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Jesus Christ, it´s yer mass

Personally, I find it crass

That ye died on the cross

Ti prove that humanity would gain frae yer loss

Were ye really the son o’ God?

Or just a concoction o´psychology

fir this planets barbaric sociology

Maybe an E.T

Frae a planet where beings are truly free

Frae murder, war and hunger?

Why still dae wi have destruction

on such a grand scale?

Did the de’il win

You fail?

Or is it still ti be decided?

Is the real battle in us?

When sometimes fate

guides our souls

Ti be pained,

crushed, ressurected

Now and then, love blinded.

Like at this time o’ year,

When some have the fear

Aboot the sadness faced aroond

What should be a celebratory table.

When you and yer gang o´disciples

were sitting at your supper table

having a munch

You knew ye´d be betrayed

Unfliching in death´s lights out face

Yer faither said, ‘be not afraid’

But, at this giving time of year

Some families gather

Drink too much

Then tell each other

What they´ve always been afraid ti hear!

Or, sit quiet efter grace

And stare at the year´s departed loved ones

The empty chairs,

the spare place.

Colleaugues, families, friends, even bairns

A time when no aw their sharing is love

But swearin aboot the injustice, abuse, biterness and grief

That your sacrifice never cured

Yet offers ti some; hope!

Someone should be liable

Fir that book ae shorts

ye were testimony of

Contradictory tales

which no aw ay us believe

Samsuns´ seduction,

revenged after his voluntary death

So God ti mankind really does deceive?

Thou shall do no murder…Except

Moses! Or was he just a bad interpretor of his own precept?

There are more than me, the faithless kind

Who are still guided by whatever that thing is

That makes each and everyone of us

A billion ti one chance ti grow fray the womb

And be delivered into this globe and its gloom

Is this the real hell away fray heaven?

Where we´re supposed ti be tested against:

Theiving, decieving, living, laughing, loving, killing?

Is greed a plan?

Where the resources food, water, wealth

Can nearly all be owned by a few.

The knock on effect of that selfisheness

Creating the suicides that challenge

The architect of all this

Omniscient, omnipotent, who?

On this ball of fools

In this voidless vacuum

The night sky is pierced by white dots

Where distance

In this plain of being cannot (yet)

Be got!

Unless We dig inside and listen

To our innner universe, deep

Here, our ancestrol answers keep

I used to wish I´d been aborted

Even now, this world and its madness

Has my future contorted

By the cruelty of mankind

Especially its on race pol-U.S  force

Is really a totalitarianist kind.

You can call this superflous

But as a fellow Scot and poet once wrote

(It´s Robert Burns I quote)

”If I´m designed yon lordlings slave

by nature´s law designed.

Why was an independent wish

Ever planted in my mind?

If not, why am I subject to

His cruelty, or scorn?

Or why has man the will and pow´r

To make his fellow mourn?”

And the rest of his genial verses

Live on like the time of a birth

Two thousand years ago

We call it Christmas, our thanksgiving

Some love it , some it hate it

Some are because of it

No longer living!

Because they were brainwashed

By the consumerism of it all

The advertisers dreams

Believed in the couture, shiny tinsels

Exspensive gifts

The ember popping fireplaces

Christmas puddings and cream

A’ they really discovered

Was how loud this racketeering farce

Ca´d the festive period

Could make them

Wi a’ their might


Christmas time

Mistletoe and wine

Aye! For some!



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