Been a while since we posted here but here's one 'poem' that moved Jim
JIM O SHACHTER
(a la Burns)
Intae the wids amongst the trees
Jim bared his erse, his cheeks tae ease
Nae sooner had his breeks gan doon
Than shity flees were swarmin roon
Intae the wind he bared his baws
And frae his erse a big keech faws
The reek it curled amongst the trees
Twis enough tae mak the birdies sneeze
An a the beasts in burn and ditch
Got a whiff o something awfy rich
Big Jim he wis in awfy pain
It came out his erse like a nine pun wean
There wis a tear faw fae his ee
Fur a bigger sh*te you'd never see
Big Jims erse wis raw and sair
Says Big Jim I'll sh*te nae mair
Yonder it lay among the grit
A steemin, stinkin muckle sh*t
There it lay sae soft sae fresh
Nae hair ,nae teeth, nae brains, nae flesh
Tae wipe his erse Jim yaised a docken
While a aroon the birds were boacken
Jim happed it ower wi stanes and stoor
Then sauntered off across the moor
A wee bit quicker wi bein sae light
Efter riddin himself o that muckle sh*te
Noo a've telt ye this tale for a wee bit laughter
A tale ye can tell for ever after
A tell ye noo, a swear its true
The tale o Jim o Shachter
I've mentioned previously that I was a paperboy and this poem always moves me, particularly at Christmas.
THE NEWSBOY'S DEBT
Only last year, at Christmas time, while pacing down the city street,
I saw a tiny, ill clad boy--one of the many that we meet--
As ragged as a boy could be, with half a cap, with one good shoe,
Just patches to keep out the wind--I know the wind blew keenly too:
A newsboy, with a newsboy's lungs, a square Scotch face, an honest brow,
And eyes that liked to smile so well, they had not yet forgotten how:
A newsboy, hawking his last sheets with loud persistence; now and then
Stopping to beat his stiffened hands, and trudging bravely on again.
Dodging about among the crowd, shouting his "Extras" o'er and o'er;
Pausing by whiles to cheat the wind within some alley, by some door.
At last he stopped--six papers left, tucked hopelessly beneath his arm--
To eye a fruiterer's outspread store; here, products from some country farm;
And there, confections, all adorned with wreathed and clustered leaves
and flowers,
While little founts, like frosted spires, tossed up and down their mimic
showers.
He stood and gazed with wistful face, all a child's longing in his eyes;
Then started as I touched his arm, and turned in quick, mechanic wise,
Raised his torn cape with purple hands, said, "Papers, sir? _The
Evening News!"_
He brushed away a freezing tear, and shivered, "Oh, sir don't refuse!"
"How many have you? Never mind--don't stop to count--I'll take them all;
And when you pass my office here, with stock on hand, give me a call."
He thanked me with a broad Scotch smile, a look half wondering and half
glad.
I fumbled for the proper "change," and said, "You seem a little lad
To rough it in the streets like this." "I'm ten years old on Christmas-day!"
"Your name?" "Jim Hanley." "Here's a crown, you'll get change there across
the way.
"Five shillings. When you get it changed come to my office--that's the
place.
Now wait a bit, there's time enough: you need not run a headlong race.
Where do you live?" "Most anywhere. We hired a stable-loft to day.
Me and two others." "And you thought, the fruiterer's window pretty, hey?"
"Or were you hungry?" "Just a bit," he answered bravely as he might.
"I couldn't buy a breakfast, sir, and had no money left last night."
"And you are cold?" "Ay, just a bit; I don't mind cold." "Why, that is
strange!"
He smiled and pulled his ragged cap, and darted off to get the "change."
So, with a half unconscious sigh, I sought my office desk again;
An hour or more my busy wits found work enough with book and pen.
But when the mantel clock struck six I started with a sudden thought,
For there beside my hat and cloak lay those six papers I had bought.
Why where's the boy? and where's the 'change' he should have brought an
hour ago?
Ah, well! ah, well! they're all alike! I was a fool to tempt him so,
Dishonest! Well, I might have known; and yet his face seemed candid too.
He would have earned the difference if he had brought me what was due.
"But caution often comes too late." And so I took my homeward way.
Deeming distrust of human kind the only lesson of the day.
Just two days later, as I sat, half dozing, in my office chair,
I heard a timid knock, and called in my brusque fashion, "Who is there?"
An urchin entered, barely seven--the same Scotch face, the same blue eyes--
And stood, half doubtful, at the door, abashed at my forbidding guise.
"Sir, if you please, my brother Jim--the one you give the crown, you know--
He couldn't bring the money, sir, because his back was hurted so.
"He didn't mean to keep the 'change.' He got runned over, up the street;
One wheel went right across his back, and t'other forewheel mashed his feet.
They stopped the horses just in time, and then they took him up for dead,
And all that day and yesterday he wasn't rightly in his head.
"They took him to the hospital--one of the newsboys knew 'twas Jim--
And I went, too, because, you see, we two are brothers, I and him.
He had that money in his hand, and never saw it any more.
Indeed, he didn't mean to steal! He never stole a pin before.
"He was afraid that you might think, he meant to keep it, anyway;
This morning when they brought him to, he cried because he couldn't pay.
He made me fetch his jacket here; it's torn and dirtied pretty bad;
It's only fit to sell for rags, but then, you know, it's all he had.
"When he gets well--it won't be long--if you will call the money lent.
He says he'll work his fingers off but what he'll pay you every cent."
And then he cast a rueful glance at the soiled jacket where it lay,
"No, no, my boy! take back the coat. Your brother's badly hurt you say?
"Where did they take him? Just run out and hail a cab, then wait for me.
Why, I would give a thousand coats, and pounds, for such a boy as he!"
A half-hour after this we stood together in the crowded wards,
And the nurse checked the hasty steps that fell too loudly on the boards.
I thought him smiling in his sleep, and scarce believed her when she said,
Smoothing away the tangled hair from brow and cheek, "The boy is dead."
Dead? dead so soon? How fair he looked! One streak of sunshine on his hair.
Poor lad! Well it is warm in Heaven: no need of "change" and jackets there.
And something rising in my throat made it so hard for me to speak,
I turned away, and left a tear lying upon his sunburned cheek.
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
Jeezo,Mac and Pennytray, are ye oot tae kill me?
Mind, a good greet clears the sinuses.
Men who can cry probably have less heart attacks, all that stiff upper lip stuff, straight to the arteries. (permission to let my bottom lip quiver, sir)Blackadder
"You don't have a Soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."
C.S.Lewis
One last one afore I hit the hay. This one means quite a bit to me these days
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY
He was getting old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.
And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.
He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?
A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.
It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago,
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?
He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.
Originally Titled, "JUST A COMMON SOLDIER"
by A. Lawrence Vaincourt
Just to lift you oot the depths o depression before I retire for the night too.
CARNIVAL
Your words are like confetti -
flung across the moon -
yellow and blue and scarlet -
violet and maroon -
and I hear your laughter soaring -
like a star allured balloon.
Your eyes are like gay lanterns -
across a garden wall -
they hint of love and magic -
and a fairy, flower-pale thrall -
and oh when I am with you -
my hearts keeps carnival.
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
)