Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Poitry Agin.

Ah hid occasion the day fur til raid "Oot an Aboot" the magazine o' the o'er Ulster Scots Agency. As heid yin o' the Real Ulster Scots Agency Ah rarely raid this brock, fur Ah hiv nae grant til put oot a magazine, insteid reliant on the powers o' the interweb til disperse ma cultural contributions. Ah clean near pished messel when a read a "poim" by some boy calt Wilson Burgess, dedicated til that icon o' Ulster Scots sport, Alex Higgins. Rarely in ma time as a Professor hiv Ah read such shite, writ like a wean fur a poitry campetition at wee school. It is 7 "verses" lang, sae Ah will oany copy a couple o' them oot fur yerselves.

Oor Alex, 
by Wilson Burgess.

"Frae the Jampot tae the Crucible
It made nae odds tae him
Oor Alex tuk on al' comers
An' he wid maistly win

In Seventy two in Birmingham
Hae tuk the place bae storm
Little did wae al' know then
That a Hurricane wiz born.

(etc fur fower mair verses, then his sad demise)

Whin ill health tuk its toll
Oor Alex: Fight hae didnae lack
Hae'll bae tellin' them in Heaven noo
Hae wiz snookered bae the Black."

Jaysus Ah thunk til messel, nat oany is this poim shite, it is nat even writ in prapur Ulster Scots. All this gaein "tae" places, nat "til", an' sayin' "hae" insteid o' "he" is jist made up. Mair til the point the boy is gettin' paid fur til write it, an', it saims, til gae roun' schools raidin' it oot til weans. This minded me o' ma ain' foul mouthed Bate Poitry that Ah writ a wee while ago. Aulder raiders micht mind it, but fur the rest o' yis here is a couple o' them.

Lurchin tractor bastards
Blackin' the road
Haulin' tubes o' shite
In rush oor

Spade the feck up
oor pull over
Yis bastards.

Road Kill

Windaes rolled doon
The wireless blarin'
Parked up at the heid o' the toon
Lukkin' fur cuddies

Bullet heid lurkin'
Belaw the wheel o' the motor
Saits back, eyes deid
Wee feckers

Think they're in Ibiza
But they're nat,
It's Rathfriland
An' its pishin.

Tae which Ah add ma ain tribute til Alex Higgins. 

Oor Alex
by Professor Billy McWilliams.

Feg smokin' 
Drink takin'
Hat wearin'
Fast walkin'
Camp talkin'
Taylor threatenin'
Cantankerous Auld Bastard

Yer deid noo, so ye are.
Which is a wile shame
fur snooker is brock wi' oot ye. 

Ah am sure ye wud agree ma poims hiv their ain distinctive style an' are wurthy o' further dissemination. Thus Ah hiv capied them intil an escreed an' sent them til the o'er Ulster Scots Agency. We shall see if Ah tae can get a grant fur til write shite an' gae roun' schools borin' the arse aff weans. 


Daveboy said...

Dear Professor,

Ah saim til remember ye also had a wile guid yin aboot a wummin frae the Free State.

Nat sue if ye do requests, but Ah'd be wile gatefa if ye'd consider repostin' thon yin' tae.

Yours sincerely


Professor Billy McWilliams said...

Aways ready til help Daveboy

Free State Woman

She micht luk normal,
but she's the o'er surt,
lukkin o'er at ye wi' doeful eyes.
But ah'm a marcher,
an' naid me annual danner thru Catholic areas,
mind ye,
her's wud dae

Cynic said...

Ballymoney Twelfth

It's pashin ain the Twelfth
Pish Pash Pashin
Ain the field
Ain the embers o'last nights fire
Ain the ashes o' my dreams
Dreams of a night of hot hot passion
Wi Big Aggie a squeeze o' who's whose Accordion
Can drive a man wild w'desire
But not this year
When all's left is the crust o' yisterdays Veda
Moulderin on the shelf
Like ma love

Mark said...

Ah quare noise enuff raises fram the church
the song of oor wurds awn ano'er tune
tha owd paepel dander fram door til gate
drassed so it is in strange colours.
Nae tha drab finery o' oor sort
but awllatha colours o' gawd's orange erth.
Yet tha pit o'ma fry laden stomatch
has always like tae hyear gaspal.