Sunday, 29 October 2017


Farts and Squeaks

An onslaught OF music SOUNDS,
no TIME for rhyTHm or mOVEment
and no symPHony fouNd
within jazZy tinker bellS
jumbling UP like
words wrong-the-way-around YELLS
and order FLATTened in a menTAL cRAze;
that’s no way an Orchestra plays.

To my EArs, poiSED fOR fORm,
I Sit in pAiN,
in vAIn,
as raIN becomes sToRM
and OF a suDden, pEAks;
anoTHer onSLauGht
of farts aNd squeaks.

George McDermid

Born in Edinburgh, formerly a teacher, and now working for the National Museums Scotland, George has been writing poetry since he was a teenager. After a bit of a break from writing, he has now returned to it with a few published pieces in various anthologies and is one of the founding members of a little writing group based in Fife ( Apart from writing, he plays traditional music on various instruments including flute, whistles, bodhran and Irish Pipes.