Chrismas Sucks

Christmas sucks, I wrote this poem when my business was going through a bad patch, Christmas was on it way and I felt there was too much pressure on me to give and I didn't have.

Christmas sucks

I’m feeling sick and my stomachs in knots

Christmas is coming at a rate of noughts

My pockets are empty and business is tight

At the end of my tunnel, there is no light

 

People are spending with excited eyes

For my loved ones there will be no surprise

No credit cards or money in the bank

It feels like my empire has finally sank

 

Some people find joy in the failure of others

Pointing, whispering, and chuckling at me

“Owe see how the mighty fall” they will mutter

As they place their presents under the tree

 

What ever happened to Christmas of old?

When the measure of man was not what he sold

Gifts were smaller and wrapped up real neat

You just would not dare ask for the receipt

 

Christmas is for giving so give what you’ve got

Try giving a little when you don’t have a lot

Give from the heart not from the purse

Have seasonal thoughts for a student nurse

 

Day’s to Christmas and her husband broke

The weeks ahead not much better

Don’t hurt yourself buying expensive presents

What’s wrong with a good Christmas sweater?

 

Have a thought for others at Christmas

Whose family and friends have passed

Hold on tight to what really matters

Cause trust me it dose not last

 

I am under such pressure at this time of year?

And my heart tells me this shouldn't be

Too so many people I’m the provider

Sometimes I wish I was free

 

If you reading this poem you feel sorry for me

Dig down, down deep in your pocket

Give me a fiver to help me along

Before I turn into a rocket

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Alien Inside

This is a song dedicated to the alien that lives within my flesh, doctors do not know how to treat me, they have tried drugs, creams, lotions, bandages, wraps and even UV treatment but as yet nothing has worked.

My personal thoughts are it is a reaction to an antibiotic overdose given to me at St Johns hospital Livingston.

Never mind it's done now! 

Alien inside

 

Looking back it seems so long, old memories fade away

Searching the archives of my mind, when was that awful day?

Not looking for companionship a partner or a bride

Why was I introduced to the alien inside? 

No where to run          (it follows)

No where to hide         (It’s already there)

It’s deeper than your ugly thoughts

You better say your prayers  

It’s with me every moment with every breath I take

Flowing through my arteries making me its prey

The doctors searching for a cure, drugs they do prescribe 

They only serve as devils food, for the alien inside 

No where to run          (it follows)

No where to hide         (It’s already there)

It’s deeper than your ugly thoughts

You better say your prayers 

Lying in my bed at night sliding into dream

The alien has other plans he makes me want to scream

It brings my blood to boiling point it’s going to blow my mind

Why can’t I escape from the alien inside? 

No where to run          (it follows)

No where to hide         (It’s already there)

It’s deeper than your ugly thoughts

You better say your prayers 

The alien gets stronger deep bellow my skin

A carnivorous parasite why did a let it in

It suckers on my weakness feeding itself strong

The alien is part of me why did it go so wrong

No where to run          (it follows)

No where to hide         (It’s already there)

It’s deeper than your ugly thoughts

You better say your prayers 

The alien has a hunger and it’s feeding dose not rest

It fuels itself relentlessly gnawing on my flesh

I cannot let it weaken me or take away my pride

Please God release me from the alien inside 

No where to run          (it follows)

No where to hide         (It’s already there)

It’s deeper than your ugly thoughts

You better say your prayers 

I’ll play host to this parasite until final breathe

The alien can dance with me until we both meet death

I’m taking it to hell with me alone it can’t survive

I can’t allow the alien to take another’s life

 

Caravan

The Caravan

Nothing frees the mind of a man
than going away in his caravan
Hook it up to your car, and away you go
It’s a house with wheels, you simply tow

You trundle along at 50 miles an hour
You don’t need a car with lots of power
Drive a ford, or a Nissan, a mini will suffice
Just tow it away to somewhere nice

When you get to you site the parking is fun
If you have to move it manually it weighs a ton
Park it on the level and put up your awning
After all that heavy graft you will soon start yawning

When all the work is done you sit down and relax
Open up a bottle or two and a few six packs
You check out your surroundings it’s a real home from home
I love my little caravan forever we shall roam

If you want to get away from your town and all its hassle
Hook up your caravan and go to Haggerston castle
£12 for a pitch and £2 for the power
I can’t think of a better way to waste away the hour

If you want to get away from it all, then take my advice
Go and buy a caravan and drive to somewhere nice
Seaton sand is wonderful or there is always pettycur bay
As long as your in you caravan you have a nice place to stay.

Martin Sweeney

Wedding

I compiled this in August 2005 tree day days before I got married to my lovely wife on the canal barge at Ratho.

I had been living with my partner for 17 years.

Tree Days to go

And now the end is near

And I face the final curtain

One trip on that barge

And my future will be certain

I have three days to go

Three days of fun and happy swally

God knows just what I’ve done

I done it my way

What is a man, what has he got

Without his freedom then he has not

Without his friends, without his drink

Without the time to have a think

What has he got,

He’s got a wife

That’s at the ...................BINGO........

Scotland

Looking for the perfect place

Looking for the perfect place, searching far and long

I found it on my own door step; it’s been there all along

The beauty of the misty hills the glens and sandy shores

Bring the tourists to my land, landing in theirs scores

 

I have been blind and unaware of Scotland in its glory

The castles and the battle fields are whispering a story

A story that’s for all of us who search for sunny weather

Find the place of your heart and dreams lurking in the heather

 

Primal Scream (second Look)

Looking for the perfect place, searching far and long

I found it on my own door step; it’s been there all along

The beauty of the misty hills, the glens and sandy shores

Brings the tourists to my land, landing in their scores

 

I ‘v been blind and unaware of Scotland’s wonderful glory

The castles and the battlefields are whispering a story

A story that’s for all of us, who search for sunny weather

Find the place of your heart and dreams, lurking in the heather.

 

Now the worlds a dangerous place, where suicide bombers roam

Queues miles long in the terminals, you’re better off at home.

Our city centres are full of gangs, packing and taking pills.

Get back to what it’s all about, head for the Scottish hills

 

From high up in my vantage point everything’s looking pretty

The distant twinkling lights like stars, disguise an evil city

Sitting, thinking and looking down teardrops leave my eyes

Blue flashing lights on distant roads, another mother cries

 

I have a thought for friends that died chasing an illusive dream

I stretch my arms to meet the sky, and let out a primal scream

 Fresh back from a trip around Scotland I started to write a poem that captured my thoughts on Scotland and how it compared with holiday resorts overseas.

My first attempt was a bit shortbread tin and i got stuck after two chapters.

My second look at it was after being back in Livingston for a while, I had just lost a couple of good friends to the Grand overseer of the Heavens, Glasgow airport had been victim of an attack by terrorists, and Scotland looked a different place from the one on the shortbread tin. 

 

Grandad's Tree, In loving memory of my Dad Gerry sweeny

Grandad's Tree, Bottom left is the wooden plaque the inscription burned on using a magnifying glass and the power of the Sun

Sarah at Grandad's tree

Granddad's tree                     

 

 

October the second, two thousand and three                   

Reads an inscription under a tree.

Rooted in my garden for all to see

My Sarah calls it her granddad’s tree.

 

Growing to remind us that all is not lost

We still have our memories of the Sweeny boss

The man with the badges all over his hat

The shy quiet man who took no crap

The man who smiled at hilarious jokes

He drank dark rum for Scotland.

 

This man was my father he made me so proud,

Sometimes I still hear him call my name loud,

I turn around to find nobody is there,

I still see him sitting in that corner chair,

Cross legged and sleeping one hand in his hair,

And his other clasped round tumbler.

 

I go to the pub he used to frequent

His memories are in with the bricks

Now when I look at the chair he once sat

All I can see is a really sad mix

Not fit enough to lace up his shoes

They sit in his chair and drink there booze

 

He is now up in heaven and looking down

At changes taking place in his Livingston town

His home on this earth for thirty two years

Where he shared tears and laughter, and quite a few beers

 

I think of him working with Jesus up high

Building our pathway up to the sky

Laying foundations between heaven and earth

Building our road to salvation

 

I can’t help thinking when I look at granddad’s tree

The words of my father saying to me

“See that pathway that goes up to god

I built that so a did, that was me

Single handed with just a couple of my pals” 

 

Dad in the Ferns

Wee Shug

If you ever go to Da Vinci’s you will see him standing there

He’s the wee man with the walking stick leaning on a chair

Hue Grant was the name he was given, but we all know him as Shug

You better not give him any cheek or he’ll slap you roond the lug

 

He was dragged up in Glesga and everyone feared his name

Cause just as quick as you looked at him; he would chib you with his cane

He is five foot high stocky built and wears a pair of braces

His enemies of bygone years have slash marks on their faces

 

He walks with a limp but don’t be fooled, into thinking he is a canter

He’ll rip you up into wee shreds using his Glasgow banter

 

When he was a boy he had a dream, he wanted to be a sailor

The royal navy rejected him so he got a job as a tailor

Making bespoke suits for gangsters, that’s where he cut a living

He used the tailor’s big sharp sheers to do his very first chibbing

 

He moved to Livingston’s Redwing Brea and Da Vinci’s was his local

No tailor’s jobs for Shug in the town, so signed onto the social

His fighting days in Glasgow became a thing of the past

His leg was getting worse each day, and he couldn’t move as fast

 

He suffered for years living with pain and drinking pints of lager

Dragging  his leg behind him in what’s known as the Shugie swagger

 

Now he’s off to the Murryfield and he’s getting a brand new hip

When he gets out he’ll be good as new, so don’t give him any lip

He’s taking up jogging and running up hills, and he’s throwing away his stick

And roomer has it; at the end of the year he’s going to play for the Tic

 

Life’s not easy when your five foot tall and shirts done fit your neck

When your highlight comes at the end of the week, in the shape of a giro cheque

Shug never lets life get him down; he keeps a smile for all

To be a great man like wee Shug you don’t have to be big and tall

 

All the best Wee Shug

Get well soon

 

Martin Sweeny