The Scottish folk are crazy folk

As folk can be. 

Whilst walking by the sea-

Bundled in our fine, knit cloth, 

Hats firmly placed.

The North is the worst; wind,

Non stop, sea is in a squall

Freezing storms 

And ominous fog horns, 

Echo down the bay.

A long tradition- 

Played mid January, with frosty glee. 

You will see- a young chap or lass

Jump right into the freeze.

Turn blue, somehow they won’t?

Stand for hours,

You could and watch.

Painful, English men cringe.

A bit later - shall all emerge?

This sport is not just a past time

for young men but lassies too!

Hardy Northerners; Are these folk

Crazy!

Swimming in the sea.   

“40 people killed in Bagdad bomb blast”
“London Pigeon with one leg Stirs sympathy”
“Priest Disgrace continues”

Flick passed massacres, train derailments,
bombs, children shot, woman raped,
Church abuse and child pornography

Not a tear slips from dry eyes
Not a sickening sigh, disgust or despise
Until you stop and read again

“A one legged pigeon!” you cry.
Tears well up in readers eyes
As Skippy hops the London hotspots

Beggars we walk by, Ignored
Till Skippy, one limp wing, stub leg
catches our attention with a hundred ‘likes’

“Skippy not seen in days”
and hang by each word until
reported nationwide:

“Skippy spotted living Hyde Park life”
And finally with one last cute picture
We can rest easy tonight.

*Authors Note: this is an art house pigeon I drew whilst waiting for my train in Edinburgh. It had more than one leg but it's the only pigeon I have access to for the purposes of this poem*

You are all noobs!
Because I can’t configure
these intertubes!
This servadors a jerk
the bastard won’t work
it keeps discombobulating
And what is this propagating?
My engrish is gret!
And my mate is a Tech
I’m losing millions an hour
Because of diz server tower!
So get me back up now!
…
Oh… my wireless is down

I hold this world up.

From a child’s smile on sugar paper, pasta necklace.

To a boyish décor: grim reaper or Grand Prix car.

Girly gods, with white grin, horses in sunsets,

Barbie’s Ball

Or memories, pinned to walls with historic hands.

The schedule of a busy mum:

Red chipped nails yank,

The paper from my point.

I hold them firm. Keep them together.

On my cork board I wait to do service.

On white emulsion walls or bright pink doors,

Dream catchers, pinned to Artex ceilings.

Love notes on the wall

phone number exchanged in a rush - old school fling.

I hold up romance!

That last dance, from a tiny flutter of butterflies

To fierce love, future.

My gallant gold metallic armour shines bright -

Catching the sun that reflects on white wash walls.

I am the glue that never dries out.

I am the Blue-Tac that always adheres.

Young, old, antique, unique.

I hold up somebody’s world.

A smiling face captured in sun,

A useful list; sauce, flour, cabbage…

This is their world And I hold it up.