Just a boy, you shout - he'd hide
Neither man nor beast were on his side
He'd thieved and robbed, he's in for a ride
He'd have his will and conscience tried

First month was hard, he hurt, he cried
Then strength and courage rose inside
Six months on and his fear has died
He's ready to fight the biggest tide

Now a soldier, friends at side
You shout but won't make this one hide
His creed won't run, their hearts abide
They stand their ground, with faith and pride

But those who sent us, where to find?
They're in Westminster, those who lied
Yet we're the ones, the left behind
Who fought for the opressed, and for our kind.

thats great...
well written
thanks for adding it

to both of you ..............

Here's one a friend of mine wrote for a Burns night dinner with the Scots DG:

The hare it ran
Towards the burn,
It ran sae fast
It couldnae turn...

Splash!

Got him a few extras from the Badge.

Scottish Fiction - Edwin Morgan.

It isn't in the mirror
It isn't on the page
It's a red-hearted vibration
Pushing through the walls
Of dark imagination
Finding no equation
There's a Red Road rage
But it's not road rage
It's asylum seekers engulfed by a grudge
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction

It isn't in the castle
It isn't in the mist
It's a calling of the waters
As they break to show
The new Black Death
With reactors aglow
Do you think your security
Can keep you in purity
You will not shake us off above or below
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction

'Pass then, pass all! "Baghdad!" ye cry, and down the billows of blue sky

Ye beat the bell that beats to hell, and who shall thrust ye back? Not I.

The Sun who flashes through the head and paints the shadows green and red, -

The Sun shall eat thy fleshless dead, O Caravan, O Caravan!'


"The Golden Journey to Samarkand" by James Elroy Flecker

For some reason, LJ, your quotation reminds me of the following:

There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act IV Scene III.

Poetry has always held a fascination and of course there are bound to be some writers of poetry that are preferred to others, in my case it is William Wordsworth. Immediately most would think of “Daffodils” which I suppose is Wordsworth’s most famous poem. Nothing wrong with “Daffodils” it is a very beautiful and descriptive piece of poetry enjoyed over the years by so many.

Strange as it may be the poem that always springs to my mind when Wordsworth is mentioned is a poem called “Upon Westminster Bridge” Why you might ask? My answer to that is simply that I have crossed Westminster Bridge so many times and each time Wordsworth’s poem “Upon West Minster Bridge” has sprung to mind.

I wonder what he would make of it all now if he was to stop and stare at the views that are on offer in our present society, would he still be thinking “Earth has not anything to show more fair”: It was over two centuries ago since he was inspired to write that poem, how things have changed.

Few places can have such heavyweight literary associations in relation to their size as Lynmouth on the North coast of Devon. Being a Devonian I find Lynmouth reasonably accessible and once again I find that Wordsworth had found inspiration in what would then have been a very small harbour village. My guess is that quill would have been put to paper in the confines of “The Rising Sun” and of course it would have been long before the funicular railway put in an appearance.

Upon Westminster Bridge

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

A war time poetry written by a Tank Man?

THROUGH THE MUD
THROUGH THE BLOOD
TO THE GREEN FIELDS BEYOND

See the tanks, onward they come.
Clatter clatter, what a hum,
Still the rumble comes more and more,
Like advancing bulls that snort and roar,

Tracks, trunnion wheels, and cranks,
Uproot trees and tear down banks.
On thro waving cornfields, orchards and woods,
Disgracefully turning them into seas of mud.

Mothers solemnly line the street to stand and watch
Is it my husband or my son in the hatch
With a cheery wave from left to right
Could this be the day before the fight

Turrets turn with angry stares
Pointing their guns everywhere
Iron monsters painted to stop the rust
Now make a pincer move and then a thrust

Tanks are not steeds for the knights of old
A carriage only for men so bold
Decorated with shields of mail,
Their fierce some fire power makes men quail

When the tanks begin to move
They have so many things to prove
Driver left, driver right
Straight forward into the fight

Onward, onward through the mud,
Advancing onward to shed their blood
Within the crews there are deep bonds
Alas many lie in the green fields beyond.

Scottish Fiction - Edwin Morgan.

It isn't in the mirror
It isn't on the page
It's a red-hearted vibration
Pushing through the walls
Of dark imagination
Finding no equation
There's a Red Road rage
But it's not road rage
It's asylum seekers engulfed by a grudge
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction

It isn't in the castle
It isn't in the mist
It's a calling of the waters
As they break to show
The new Black Death
With reactors aglow
Do you think your security
Can keep you in purity
You will not shake us off above or below
Scottish friction
Scottish fiction




lol arty
that one makes me giggle

:D

Originally Posted by Angellwiings

lol arty
that one makes me giggle

:D

Giggle? Giggle?? Bloody Weegies have no class or taste.