Th Quality o Fruit

Ah'm a wee man wi a barrie
An ah'm prood tae hae ma trade
Sellin fruit doon in th market
Nane but qual'ty fruit purveyed.

Ah stand by the quality o mah aipples!
        Ah do!

Then a frosty day, October
When the leaves had turned tae fall
A wee an nippit wummin
Stuck her face up tae mah stall.

Sh' pick'd up an aipple and poked it.
        So sh' did!

Dae ye ca' this bool an aipple?
Try an dae me! Aye, y'll fail.
Ah'll report ye tae th polis!
Ye deserve tae be in jail!

Didnae stop her fae pokin her nail in.
        Th besom!

Fore ah c'd tak that aipple
Wi its finger mark shown plain
Ah wis jostled fae mah barrie
Nippit face wis back again

An sh' h'd a polisman w' her this time.
        A big wan!

See ye dinnae touch that aipple!
We will need it. Evidence!
Sellin fruit wi nail marks in it
Is a criminal offence!

Did he no grab me by th lughole. Ah felt it!

Coorse, b'noo a crowd h'd gaithered
Roond th polis, dae'n his job
W' th wummin shoutin 'Bad fruit!'
It became an angry mob.

It wis startin tae look ominous. So it wis!

When the wummin shouted 'Pizen!'
There didnae seem much hope
Ow'r the stushie that wis startin
Ah could hear th call for 'Rope!'

It wis only a finger mark. No even mine!

As the mob got big and bigger
It wis obvious tae see
Th't ah wis th star attraction
They were clamourin fur me!

'Whit did he dae?'
        'Wi a crowd this size?
                Must've been bad!'

Ah wis a wee man wi a barrie
An wis prood tae hae ma trade
Sellin fruit doon in th market
Nane but qual'ty fruit purveyed.

Ah wis hung fur mah fruit.
        Fae an aipple tree!

Ca' that justice?

In his own land

There’s them that pits up statues and there’s them that pulls them doon
And there’s them that builds anither cause there’s ither anes around
There’s them that builds up nuthin, and there’s them that talks the same
Then there’s them that builds up somethin, like a shelter fae the rain
If it’s simple, sense, and honest, a’ man’s gain and nae man’s loss
If they dinnae burn the body, they will nail it tae a cross.

Dave Sloan.

Wha’s th better freend?

For my father.

As a bairn, ah never kint ‘im
An ah neither kint or cared
If he come tae tak anither
Ah kin nuthin
Ah’m no feard

As ah got a wee bit aulder
It wis age that caught mah een
Cause th bigger aye got better
When ah got there
Age had been

Whaur it led, ah ayeweys foll’d
Getting aulder, it wis great!
If ye said there wis anither
Ah wid laugh
An say ‘That’s Fate”

Getting aulder meant mair money
Meetin wimmen, haen a vote
As th gang o pals grew many
Never saw
Who missed th boat.

Getting married, havin children
Fur th first time havin fear
Thair must surely be an answer
Stop th ither
Gettin near

See th wan upon th pale horse
Age brocht science ‘gin his cause
But the science turned to face us
Bred th doubts
And made us pause

Started fechtin. ‘No ye cannae
Tak some ane belongs tae me!’
Ah wis lucky. Took anither.
Felt ashamed
Whit could ah dae?

Aw th agein, brocht some wisdom
Took awa th sicht an soond
Took awa th folk ah kint weel
Took awa
Th life ah’d fund

In th endin o th evenin
Ah’m abandoned noo, by age
Aw mah life Ah wanted aulder
But there’s no
Anither page

An th freend ah aye avoided
When nae ither comes tae see
As a true friend, taks th bearin
Eases load
An comforts me

Ah will never see th mornin
Ah will never age again
Wha’s th better freend tae have noo?
Ah’m asleep
An free from pain.

Tae a Supper

Here’s tae a supper
Hope ye ken the wan ah mean
Fae a shop that’s run b’ ‘tallys
Open late fur them that’s been

Tae pubs or clubs or pictchers
Late nicht trains or aff a shift.
Feelin hungry, ca’ be bothered
Or brocht in b’ smell an licht.

Some hae fish an some hae puddens
Some hae chips, ca’ ‘fford nae mair
Some that’s been aboot the bevvy
Hae regrets, an clean the flair!

Noo thae puddens come in many
Types an colours, white or black
Red an haggis, even Mars bars!
In a batter? Haud me back!

Weel ah ken there’s them w’ posh taste
W’dnae daur go near the door
If the vinegar isnae ‘drizzled’
They would never ask for more

When ye’ve seen awa yer mither
An yer heart is hurtin bad
Gie tae me a pudden supper
An ah’ll share it w’ mah Dad
An remember aw the suppers
That the three of us have had.

Ode tae a Nut Cutlet

For Grannysrock.
(A vegetarian on the TalkingScot website)

There’s mony a meal been richtly praised
It’s flavour, look, the smellin
But faur too mony in the pan
Were livin ance. Ah’m tellin!

Yer bacon oinked
That steak went moo
And lamb! It hurts t’ say.
Cause ah’m no wan
To cause a pain
So this is whit ah say

In oil that comes
Fae floors o sun
An very tasty…
…but yet
Ah h’vne hurt
A livin sowel
Ah’m cookin me…
…nut cutlet.

Have they forgotten us?

Now that the war is done
Rifle in hand
Are we returning home?
Safe to this land
Or have they forgotten us?
Were we not glorious?
Fighting alone
Figures of stone
Are all that remember us

Now that my father’s gone
He ploughed the land
Filling the ships of steel
Each built by hand
Or have they forgotten him?
Eyes that are growing dim
Fields left untilled
Baskets unfilled
Are all that remember him

Now that my mother cries
Standing alone
Left in a foreign land
Aged and worn
Or have they forgotten her?
Is there not one to care?
Daughter of life
Mother and wife
Are none to remember her

Now that we read the page
We understand
We are returning home
Taking your hand
Nor have we forgotten you
The stories you told were true
Scotland the Brave
Cradle to Grave
We will remember you.