Saturday, 15 May 2021 12:05

The Guinea Stamp and To Boris

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in Poetry
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The Guinea Stamp and To Boris

The Guinea’s Stamp

by Alan Sleater

The sea shimmers gently roon the rocks
O Ailsa Craig; the seagull mocks
The throbbin o ma heid; the miles
Tae Galloway will cure awhiles
The worst o’t. The clear air maks
Mair pure the man collectin tax.

For which labour I’m paid gey weel,
But it’s nae a compact wi the De’il.
I’ll work, within ma mortal span,
As poet, fairmer…exciseman -
An ither things - the Lord kens whit -
Far frae the realms o Holy Writ.

While we sat bousin late yestreen,
Johnny, mysel and Kirkton Jean,
‘I had a dream,’ oor Jeanie says,
‘A troublin vision o future days.’
Souter Johnny is peyin nae heed,
Mair intent on the amber mead.
But, mindfu o her prophecy
O the haunted kirk at Alloway,
I listen weel. Ma horse and I
Tae Jeanie’s truth can testify.

‘In twa hundred years, we’ll tak oor rules
Frae a Parliament o knaves an fools,
Their loyalty pledged to nane abune
The Chief Hypocrite, the Grand Baboon.
Michty o build, with gowden hair
Skilt, at Eton, tae spout hot air,
Britannia’s cloak flowin frae his back
An breeches styled frae the Union Jack,
Probity’s nichtmare, Scotia’s curse,
Wi mistresses paid frae the public purse,
He’ll flash a smile, wi blade in hand
An strike like the butcher, Cumberland…’

Mair anon; the day’s growin late.
I’m loth tae dwell on sic a fate
Or what’s aheid; ma horse maun rest,
An I must mak a cheerfu guest
O Girvan’s fine purveyors o ales.
In truth, I’m nae the best o chiels,
No a pious man, nor holy,
But, Lord, Thou kens, for a’ ma folly,
For a’ ma taste for reamin’ swat,
The man’s the gowd, for a’ that.

Read 308 times Last modified on Saturday, 15 May 2021 21:48
Alan Sleater

Alan Sleater is a retired English teacher, and has lived in Galashiels since 1984.

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