Sunday, 31 May 2015

Saturday evening in Belfast

Photo: BBC Sport
An impromptu poem to celebrate a great day for Scottish rugby as Gregor Townsend's heroes secure an historic victory, becomming the first Scottish side to win a major trophy.

Glasgow Warriors 31; Munster 13.

Saturday evening in Belfast


The play is charging up the midfield
with Bearde and Blonde battering into
the soft belly of the mustered
front line; forward troops en masse.

The Fijian takes a pop pass,
crashes into the tackle and offloads
through a melée, some way,
with an impossibly long arm,

milling air. And van der Canuck
is that wind. He takes the ball
out on the wing and dances close
to left touchline. It's just as if

he's running down a wire, right
on the edge. He sticks out stiff,
a hand-off arm and would be tackler
crumples down. And on he strides,

across the line, swinging round
to touchdown unopposed behind
the posts. When Grin the Kicker
duly adds to scoreboard two,

the Warriors' fate is to win through.
In a neutral venue Scotstoun blue,
the pipes are skirling, fans are too:
“We are Warriors! Who are you?”

Saturday, 23 May 2015

Ziggy Golddust and the Conscience of Stars

Image by Moses Namkung on Flickr

Make of this what you will.

It's more of an exercise in ballad rhyme and meter than a finished poem, but writing it kept me amused for a while.

Ziggy Golddust and the Conscience of Stars

See Ziggy on the stage once more
with ancient mates in tow.
He's playing tunes that never bore.
His repertoire you know.

He rules the stage with swinging mic,
like Tommy once acclaimed,
and pauses in his strutting rite
to dare, with eyes aflame.

We're only here to bang our heads,
we think between his chords,
but up there in designer threads
he stares, his glances swords.

He wields his conscience through his mic,
demands we contribute
to save the poor who're so unlike
him raking in the loot.

With music loud, adoring crowd,
en masse as one enthralled,
plays call-response as if it's proud
to have its motives mauled.

O concert-goers, we must pay
for all the sins of yore.
But wait a minute, what were they?
We only wanted more.

More hash, more grass, more flowers, man.
More freedom and more peace.
More music from the Big Pink Band.
A wish that war would cease.

In sixty-eight, there was a faith
that we could change our ways,
but nowadays, it's like a wraith,
the ghost of our malaise.

So now we dance to rock stars' sense
of all our rights and wrongs.
Our gratitude is so immense;
redeemed through Ziggy's songs.