Cyrano

@vgvg.bsky.social

133 Followers 258 Following

#Badenoch
Keith Moon . A genius
Donald was my best fiend I kept him in a box One day he managed to escape Now look at what we’ve got #vss365 #fiend
Punk girl lingers by ‘no loitering’ painted steps on stoop
If I’m being selfish If it aches to hear me speak If I am near but still there’s distance If my comfort’s out of reach If my hearing fails to listen Or reluctance my response Pack my bags, take my keys don’t hesitate to leave And ignore the coward’s argument That it was never my intent
The window’s halved by sunlight, simultaneously clear and smeared, The bed stays made on your side, your book split by the spine A single slippers fur trim is in the corner of my eye. The conversation’s one way, my observations moot One more cup of coffee still doesn’t make it two The opposite of unalloyed would encapsulate the feeling The mornings are half broken, do you get home this evening? #vss365 #unalloyed #poetry #poem #cyranovg
He carved that joint with diligence Every Sunday as we sat around the table. The ceremony seemed absurd Now though, I see it for what it was Like the meat, it was tender An act of service for a family Poor in status, rich like gravy I’d look at the fist tight on the knife His straight thumb pressed so hard He’d worn the bone handle. it was a treasure I took when all passed I often take it from the drawer now Place my thumb over his And give thanks to the provider
Beach
Drum sticks and holder with heart motif.
Star Wars meant nothing to me when it hit the screens Despite being the target; male and pre teen My brothers liked Bowie and Mott the Hoople I was 10, loved comics, punk rock and football Yes, Luke and Hans and the posh robot fell flat Never got the monkey, RD, Leah or Jedi spacecraft Then 12 months later Hollywood delivered I queued round the block in an adolescent fervour This was Leathers and pearls and faulty condoms Those T-birds and Pink Ladies, Could be Blondie and the Ramones It’s true when I grew up I did find the force But when I was a kid, ‘Grease’ was the word
Flood the rivers, drain the seas Seize the treasures, spill the blood Monster the poor and the stranger Cut the taxes stop the welfare Load the guns drop the bombs Falsify Gods, Crowns and Country The earth spins the history loop We fail the test then burn the books
The weak and the worried Live on different streets Wake in different time zones Sing songs to different beats We’ll kiss you to the music But we won’t let you speak You’re the weak and the worried We’ll put warships at your feet Repeat after us We are Love We are Love We are Love
I remember an early robbery Back in the younger gang ‘Paws Up. Nobody move’ The cat did not comply ‘I know what your thinking kitty Have I used seven or eight lives? Well are you feeling lucky puss? Or is this number nine?’ As I pointed thumbs and fingers She gave the piggy bank a shove But I fled the scene hands empty Seems my brother had got there first
In the field of childhood Them that were bigger Would grab one arm Then the other And begin the spin Faster faster More more The terror scream of glee For three hundred and sixty degrees Then the release One arm now Wild centrifuge The wrenching of the socket Let go now and we’d land beyond that hill Beyond the very heavens Panting, gravity tires, orbit fails Brings us to ground The bouncing bomb Breathless beetroot faced Mouthfuls of cut grass Unable to stand on spinning ground The whole field a waltzer The joyous laughter of surviving
These hands have Punched, slapped and tore Zipped, and unzipped, dresses. Cowered from blows and comforted, Provided strokes and caresses Apologised and threatened Silenced crowds, pacified children. And clasped Bowed praying to the unforgiving How these hands held my living Can now fail and fall idle. No more violent nor tender Wearily raised in surrender
I don’t like the winter getting naked in the trees, I don’t like the cold getting stiff in my knees I hate how the air chills my lungs when I breathe But I do like the warmth of your love I don’t like the drops on the end of my nose, Or Jack Frost biting down hard on my little toes I hate my hands, they’re like ice in these gloves But I do like the warmth of your love I like how your lips warm my checks when we meet, You hanging on my arm so you won’t slip in the street I love the homemade soup you bring for me to heat Yes I do like the warmth of your love I like how our coats are hanging in the hall I like how the logs on the fire pile tall And I love when you say ‘Let’s not go back out at all!’ Yes I do like the warmth of your love I think I’d freeze half to death without the warmth of your love
Photo of Glasgow Central fire There wis a #bonny railway building Called ‘Central’ in Glasgow toon Then a wee illegal vape shop Helped burn that building doon Noo oor daily poetry challenge Ahm sure had ne’er the clue That in the local Glesga parlance ‘Bonny’ means bonfire too!
On the 8.15 from Central Flagrant mischievously taps a wand and rabbits appear Dove’s bellow in feathers from the flare of a sleeve Swords cut and leave no wounds Bodies halved to fall apart find their whole Cards fly, watches repair, balls disappear from under cups All she said was ‘hello’ And this train is #spellbound
We stand in abuse of the #splendour of breath Inflating words to thumb press necks and choke the others Inhaling exhaling in squalarising gulps, Leaving nature to recoil in horror. What use these lungs that take the splendid air To blow fire in winds and children to graves? Cyranovg
On the corner of a distant rug Towers of books totter to the slam of the living room door To be fair I did say I’d make some room And had began in earnest with the coffee table A keystone of poetry fell off and open, #Obsessed A gateway word if ever there was one And, well, before I knew it They were back with the pizza’s
Manchester United Football Club in the 1970’s Were captained by a Scotsman Whose name was Martin Buchan An educated sportsman unusual for the era Off the field he was taciturn And avoided the media When the manager had an affair with his physio’s wife Scandal hit the club The tabloids scrambled for a line The hacks besieged Buchan as he headed off for home ‘Any comment Martin?’ ‘Can we have a quick word?’ #Velocity said Buchan And with that he was gone cyranovg
I’ve never knowingly undersold Unless that is I’ve forgot, Of course the ‘invitation to treat’ is spurious As it depends if one get’s caught I once claimed knowledge of TEFL To teach English abroad In truth I was totally awful As I’m strictly Glasgowglot, So if you ever meet a Catalan Who pronounces ‘Milk’ with a ‘u’ They may have been knowingly undersold Perhaps by you know who.
Blatant corruption Blatant lies The blatant truth Before our eyes Blatant gaslighting Blatant greed A country blatantly On its knees All so blatant It’s hard to see Flooding the zone Hiding forests in trees Their next move’s blatant Blatantly clear Hold an election And blatantly cheat