school today.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">That's what I learned in school.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Tom Paxton</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Photo by Alistair.</span></span>Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-49253569280318282802016-01-17T20:46:00.000+00:002016-01-17T20:46:01.527+00:00The Sunday Posts 2016/Summons to Burns Nicht<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNuq1DbxGphI-LeAIn0ldhCLQG8GjGjQ5_VKh4ye4IO3ehgoIU3nSoUl6BrEPegGk11dxRm1IlDdp522WvGcIW0w4hhPMVI04-FhFnSvDGTd6QlL5mzyJlRltf_ic7lJvYdyedSqNQPtP/s1600/oorwullie2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNuq1DbxGphI-LeAIn0ldhCLQG8GjGjQ5_VKh4ye4IO3ehgoIU3nSoUl6BrEPegGk11dxRm1IlDdp522WvGcIW0w4hhPMVI04-FhFnSvDGTd6QlL5mzyJlRltf_ic7lJvYdyedSqNQPtP/s320/oorwullie2.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
KING GEORDIE issues out his summons, <br />
Tae ca his bairns, the Lairds an Commons, <br />
Tae creesh the nation's moolie-heels, <br />
An butter Commerce' rusty wheels,<br />
An see what new, what untried tax, <br />
Will lie the easiest on oor backs.<br />
The priest convenes his scandal court,<br />
Tae ken what houghmagandie sport <br />
Has been gaun on within the parish<br />
Since last they met,—their funds tae cherish.<br />
<br />
But I, the servant of Apollo,<br />
Whase mandates I am proud tae follow,—<br />
He bids me warn you as the friend<br />
Of Burns's fame, that ye'll attend<br />
Neist Friday e'en, in Luckie Wricht's,<br />
Tae spend the best—the wale o nichts ; <br />
Sae, under pain o ha'f-a-merk<br />
Ye'll come, as signed by me, the Clerk.<br />
<br />
Unknown.<br />
Alistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2388717540545987605.post-38039512856723421342016-01-10T21:59:00.001+00:002016-01-10T21:59:54.893+00:00The Sunday Posts 2015/ The Rose<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwp-_gIMkNzlx2QqgKAHSqQ0oqhNAJaorQEFWZVmLB2DMX9GZyA9K4gCV2liLi6vdToSJaLEj9Yj3KoEO7qw2i7l0SeWtXlG2Uv7g0lK8jwhsoqUGVeZ4CM546Z00HBeFn5LNd0Mnz210o/s1600/IMG_9079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwp-_gIMkNzlx2QqgKAHSqQ0oqhNAJaorQEFWZVmLB2DMX9GZyA9K4gCV2liLi6vdToSJaLEj9Yj3KoEO7qw2i7l0SeWtXlG2Uv7g0lK8jwhsoqUGVeZ4CM546Z00HBeFn5LNd0Mnz210o/s320/IMG_9079.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Some say love, it is a river<br />
That drowns the tender reed.<br />
Some say love, it is a razor<br />
That leaves your soul to bleed.<br />
Some say love, it is a hunger,<br />
An endless aching need.<br />
I say love, it is a flower,<br />
And you its only seed.<br />
<br />
It's the heart afraid of breaking<br />
That never learns to dance.<br />
It's the dream afraid of waking<br />
That never takes the chance.<br />
It's the one who won't be taken,<br />
Who cannot seem to give,<br />
And the soul afraid of dyin'<br />
That never learns to live.<br />
<br />
When the night has been too lonely<br />
And the road has been too long,<br />
And you think that love is only<br />
For the lucky and the strong,<br />
Just remember in the winter<br />
Far beneath the bitter snows<br />
Lies the seed that with the sun's love<br />
In the spring becomes the rose. <br />
<br />
Bette Midler<br />
Photo by AlistairAlistairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16667242161539996736noreply@blogger.com2