Poeme

a collection of poems and stories by up-and-coming writers from the West of Scotland

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Welcome to Poeme - home to a collection of poems and short stories by a group of new writers from the West of Scotland.

Poems of the week by Anne Austin

The Opposition

I am the black, I am the white

I am the day, I am the night

I am the lye, I am the truth

I am so old yet still that youth

I am the river that runs beneath

The bridge to somewhere, make believe

I am the stone that has been cast

I am the flag on the lost ship’s mast

I am the lion that roars each morning

I am the sun when day is dawning

I am the moon in the evening

I am the goose, always leaving

I am the rain that drizzles down

I am the drought that ruined this town

I am the leader of the pack

I am the follower at the back

I am the poppy in my field

Of hopes and dreams that’ll yield

Together our world torn apart

By earthquakes and torrents that have spat

Lies Beneath

It was just a beer

An innocent beer

Not exactly a sabre tooth tiger

Then why the next morning

Did you lye beside her?

You know, Satan is quite a simple guy

Nothing to declare

I always know why

Evil can be honest

Nothing less brought upon us

So why your lies

And quite beers

Listening to your worthy peers

He said “Son, sow your seeds”

“She’ll always come back for her earthy needs”

What a crock of shit

I’m on my way

One way ticket to a brighter day

Poems of the week by Stuart Macfarlane

Duck!!
As a lad my mates and I,
Played chicken on motorway lanes,
But that was dull, so now we play,
Duck with aeroplanes.
 

Boo
I saw a ghost,
It saw me too,
I screamed in fear,
When it cried booooooooooooo.

I saw I ghost,
Walk through a wall,
I ran in fright,
To the local mall.
(where I bought two skirts and a pair of trousers.)
 

Target Practice.
I've just shot my mother,
Now that may seem strange,
But I'd just bought a gun,
And she was in my range.
 

Santa
Santa came to my house,
And gave me all his toys,
But I know that he's not,
Visiting other girls and boys,
'Cos I shot the old bastard.
 

Easter Egg
There once was an egg,
With only one leg,
But it did have a passion,
For smashin'.

 

The Description by Stuart Macfarlane

“Look, I don’t even know the guy! Stuart did you say?

I was just standing at the bar, minding my own business, when I noticed him squeezing through the crowd - or should I say pushing through the crowd. Arrogant bastard, I thought.

He was obviously in a hurry - the impatient type. Before you could kick a cat he was at the front of the queue and drumming his fingers edgily on the counter. He was irritated at not getting served immediately. What a wanker.

That’s when I got a good look at him - silly old bugger. Still thinks he’s a hippy with his long thinning hair and bright Versace shirt. Must be in his fifties at least but trying to be thirty.

Anyway - he got his pint. Bloody cider! You would think he’d be happy with that, but the miserable old fucker was still looking grim. He’s one of those types who can’t hide his feelings - you could read him like a book.

He looked at me and looked at my fag, as if to say I shouldn’t be smoking in his presence. Stuck up tosser.

If there’s one thing I hate it’s intolerant people - I just can’t tolerate them.

‘Whit’s up?’ I said.

“Your smoke is stinking the place out,’ he replied.

‘So what are you going to do about it?’ I asked, fairly politely.

The old guy looked uncomfortable and began to shuffle on his feet; he might be a moaning old cunt but he was obviously no fighter.

So it was a surprise when he kicked me in the goolies!

Anyway, that’s when I decked the sad old bastard.

I’ve got loads of witnesses.

So you can charge me if you fucking want - but it’ll no fucking stick!”

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