Showing posts with label Manx. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Manx. Show all posts

Picking Scabs



Fire gazing family,
Night breezes lazily
Hissing through leaves and open windows.
“what is it? Why the sudden stirring?”
“hasten, children. Close the curtains".
Scrubbed cheeks, kissed brows,
Blankets tucked, thumbs sucked,
Knotting feet and now, sleep.

My mother had warned of the Carras Dhoo men
When the briny breeze blew up the glen.
She'd told of the gloom and the peaty tomb
And the lives of unfortunates taken too soon
And their hunts conducted under silvery moon,
Oh, we knew of the Carras Dhoo men.

The paths, the routes, the cave, the nooks,
the crannies stashed with finery snatched
From drowning grasp
Of hands that lead to skulls scarlet smashed.
The rocks that froth with bezerkers ferocity,
Passengers previous pomposity
Reduced to loot worth losing your life over.
Hah! We knew of the Carras Dhoo men.

Night dashes on hillside, steep and tripping slide,
The cruel tide siding with those who upon her do not ride
Through respect
But instead turn the earth.
Whose women were dark haired and dark eyed,
Adorned glorious bejewelled in their men's finds,
Beguiling glamour of the hard life,
We were warned of the Carras Dhoo men.

We heeded indeed, our ravenous ears
Drank the juice and spat the seeds
As reformed roguery and diabolical deeds.
Reigniting a fire in our eyes, we rose,
A group of reluctant wives, willing warriors,  natural worriers,
To reclaim our lives.

Revestment bereft, avoidance schemes ended
And with them all chance of our happy ending.
Mouths to feed, our need undeniably greater
Than the flashy tourists, the odd passing freighter
That might pass our way.
There's a big boat in the bay, boy.

There’s a big boat in the bay.
Tomorrow we'll take the children to play,
Down by the breakwater,
Picnic sandwiches cut into quarters,
Castles and hole digging,
Where the tide washes in.
You should come down to meet us.
We like to play a game we call
“Finder's Keepers “.

But tonight? Ah, tonight.
The brine’s in the breeze
Hissing lazily through leaves
Whispering claxon call to deeds
for those that know
To listen for it.

Straight outta tha Pondy

It's nice to be down with you Southside folk. 
Got my passport stamped by some Culture Vannnin bloke.
He gave me border grief,
wouldn't cut me no slack.
I'm from the wrong side of the electric railway track.
I live in Ramsey.
It's the place to be.
We don't get your chances or your budgetries.
You've got most of the jobs, most of the bars
and most of the parking for most of the cars.
We've got increasing numbers of unemployed,
pregnant teens and banged up boys.
We've got genteel hippies, restaurants,
Shakti Man and the Mooragh splash park.
We're a town with texture and layers of past
and the odd pool of vomit you have to sidle past.
They've gentrified our heart and installed a Costa Coffee.
The old businesses are closing 'cause the young folk have no money.
We've a working port, a bit industrial.
Still a bit rough; we're Mannanin's rebel.
You've know you've met a Northerner when you meet attitude
and you in your ignorance might think them being rude
but what you're missing is up here we don't have need for graces. We like straight talking, standing ground and getting in your faces.
They've fancily repaved Parliament Street
but that doesn't change the leaking shoes or dogshit on your feet.
You can will a town to prosper but you can't make poor folk spend
and everything's eroded by the pigeons in the end.
You tell us about Anagh Coar and what it's like in Pully
but they all seem bourgeois when you compare them to the Pondy.
In the winter it is crowded in the Library
because it has heating and you can stay all day for free.
The businesses that work up here are all a bit niche.
Old money eccentricities unlike your nouveau riche
high street brand name blandness up and down your old Strand Street,
homogenised and sterilised by office shoe clad feet.
Not happy with two Costas, you've a Starbucks now as well!
And what have we got to counter that?
Leonard Singer, and Alan Bell.