FULL ENGLISH BREXIT

 

by Jaz Dunnichen

 

3.33

 

In a red digital nailed night,

raw in booth and claw

it’s half way to the Devil, and

a third of an emergency call.

Omnia insomnia waits for

whatever damn Godot turns up.

 

4.44

 

At two thirds of the Devil of

a known unknown

and an unknown known,

Dimbleby has just said we’re out.

Ergo it must be true –

like lies damned lies and statistics.

 

9.99

 

‘Emergency which service?’

‘Full English Brexit please.’

‘Very funny mate –

that’s about as original as…

Britishness and tea

or the fear of the stranger.’

 

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Convoy

nuclear

(Balloch March)

by Jaz Dunnichen

 

 

Out of the horizon

come behemoths drawn to light,

Earth shakers

awaiting a master’s voice

obedient.

An older and a wiser man

steps on the crossing and lies down

disobedient.

 

Two young policemen make a collar

from a generation conscripted into

Hiroshima Nagasaki

McArthur and Korea

Bikini Atoll Christmas Island

Cuba

Chernobyl Fukushima,

and the rest known unto God.

 

In the deep space beyond irony

the peace is breached and

a midge in the fission removed.

Only obeying orders

the convoy square bashes towards oblivion.

From the opposite direction

tides of Spring and tourism

obey the Moon towards Loch Lomond.

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BLETHERIN FOU ANENT CALEDONIA (Ben the Howff)

thistle_2

by Jaz Dunnichen

Contermacious yir Pictish quean an loon.

Charrit an airms Tam, no aft laid doun.

Breuked a braw stour an aft pentit thairsel

tae set tae Romans, flichtermice fae Hell.

 

Sic Hadrian biggit thon faur-kent dyke

seein tae as the wather wiz dreich like.

Gin Antoninus biggit anither ane-

gaed fae Forth tae Clyde wi divot an stane.

 

Tak yer een aff thon wee ginger limmer –

she’s fell peelie-wallie like wir simmer.

Dout that she’ll cast her duddies tae the wark,

maistly sin yir wearin thon mingin sark.

 

Weel it wis fair in the newins the day –

micht hae been anither waw Mearns way,

that archaeologists jalouse thay’ve fund

whiles  howkin some reid clart oota the grund.

 

Mind ye wad cuddies ere ye wir waddit –

craitur cried Mons Graupius ye  haddit.

Stairtit swith an gat stickit in the glaur,

cried efter thon fecht by dinna ken whaur.

 

Wee cutty sark thar’s juist gon ben the howff.

That’ll lear ye tae be sae awfu dowf,

doverin as the warld passes by

regairdless o’ ongauns like hird o’ kye.

 

Nou if wi depairt dae wi hae three dykes?

That’ll fair stir up ane whappin wasps’ byke.

Whauraboots is wir leal mairch the nou?

Here man, ye can vote even gin ye’re fou!

 

Hadrian’s,  Antonine’s an ae ither.

Gie awa Hadrian’s – twa bide hither.

Sortit wi’oot a muckle stramash Tam.

Wauken up man an feenish that wee dram.

 

Wunner if the Picts kent thir wis ile?

Thay focht the Roman billies a while.

Used tae gie ane anither a guid fleg

but a’m no sae shuir wha wis the mair gleg?

 

Nou wi micht git lowsed – tak tent Tam tak tent!

Than again some fowk think wi micht git rent.

Mind guid howffs’ll be here mony morras,

sae we coud come back droun ony sorras.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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SONNET FOR JIMMY REID

for_poem

by Jaz Dunnichen

 

The Stygian dawn of Thatcher’s children

loomed out of the maw of the South the day

he spoke clear again to me by the Tay

this mighty Clyde built man of then

orator of another river’s ken

whereon he’d employed with time’s truth and lay

those ancient trusted Greek arts to inveigh

against disciples of greed and its yen.

 

Succinctly he voiced a selfless heart’s cause

heralded hope and sang a plaintive hymn 

of working dignity this man of pause

this denizen of the Communist rim,

this fair fluent fan of Jesus Christ laws.

No such fine ships in now’s zeitgeist and whim.

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Armed with Paper [Poem…of sorts]

Armed with Paper

 

Strong prisons can have paper bars

Creating books with empty memoirs

And blackout ceilings of Latin Decrees

Where only the poor are cut off at the knees

 

Exempting only inmates of bloodied Titles

Conversations translated with bias subtitles

On a malleable foundation of benefit hate

Privilege redefining the disabled sick fate

 

Knowledge is power so they increase the security

Plunging Internet light into controlled dark obscurity

Foreshadowed by brandings breathing in an enclosure

Ninety Nine will fall when One controls the exposure

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