are you really a poet?

my shoe is on fire
it smells of glue
i haven't melted anything in days

i thought i'd got over the worst of
it but it's reared it's ugly head. i'm
sitting down, i was sitting down, i think
i'll sit down.

maybe whatever it is will
stop stabbing at my neck- melt this, melt that
leave me alone.


lin e d
col d
o d
co e d
n erd.

Letter To Colin

Dear Colin I thought
I would send you
a letter like this

like this a letter
I sent you
I thought
Dear Colin

O Dear Colin
there's another letter
O Dear Dear Colin
there's another Colin

he's taken your letter
O he's taken your letter

Clin that's it, that's your
letter gone Clin
you better grow
another letter
out your backside
and cling

on or else drop
another
piece
and let it work
its way round
to link

this altogether pointless
expression: I do believe
we've nothing in common.

Yes, nothing
introduced us
to nothing
and since we both
knew nothing
we had nothing in common.

Yours sincerely,

Ale

p.s. I lost my 'X' in a poker match with Richard Mail.

don't be so gloomy just have an ice cool can of oh shoot!! this just proves that anyday can always get a tiny bit worse

How Does It Feel

It feels with its fingers
of suspicious fish. So
anyway I was totally
miss understood
recently when I had
a dime bar for everytime
i felt a craving for chocco lattes
-oh there's starbucks,
did you know his name
was really starboard?-
so addictive.

Harmonica Solo.
Thank You

heads up

darling, look over at the

sky, i mean sea, i mean see,
the sky, the sea
i mean me

daring look, lucky men,
the lard in the sky i mean
clouds i mean clues, i
mean me

it's soft i mean air, it's
a stair, don't be obnoxious
it's a cough mixture, cloud
mixture, loud fixture i mean
cowed- it's you're meaning
me, darling look at me obnoxious
lad it's loud clouds that are hot, i'm
hot, honey, i'm sweaty it's sticky,
i'm wearing medium should be wearing large, i mean
lard i mean it's america, i mean it's homemade root beer,
i mean men it's me daring darling look,
it's the sea, the see, the saw, the law the lardy law,
the lardy sweat sweety lovey lardy law...
it's what i come to term what i come to terms with

dominion

i love dead
art forms painting
is dead poetry

is dead the photo
is dead the pop song
is dead the novel

is not quite dead
but the genre novel
is dead and the

roman a clef is
dead.
everything i

love but and
death shall have
no dominion.

New Scottish Language Poetry Saved Me From Suicide

A dear
in the shed light

Dear
shed light

On
this image

A dear
shedded lighter

if you’re worth more the number
of people killed in this war then
you’re rich if you’re honest you’re
not sure if you’re screwed
yet,
we are, unless we panic, or unless
we force our hulking blood soaked
dungarees into a position of soli d a r i t y

"i want to be Prime Minister of all the U.K."

ugly stain
flag!
is seeping
union!
through
separatism!
it's
passionate!
the
mechanic
simple
simple
truth

Willie McRae

Here's a good documentary on the death of Willie McRae. He died two months before I was born and I was honoured with his name. There should be a full investigation into his death.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsqJEN9ouY0

talkin bout a devolution

we don't need no education
we are correct grammatically
speaking scorrish

don't call me
wendy

refer to the end um
what was ah sayin?

oh yes

happy birthday yisrael

(once again
i am politically
con-fused)

flag waving

Situation Comedy

Right

So listen:

There's this situation

saying to this other

situation, "Hi.

How are you?"

And the other situation goes

"I. Miss. You."

satisfaction

kicks
keep getting harder
to find

why we are not fooled

by attempts to make our nationality twee and marketable, with the caveat that this WAS in the Guardian (todays equivalent probably of the crimes they describe) and also the admission that i was indeed fooled; it was news to me.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2008/apr/19/scotland

Scan, Scanner, Scunnered

Back at the typewriter I
am remembering how to place
one's manhood on the shelter
of paper in front of fire.

Mendelssohn plays on
vinyl, spiralling
Christ! What are you
doing on the cover

lying on my hard wood
floor. I was simply
bowled over down the alley
in Silverburn, formerly known
as Pollock. Then again
I AM from Newlands
just up the road
from Auldhouse.

For Philip Larkin, (winks) (nudges) (giggles) xxx

not groping but slinking

slinking back to bed after a pee,
(the curtains are already open)
i stand in the window looking out;
there are cars and i'm staring at
them and imagining them staring
back, winking as they dash past
railings, ('o how the rapid clouds') maybe loosely
blowing me a kiss. where i live has traffic,
even at 4.27 am: when it is getting later and earlier
simultaneously but i'm not usually awake at this hour;

i'm here and i'm preposterous
because i notice (now THERE'S something laughable)
that the hardness and the brightness have
returned, undiminished. my glances are twitched back and
i can't make sense of the responses; i turn around
( the moon's cleanliness).

Lines

a sonnet

the first line is

a demi-sonnet set in hunter sq, edinburgh

the first time ever i sawed your wrist
i wished i’d taken more care
‘i won’t take any prisoners’

the first time ever i
the last time ever i
wanted to say
i’m sorry

the art i face

"I can't tell the difference
between life and art,"
she said, roughly.

"I can't believe I'm thinking
about imagining myself
crying out
on the 2nd floor
of our Good Room,"
I thought.

Conversion takes place.

"I tell the difference."

"How far do you have to go
to visualise the music?"

"It doesn't matter. This poem never happened."

A True Scot? by Scott McTavern

Assignment: Write A Personal Essay On The Subject Of Being A Scottish Jew or A Jewish Scot.

Today, Mrs Hamburger said something interesting.

She said McTavern, (she always calls me that), show me your true colours.

I took off my football strip and pulled down ma pants.

Collateral damage, she replied.

I was confused. So I sat back down.

Mrs Hamburger said if I didn't get dressed she'd send me to Mrs Stern.

I was scared. Barbara Bland held my hand under the desk. It has a hole for my inkpot but I keep my pens in a pencil case and the inkpot is full of chewing gum covered with dust.

She said McTavern, you're the sort of fellow who'll end up smoking American Spirit.

Perhaps, I replied, letting go of Barbara's hand and standing up. I looked down at Mrs Hamburger and said, This the climactic turning point.

And the rest of the story just kinda fizzled out

what is to be done

i can’t think because this is a party
is anybody watching bruce labruce
why is it on my favourite movie
should not be ignored and someone is
telling me that ‘i need funding for a
novel i want to write’ right you
are not, what’s inversion and does it relate to me
because poetry already came in MY heart though
i screamed and said fuck off i
asked you to pull out
o it gets me angry because
i sense at the very point the exact point your chin pops

the sky over wholly rude panic-sucks:
THE SCOTTISH POETRY LIBRARY IS COUNTER-REVOLUTIONARY

grannies, buses, and space bars: poetry in the brown/salmond era

[this is an email-complaint i received this evening]

what HAS alec salmond been up to in washington?
there ARE tensions between john swinney and westminster
(but of course there are)
whether they made progress is a moot point; swinney has remaining concerns.
tartan week no more; it's scotland week!

these are the sort of strings of words that are swirling in the background, not just as i am writing this (newsnight), but as a new group of poets are forming, floated by the bandwiths of scotland. Calling themselves the 'New Scotland Language Poets', they have appeared at a curious moment in Scottish history (as curious as any other, you may say, but curiously deserving of being singled out).

at points such as this, when, EVEN with a SCOTTISH NATIONALIST GOVERNMENT in scotland, there remains little chance of an independent scotland, you might expect the poets to be stressing their nationality. this is absent from their poetries, which if anything parody, dilute and dissolve their national identity in tricks and quips.

whose poetries? this is another issue- pseudonyms abound.

and the poetry obviously nods to american predecessors.

what possible use/purpose can this verse have?

yours, derek delphino xxx

What Happened When He Hit The Space Bar

At Last, The World Began.

In the beginning, Man gave names to all the animals.

"You're a plastic band

of elastic proportional

representations," said Man.

"Oh Man," replied the sticky back

newslpspaper, rolling up

their green sleeves.

"I'll call you, Alexander,"

said Man to the frog

down the telephone.

"Listen Here,"

said the Insect,

"zzzzzzzzzzzzzz 

w=a=l=t or 'literature and oatmeal'

it is well known
that people once said,
and have repeated often since,
the following curious sentence:

‘we cultivate literature on a little oatmeal’.

‘Culture’ is a debased term.
It refers to Radio Times and Sunday Supplements,
but if it were to be rehabilitated
it might be clear why we also see ‘culture’ in yoghurt.

and here’s the rub. This, from William Power,
of Sir Walter Scott:

“His gentry are seldom
much more than lay figures,
and their womenkind are
insipid to a degree
that ought to have astonished
a period in which
passionate episodes were not
uncommon in Edinburgh. . .
On the other hand, this Tory of Tories,
who rose from a sick-bed to
protest passionately against the political
enfranchisement of the common people,
attained Shakespearean heights in his
portrayal of the humble folk of Scotland.”

Variations

My bonny lies over the ocean,
My bonny lies over the sea,
My bonny lies over the ocean,
O, bring back my bonny to me!

***

Ye cannae shove
yer granny aff
a bus a police car
passes perhaps ye can
get picked up for vagrancy

***

Yer granny she'll be
coming roon the mountain
over the ocean my bonny lies

***

To take it further:
I notice I am next to Bells
Since 1919 it is even worse
to notice I am resting
outside the Police Station
pondering the legality of collecting
words on signs at least
Mi Lui Peking Cuisine is
Fully Licensed

***

My bonny is bi-lingual
I said the strangers
passing by wear different skin
& I waved no goodbyes
back home but I here
faces

***

I hear ye cannae shove
faces over the ocean but this
Will not be named exile

***

As long as you want to find hope,
I'll lend you my fishing rod,
If you're still longing for hope,
I'll send you £25 a week via direct debit.

***

We're going to the Oxford Circus,
No that's the Police Station (remember?),
'Who are you calling,' says a walk-on
part with your mobile at all accosts.

***

This is not necessarily a love song
so what
I Love You So
what

is the reason supposed
to rhyme with your sharpened
tooth-marks. I miss the roof
of her mouth more than the
learning curve of her breasts.

***

[Removed to save face]

***

This is my vision
This is my vision
Can't you see
This is my vision

***

1 2 3 O'Clock 4 o' clock rock.
Stand still. Where was I?
The wheels on the tube go
round and round, round and round

***

I'm So Over
the sea to Skye already.
Stand clear doors opening.
Scots wha hae!

***

What's the best way to put it?
Aff the buss, over the ocean,
in the sky or high below.
Hanging, drawing, quartering.

***

When I lay my head on the pillow,
I'm extremely glad that both are there.
When I lay my head in the oven,
I say 'It's getting hot in here . . . '

***

Please Turn Over

Interested?

It certainly pays to be with the right
insurer. That's why I personified It.
He &/or She has a wonderful
personality which is a measure
of how much of a spirited person It is
clear by now that the poet
nervously breaks
down town reminding Itself
that It's easier to lead than follow
the Pied Piper (fat bastard!)
simply learned his slithering scales.

no way. By max beerbum

hello. did my gut explode? not exactly

but it did come as a shock, reading

‘wendy cope is perhaps the most accomplished

parodist since beerbohm’


twice this week i’ve had calls from the telegraph

asking if i want to try it for a reduced

rate of three fifty a week; i had to quickly calculate if

that is less than I currently spend on toilet paper


and decline. hello

The Plastic Coated Cards

by C.J. Stamp

The plastic coated stamps wear their enveloping
troubles I've seen all my gays
in happiness we trust you are sporting
fine bright colours sincerely cecilia

BRILLIANT IDEA

our commandante needs a rest

u.k. imitations never quite work

a newsflash in the middle of the night

after half a century at the helm. It

would betray my conscience to

damage the celebrations:

in what senses is tom raworth not

an american poet? the cordial atmosphere

did not last long:

a total trade embargo?

learnin the meanin of coversation

'so fucking mean, no seriously,
you are so fucking mean;
you ought to learn some manners.' '

i'd'le ike to meat your mother'

'what the hell do you mean by that you turd'

'i'm een wo ta say'

'you're making this much harder than it needs to be you moron'

'fur cough'

'i'm leaving'

'sob item e'

ithyphallic

meet his demise
purely for fun
weedingbegin
a sad
end
a
l
a
s

The Great Poets

The greatest poet in my view is Colin Herd.
He is standing behind me.
The mirror is before me.

The greatest poet in my view is tall,
although that might be because
I am sitting down.

Mirrors are deceptive,
much like great poets and
predictable know-its.

Yours, Charlie Chaplain

Chilly Willy

None of them made me come so ACTUALLY
I haven't had sex in ages. I think the fat
one did, anyway. So what did hag say
about this work experience? Alex?
He's in the zone man the zone
get him out man kick him.
You working at home tomorrow
No I'm working in town all week this week even
friday? Time to travel back and forth
late like eleven or something like that
I 've got a double chin do Ah?
Everyone has a double chin when
they do that where are you
going to do a wee-wee.
Chilly Willy I think that's your plaster
on the side of the bath which you made
me promise to tear off you. Chilliewillie?

Coline-Break

poetry came in my heart

even though i said not to;

i moved suddenly and screamed

and scorned and, scared, poetry

left me, scarred;

i usually let a man if

i know i want to be kissed and

i usually let a man know if i

want to be kissed and it’s not so

quickly.

poetry came in my heart

my who cares heart

my trivialised, marginalised, tranquilized,

ratified, gentrified, dissatisfied heart.


settled dusts on it


what’s that picture you are holding,

is it of me?

it fell off the wall?

“did you go to the palace…

it’s best just to get a feel for the place”


contemplating decisive action i

trigger a google-search for

denis roche


“ok well phone me any time this week…

except for wednesday, i ”


find works of art, sleepwalking:

do your parents ever worry about you?

“open?”

contemplating decisive action, i

Cutting Review

'I'm not sure where it lies but it lies somewhere': The you-cannot-be-serious-poetics of Willy 'Alexicon' Singermouse, a Review by Penelope Cutting.

Everyone knows that a 'True Scot' is a poet whose 'devices' are left to dangle free, and Mr Singermouse's devices are certainly prominent. Take a look at the first four lines of his poem 'The Loch Ness Monster':

'O, Nessie my lassie, have you been to Tallahasse?
I'm not sure where it lies but I'm sure it lies somewhere.

O, Nessie my lassie, Oh Nessie, you really shouldn't have,
I mean it's an adorable token of affection but'

It's not only his sassy sibilant rhymes, but also his dogerrific rhythm, and monstrously cliched subject-matter. And yet who is this Nessie? What is her 'adorable token of affection' and what's the problem with it, why are we left hanging (dangling) after the 'but'? My favourite line in the poem is the second, which is why I've chosen to title this review with it, but then I am a girl who loves thin, tartan-veiled puns. You can imagine, therefore, I'm sure, my delight at the seventh line: 'Come back O Nessie I need to feel your ripples'. And the Tenth: 'Are you in America, I mean the US, Nessie'.

Is it just play? And should we care? Does it probe to the heart of anti-americanism? ultra-americanism? americolonialism? does it point towards a new sincere vision for Scotland? Or does it ponce about in the rubble of tourist-friendly falsity?

Is it a love poem? And if not, what else?

The truth is I don't know. I really can't be sure about anything at all. I'm not sure where this poem is lying but I know it is. Ralph Waldo Emerson said that 'Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies'. Willy 'Alexicon Singermouse''s nearish namesake Alexander Solzhenitsyn said that 'We do not err because truth is difficult to see. It is visible at a glance. We err because this is more comfortable'. Henry David Thoreau said, 'Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.' George Orwell said that '

In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.'

The Loch Ness Monster

O, Nessie my lassie, have you been to Tallahasse?
I'm not sure where it lies but I'm sure it lies somewhere.

O, Nessie my lassie, Oh Nessie, you really shouldn't have,
I mean it's an adorable token of affection but

O, O Nessie my lassie, how much did it set you back
like a clock o Nessie tick tock to me Nessie please

Come back O Nessie I need to feel your ripples
among the bonny glenfiddich et cetera

O, Nessie I'm sure I saw you on the Simpsons.
Are you in America, I mean the US, Nessie,

O Nessie if so please swim back over before Auntie Americanism
hunts you down and miss takes you for a replica.

The New Scottish Language Poetry

Welcome on in to the cyberhome of The New Scottish Language Poets.

Manifesto:

1. Colin what should I put as the first rule?
2. This Will Do.
3. Ignore chronology.
1. Ignore chronology.
4. Slowly become resigned to the importance of chronology.
7. At all costs clarity is an expensive business that should be taken seriously to the third or nth degree of burning your bridges at university.
8. Joinin . . .