archie hardie
archie hardie Poems
Wwhen cold November blows it`s bitter deadly breath,
ah`m back wi` ma mates, ma comrades in arms
knee deep in a stinkin` french trench.
Aye, there was Stewart McGregor, an Wullie McTurk,
...
My how I wish I wasn`t growing old,
cos me bones all ache and I surely feels the cold.
wheres me goddam glasses? there on top of your stupid head,
an` your bloody woollen nighty! is underneath the bed.
...
Think on this and weep.
Sad sadie had a hard hard life.
Her heart, once filled with joy,
...
The hubhub, laughter and chatter,
reminiscent of an indian market,
suddenly,
fell silent,
...
Oh woe! oh woe! this growing old,
tis making my life a toil.
From six foot three at twenty one,
I`m down to four foot nought at sixty.
...
He wandered lonely as a cloud,
then suddenly stopped to stand and stare
cos, golly gee! he`d become aware
that both his shoe laces were undone,
...
In olden days, them golden days,
when Shaky were just a pup,
as he walked the mean streets
just who should he meet,
...
My my my, `pon my soul!
Mr. Oliver Hamshanky, sometimes, exclaimed,
to no one in particular.
An` why did he exclaim, 'my my my, pon my soul, '
...
archie hardie Biography
I was a wee bit of a hell raiser in my teens, twenties, and thirties, in other words, a bevvy merchant.thankfully I saw the light and reformed on the last friday of march,1985. Thats when i went to the a.a. meeting in Albin House, Cavendish St. Glas. G5. I am retired chef, having served my time with John Grant, (wine @ food) , I`ve done season jobs, worked in Manchester, Blackpool, London, Oz, Florida, New Hamps.,2nd cook and baker on the weather ships, chief cook on the research ships, , altogether 25 yers at sea and loved every minute, especially the tankers.I`ve had a few poems published but that was with random press, a more or less vanity pub.. I`ve got a few short short stories and have been thinking of putting them together, along with a few poems, and see if I can get them published as a paperback, maybe with Lulu.)
The Best Poem Of archie hardie
The Trenches, Not So Fondly Remembered.
Wwhen cold November blows it`s bitter deadly breath,
ah`m back wi` ma mates, ma comrades in arms
knee deep in a stinkin` french trench.
Aye, there was Stewart McGregor, an Wullie McTurk,
an` bowlegged Donny fae Skye,
an` big Brig`ton Billy, an` wee Possil Gilly,
an` poor daft cockeyed McKay.
Man anythin` repulsive, outrageous, contageous, ,
McKay claimed for his own,
he got boils an` pimples,
cold sores on his dimples, sure nothin` would pass him by.
Ah ken* when an abcess popped oot in his oaxter, *
next day he got wan on each cheek,
an` if that little lot was not more than enough,
he had piles upon piles as well.
Ah mind skinnymalinky McCallister,
an` fat Cammy Cameron, fae Troon,
an` a third guy, their mate, fae that place on the Clyde
he just fell on his bunk an` died.
Aye! he was here one minute, gone the next,
such a big braw strappin` lad,
His fine brass medal goat loast in the post,
an` his lass died wi` a broken heart.
An` me, weel ah can`t complain
cos ah`m sittin, drinkin` beer at the bar,
tho` I do miss me left ear, an` right eye, ye ken,
an` the other half o` a guid pair o` legs.
archie hardie, (old,16/11/03) re-done 29/9/07.
*ken, remember.*oaxter, armpit.
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