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May’s Way

And now, the end is near
and my demise is surely certain 
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lied, so many times
as I ran through, fields of barley
And more, much more than this, I did it May’s way

Regrets, I’ve had a few
but then again, I’d have to care first.
I did what I had to do, robbed the poor without exemption
With cuts I fecked you all, the disabled I hit worst
And more, much more than this, I did it May’s way

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
And through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it May’s way

I’ve smirked, and laughed and cried
You had your fill, of my abusing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
“Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it May’s way”

For what is a Tory, what have I got?
With no party, will I be caught? 
Forgetting those who feel, for those who kneel
The record shows I took the blows and did it May’s way!

https://rashellereid.wordpress.com/2017/05/31/3178/

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As the Piper Played

As the piper played,

the blood dripped from wounded men

staining more than the land they fell on.

Tears of the living and the dead;

etched on the heart of the future,

grief a century would not erase.

The tears still fall,

as the piper plays.

 

As the piper played,

the strength ripped from broken hearts

straining more than the chests they came from

screams from the living and the dead

carved on the body of life

a warning to never forget.

The tears still fall,

as the piper plays.

 

As the piper played,

the breath slipped from shattered lives

chaining more than the band they fell from,

to remember the living and the dead

and carry them with them

in their hearts and minds forever.

The tears still fall,

as the piper plays.

 

As the piper played,

the life slipped from tortured souls;

chaining more than the sand they fell upon;

bound to the living and the dead

imprisoned by their sorrow

never forgetting the fallen.

The tears still fall,

as the piper plays.

Let me take you down

Let me take you down

‘cause I’m going too

a land where strawberries

are sometimes blue.

Bare-foot, right hand

no backward glance

Scuttling the surface

on pillars of sand

Marching to the beat

providing sustenance

the people eat and bow

to kiss their feet

Signposts to deception,

revolution and reflection

Banded together

in an art collection

Buried truth

or a shroud of lies?

The dreamer awake

and the singer who died.

Looks like some wishes really do come true.

I wrote this poem on Burns Day 2015 so it was a real delight for me to see that a concert was planned for Gleniffer Braes tomorrow afternoon as part of this years Doors Open Day. I found it amusing that the PDE also used one of my favourite films as inspiration for their title.  Hope the sun shines down on the wild mountain thyme and everyone has a bloomin’ sweet time.

PDE The Hills are Alive

We’ve had orchards for public consumption and people singing in the streets. the snail case, saints, socialist’s and some really horrendous history. We’ve had patterns, poets, philanthropists and our fair share of mystery. We’ve had tragedy and triumphs and starting again, we’ve had dark days that feel, like they’ll never end. We lift up our heads and we keep stumbling on, no longer are Gleniffer Braes filled with our songs. Our voices are muffled and the tune’s hard to hear, maybe that’s why we’re not filled with more cheer. The resonance changes as we come together in song, so let’s do it again before very long. A summer festival, just like the old days, a chorus of voices from Glennifer Braes. Songs of freedom and tales never told, a coming together of the young and the old. Our hearts lifted as our voice joins in unity, we go back into town as a community.

Original post – https://rashellereid.wordpress.com/2015/01/26/the-hills-were-alive-with-the-sound-of-music-part-2/

Inspired by – https://rashellereid.wordpress.com/2015/01/25/the-hills-were-alive-with-the-sound-of-music/

Forever Yew

 

Forever Yew

The Craigends Yew by Rashelle Reid

Yew

tree, layering,

enticing; the curious,

the seeker to contemplate,

signs, rebirth is always occurring

and that even decay can herald

the birth of new life.

As the cycle continues

and the circle

remains unbroken

forever.

 

Forever Yew

The Craigends Yew by Rashelle Reid


 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Craigends_Yew

 

A Reclaimed Destiny

‘Passing Time’ poetry across the station platforms of Renfrewshire.

I’m so delighted to be part of this exhibition co-ordinated by Renfrewshire Mental Health Arts Festival bringing poetry to platforms around Renfrewshire.  It’s great to be featured alongside other Scottish poets including some of my personal favourites Shaun Moore, Graham Fulton and Stephen Watt

I’ll add more pics soon, in the meantime congratulations and thank you to all those who took part.  For more information on this project and on Renfrewshire Mental Health Film Festival click here,

The following poems have been exhibited on the below station platforms;

Port Glasgow
Suzanne Baines ‘Surviving’
Ami F Torrence ‘Gemir’, ‘Cliffhanger’, ‘Happiness is lots of things’
Frank Pollock ‘The Devils Brew’
Claire Moorhouse ‘Re-claim’
Frederick Michael Hessler ‘Reclaim’
N Magnennis ‘In search of lost time’

Langbank
Del Chalmers
Douglas Thompson ‘Trains’
David Wright ‘Rushes’
Eilidh G Clark
David Philips ‘Reset’
Alec Beattie ‘A room full of Isas’

Bishopton
Rashelle Reid ‘A Reclaimed Destiny’
Bill Lillie ‘Time’
Ross H Quirk ‘A life taken back’

Lochwinnoch
GWC ‘After the Storms’
Ashley Edgar
Applecross Nursing Home
Eilidh G Clark ‘Platform’

Johnstone
Roy Moller ‘Redemption (song of adoption)’
Margaret Cook ‘I am here’
Ryan McGreaghan ‘Reclaim’
Antonia Seaward
Ami F Torrance

Paisley St James
Claire Moorhouse
Graham Fulton ‘Recycle’ and ‘Equinox (extract)’
Norma Martin ‘Volunteering’
Bill Lillie
John Tuite ‘Reclaim and Repair’
Stephen Watt ‘Gaslighting’

Paisley Gilmour Street
Shaun Moore ‘Reclaim’
Suzanne Baines ‘Reclaim’
Ami F Torrence ‘Talk more’
John Dane ‘Change’
Angela Edgar ‘The train to reclaim’
Craig Birrell ‘Reclaim ma lungs’
Grant Gray ‘Reclaiming our Gift’

 

https://www.facebook.com/Renfrewshire-Mental-Health-Arts-Festival-143256972423135/

Embed from Getty Images

An orange-man and a tangerine woman were walking by the Clyde, they weren’t holding hands but standing side by side. Softened for the camera May looked straight into his eyes whispering, “I love our special relationship as much as I love telling lies.”

“We’ll keep your Trident missiles right here upon our shore, and when you want new ones just say and I’ll make more, don’t worry about the money, I’ll just take it from the poor.”

The orange-man began to trumpet so excited was he, “Oh my darling woman, just you wait and see. I have a wonderful idea that I must get off my chest. We can kill even more off by privatising your

Trembling with excitement May took him by the hand “Oh my darling Donald, I knew you’d understand”

He grabbed her by the pussy, like he promised some time ago. He knew he didn’t have to worry about her saying no.  Soon they were naked and writhing on the floor and the only sound that could be heard for miles was a tangerine woman screaming more.

“Shoot your load, shoot your load just like the soldiers on my streets and then let’s get back to work and prepare their final defeat. From chaos will come order, just as we’d planned all along, a one world government to sing the song of songs.

Spent he snuggled up beside her, dreaming of all that was still to be, him the King of the new world with his tangerine queen on his knee.

As he drifted off to sleep with a smile upon his lips. She stood over him cackling with her hands upon her hips. “You think so darling, that I’ll just be your little toy when all you do is throw tantrums just like a little boy. I’ll be queen of the new world, a Goddess in red, white and blue now all I’ve got to do is finish disposing of you.”

Her tangerine suit now back on, she slipped her hand into her pocket, it was time to get rid of this bright, orange, fecking rocket. The keys of the palace twinkled in her hand, oh my dear Donald I’m sure you’d understand. She opened up her keyring the little Swiss army knife, how could he ever think that she would be his wife. She slit his throat knowing the body would be easy to hide, she didn’t need to dig a hole she just dumped him in the Clyde.

http://www.cnduk.org/campaigns/no-to-trident

http://selloff.org.uk/

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