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Monty Bing

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Glasgow, Scotland, UK

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Slipping away

by

Monty Bing

A gentle breeze disturbed your hair -
I felt it brush against my neck, and,
though we lay there back to back,
I had no need to turn and check that you slept still,
in deepest sleep.
For I could hear the sound of dreaming:
whispered breath and gentle sighs.
I listened, almost hypnotised;
and listened.
The rythym of your dreaming kept a steady pace
and drew me in.
It closed about me as I lay;
all fear now outside - calm within.
I felt my eyes begin to close.
I felt myself begin to float, as if upon some gentle sea
but knowing, that I couldn't drown
as long as you were there by me.
And I could sense that you were there.
I dreamt that I could feel your warmth.

Gently, I moved back an inch.
Our bodies touched.
That softest touch.
Tingling.

Just gentle breath and whispered sighs
to lift and carry me away like incense,
on a summer's night or birdsong,
on a winter's day but higher,
than I'd been before.
Now I saw that gentle sea as if,
from God's own point of view as if,
God's Earth had set me free to rise,
and soar on angels wings to break,
from all that held me down to break,
from all that held me dear.

Outside. The clouds have trapped the moon.
Inside. The room now full of shadows, playing.

I see no more the gentle sea and mourn,
the passing of the light for here,
is dark and quite alone,
and silent.


'Twas all for the want of a Glesga kiss

by

Monty Bing

It's hauf past seven, rain's pure lashin', she's dressed in black;
looks like a mourner.
Nae umbrella, legs aw splashes, wilma's waitin,
at Boots' Corner.
'Cos she's gaun dancin' wae Big Tam.
She hopes he wulny let her doon.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam buys a pint, an' settles doon.
~~~
A quarter-to, it's gettin' dark, she tries tae look,
aw unconcerned.
"See ma arse", She thinks. "it's freezin. You'd think by now,
ah wid've learned.".
All around her, other girls, wait five minutes,
then get met.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam lights another cigarette.
~~~
It's just gone eight, tears gettin' closer, now it's dark,
she waits alone.
Each girl, in turn, had met their dates, had kissed, embraced, linked arms,
had gone.
A single tear, dropped from her cheek, and lost itself,
in all the rain.
~~~
Meanwhile,
in the Gordon Bar;
"Hey darlin', want the same again?"
~~~
Wilma checked her watch, and bus-fare, and stepped out,
onto Argyle Street.
She cursed her luck, the rain, Big Tam, her leaky shoes,
and frozen feet,
as she made her way tae her bus stoap.
Wilma walked, her mascara ran.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam shouted, "Gie's another wan".
~~~
Gently sobbin'. Hair aw drippin'. Wilma looked up,
through the rain.
"Oh tell me God", She pled aloud. "Will ah ever love a man again?"
When suddenly, the rain went off, as though the clouds,
had all run dry.
But much more sudden, a voice behind her;
"Aw Wilma, c'mon doll; therr's nae need tae cry."
Wilma jumped three feet, her bus-fare jumped seven,
as wildly she spun 'round and...let out a shrill laugh.
It was Danny, her neighbour, and 'though it was dark,
she could see he'd a haircut and been near a bath.
...
Wilma surveyed him an' liked whit she saw there:
gone was the long hair that bred tales of lice;
no more had he pimples to frighten a poultice,
"In fact," Wilma thought. "He's helluva nice."
"Eh, Wilma, ah hope ye don't think ah'm a chancer but,
if you're no' rushin' tae get hame thi'night.
Would ye like tae go walkin'?"
Inside Wilma glowed.
"Well, ah don't, an' ah'm not, an' a would...That alright?"
She went home... some hours later,
when the dark had turned light.
~~~
It's three months later, rain's pure lashin', Big Tam's dressed,
in his Faither's suit.
He's oan a promise, whit a prospect,
'cos Wilma phoned, and asked him oot.
Wilma says that, she forgives him, and is sorry for moaning,
about his 'few beers'.
And if he'd like to wait, he'll get a surprise, and one he'll remember,
she hopes, for years.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
the glasses were raised all 'round the room.
As Danny, kissed Wilma, the people applauded,
and toasted:..."The bride and groom."
~~~


Soliloquium et Solatium

by

Monty Bing

Your hands are small and gentle still,
without the scars of adult life:
the ache of toil that nags your bones,
the ring of gold that tells your truth,
the lines and marks that tell your tales.
I'd say, 'Be wary what you hold'.
~~~
Your feet are small and barely formed;
without the knowledge of life's road,
for never yet have they been lost or,
wandered off the beaten track or,
finished first, or limped in last.
I'd warn, 'Be wary, no matter what the path'.
~~~
Your eyes are bright, but yet to see,
this beautiful and desperate place,
at times a fertile desolation,
at times, a trove, of treasure rare.
So many potential memories.
I'd ask, 'Be wary, and look for the joins'.
~~~
Your voice is small and whisperish,
without the cynic's hardened phrase or,
stories you can never tell or,
joy you hope will never end.
Or things you think you'll never say.
I'd offer, 'Say nought but what can stand repeating'.
~~~
Your mind is but an acorn still,
with space to grow, and heights to climb.
As yet uncluttered by debris,
as yet to know the weight of worry,
'though soon to know the power of dreams.
I'd say, 'Your thoughts define your soul'.
~~~
Your heart, 'though filling you with life,
has yet to play the first few bars,
of life's concerto for percussion.
A different rythym for each movement:
fear, hope, and sadness. Love, hate, elation.
I'd warn, 'Know well each movement before inviting someone to dance'.
~~~
Your courage is not with you yet,
but will be, in a few short years when,
an invitation to life's party,
will see you thrust before your peers.
I suppose it's always been this way.
I'd ask, 'Discard the baggage that you pick up there...before it weighs you down'.
~~~
Your future is still undecided.
These things I speak of; yet to pass.
For you are me, when I was but
a baby, in a photograph.
These words I offer to my childhood,
by way of pardon for life's sins,
'If I could take my time once more...
I'd offer, almost anything'.


Even as I dream

by

Monty Bing

In the place between the darkness and the light,
I meet with you and take you by the hand.
You brush your hair against my face,
like soft electric, on my face.
We stroll between the morning and the night.
~~~
At that moment 'fore to joy a sorrow turns,
our glances touch, and there lies understanding.
You brush your hand against my brow,
like soothing ointment, on my brow.
No longer do the tears of sadness burn.
~~~
In the second 'fore some fear is realised,
you tell me I am strong enough for two.
You weave your spell and stand behind
my broadened shoulders, you stand behind,
I walk forward showing fear no compromise.
~~~
On the heartbeat that says I have caught your eye
you smile, then we smile, then I blush.
You place your finger on your lips,
then touch your finger to my lips.
A kiss that weighs but half that of a sigh.
~~~
Should a word escape which serves to hurt you only
you bide your time then bid me, please, to leave.
Such enforcement pays my folly
Enforced absence for my folly.
Penance hard, and colder for being lonely.
~~~
That I could speak of such things to your face.
That you deserve much more, so understated.
Come. Meet me for one second, for one moment,
share this heartbeat.
Between the darkness and the light there is a place.


Waits and measures

by

Monty Bing

If you were but one day away...
I'd see tomorrow as a child sees Christmas:
loath to sleep,
rushing to wake.
~
If you were but one journey away...
I'd await the train with a smile so broad
leaving fellow travellers no choice but to think:
'There sits a man so happy,
or a man quite insane'.
~
If you were but one hour away...
I'd accuse my watch to it's face:
'You are you deliberately going slow?
Carry on like that and you'll go in the drawer'.
~
If you were but one mile away...
I'd ask the world to keep the noise down,
that I might hear your steps.
Intrigued so, everyone might help me listen.
~
If you were but one room away...
This room would need no open fire:
your radiance permeates the stone.
You'd return to find me asking:
'Did you catch me... osmotically basking?'
~
If you were but one step away...
I'd see your eyes reflect my eyes
reflect your eyes reflect my eyes.
Mirrors mirrored:
the room, the world, all else, dissolves.
~
If you were but one whisper away...
You'd ask me can I hear a noise.
I'd whisper... 'shhh',
then curse my thrumming heart.
~
If you were fully in my arms...
The world may end, if it so wishes.


Fat Chance

by

Monty Bing

At one I gurgled 'gimme milk'.
At two I uttered 'gimme solids'.
At three I stumbled, fell, and bounced.
At four I was heard to announce 'I'm hungry'
'Saints alive'. My mother moaned. 'He's only five - yet weighs six stone.
Just eating... eating all the time.
(Thankfully seven ate nine).
But ten...
Well ten grew bigger,
became a ten(t) -'twas all would fit
my ghastly girth -
and me barely eleven years since birth.
Oh woe - no mirth - just hungry self.
The wonder was how I reached twelve
without exploding, or overloading.
My flesh did ripple when running (or sneezing)
but oblivious was I to schoolyard teasing
for at thirteen (being an early starter)
I'd learned the tricks and skills of barter.
Action figures, pens and pencils,
miscellaneous sporting gear,
I'd swap with others for their lunch.
Ah... 'twas a finger-lickin' fourteenth year.
But no!
Just short of my fifteenth anniversary,
I encountered a most worthy adversary in the shape of...
a girl.
~
Rosy-cheeked, jolly, padded, and sparkly.
She eyed up my lunch... I eyed her back darkly.
She lifted her hem-line... I lowered my eyes,
as I made to advance... she made off with my pies, and donuts,
and a half-eaten tart, but,
evil genius that she was,
she'd not only my food... she'd stolen my heart.
For now I was hungry, like I'd never been
and this was the truth, for my pulse set to racing
like rain on a roof, each time I would see her -
and see her I would - given our mutual longing for food
and the way such a longing would be manifest
in her longing for buns, while I preferred breast
of chicken (such as you've never seen).
With relish - and ketchup - I remember sweet sixteen.
Seventeen, though... was a year worth forgetting
for I still hadn't managed to control my sweating
of palms which, infernally,
led some to believe I was leaking internally
or simply melting, like a massive candle.
Oh... the names I could handle, like:
'bubble oh seven' (as in Bond, James Bond).
But it wasn't 'til eighteen it finally dawned
that my weight I could master.
I swore to myself that I'd become faster,
and fitter... by nineteen, a runner, a swimmer,
and, yessireebob, my girl - I would win 'er.
And that day I started to eat all my greens,
got fitter and stronger than I was in my dreams.
Where once fat had rolled... pectorals flexed.
No more would my breathlessness leave me perplexed.
~
The day came - the pounds went.
All the time I had spent was well worth the wait.
She'd've no need to circumnavigate
my ample protrudings so grandly upholstered.
I saw her approach, my new shape saw me bolstered
with a surge of morale. Palms dry... Here goes:
~
I strode up to my girl - her with cheeks of a rose.
I smiled with a wink, and showed her a pose with flexing aplenty.
As Adonis might've, were he here, and were he twenty.
'D'ya like what ya see?'... She stared in a silence.
'D'ya want what I've got?'... She knitted her brows.
'D'ya hear what I'm sayin'?'... She heard but said nothing.
I took a deep breath...
'D'ya wants t'get married... She held up her hand
and said...
"No.
Now please leave me alone.
I ain't never liked men with no meat on their bones.
Back off skinny. Go take a walk.
Go fill out that skin, then we can talk.".
~
The truth hit me hard with a sickening crunch...
she had never loved me...
only my lunch.


Fat Chance

by

Monty Bing

At one I gurgled 'gimme milk'.
At two I uttered 'gimme solids'.
At three I stumbled, fell, and bounced.
At four I was heard to announce 'I'm hungry'
'Saints alive'. My mother moaned. 'He's only five - yet weighs six stone.
Just eating... eating all the time.
(Thankfully seven ate nine).
But ten...
Well ten grew bigger,
became a ten(t) -'twas all would fit
my ghastly girth -
and me barely eleven years since birth.
Oh woe - no mirth - just hungry self.
The wonder was how I reached twelve
without exploding, or overloading.
My flesh did ripple when running (or sneezing)
but oblivious was I to schoolyard teasing
for at thirteen (being an early starter)
I'd learned the tricks and skills of barter.
Action figures, pens and pencils,
miscellaneous sporting gear,
I'd swap with others for their lunch.
Ah... 'twas a finger-lickin' fourteenth year.
But no!
Just short of my fifteenth anniversary,
I encountered a most worthy adversary in the shape of...
a girl.
~
Rosy-cheeked, jolly, padded, and sparkly.
She eyed up my lunch... I eyed her back darkly.
She lifted her hem-line... I lowered my eyes,
as I made to advance... she made off with my pies, and donuts,
and a half-eaten tart, but,
evil genius that she was,
she'd not only my food... she'd stolen my heart.
For now I was hungry, like I'd never been
and this was the truth, for my pulse set to racing
like rain on a roof, each time I would see her -
and see her I would - given our mutual longing for food
and the way such a longing would be manifest
in her longing for buns, while I preferred breast
of chicken (such as you've never seen).
With relish - and ketchup - I remember sweet sixteen.
Seventeen, though... was a year worth forgetting
for I still hadn't managed to control my sweating
of palms which, infernally,
led some to believe I was leaking internally
or simply melting, like a massive candle.
Oh... the names I could handle, like:
'bubble oh seven' (as in Bond, James Bond).
But it wasn't 'til eighteen it finally dawned
that my weight I could master.
I swore to myself that I'd become faster,
and fitter... by nineteen, a runner, a swimmer,
and, yessireebob, my girl - I would win 'er.
And that day I started to eat all my greens,
got fitter and stronger than I was in my dreams.
Where once fat had rolled... pectorals flexed.
No more would my breathlessness leave me perplexed.
~
The day came - the pounds went.
All the time I had spent was well worth the wait.
She'd've no need to circumnavigate
my ample protrudings so grandly upholstered.
I saw her approach, my new shape saw me bolstered
with a surge of morale. Palms dry... Here goes:
~
I strode up to my girl - her with cheeks of a rose.
I smiled with a wink, and showed her a pose with flexing aplenty.
As Adonis might've, were he here, and were he twenty.
'D'ya like what ya see?'... She stared in a silence.
'D'ya want what I've got?'... She knitted her brows.
'D'ya hear what I'm sayin'?'... She heard but said nothing.
I took a deep breath...
'D'ya wants t'get married... She held up her hand
and said...
"No.
Now please leave me alone.
I ain't never liked men with no meat on their bones.
Back off skinny. Go take a walk.
Go fill out that skin, then we can talk.".
~
The truth hit me hard with a sickening crunch...
she had never loved me...
only my lunch.


Glesga Kiss (or, 'Twas all for the want of)

by

Monty Bing

It's hauf past seven, rain's pure lashin', she's dressed in black;
looks like a mourner.
Nae umbrella, legs aw splashes, Wilma's waitin
at Boots' Corner.
'Cos she's gaun jiggin' wae Big Tam.
She hopes he wulny let her doon.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam buys a pint, an' settles doon.
~~~
A quarter-tae, it's gettin' dark, she tries tae look,
aw unconcerned.
"See ma arse", She thinks. "it's freezin. Yid think bi noo,
ah widda learnt.".
All around her, other lassies, wait five minutes,
then get met.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam lights another cigarette.
~~~
It's just gone eight, tears gettin' closer. Noo it's dark,
she waits alone.
Each girl, in turn, hud met thur dates, hud kissed, embraced, linked erms,
hud gone.
A single tear, droaped fae her cheek, an' loast itsel,
in aw the rain.
~~~
Meanwhile,
in the Gordon Bar;
"Haw darlin', want the same again?"
~~~
Wilma checked her watch, an' bus-ferr, an' stepped oot
onti Argyle Street.
She cursed her luck, the rain, Big Tam, her leaky shoes,
an' frozen feet.
As she made her way tae her bus stoap,
Wilma trudged - her mascara ran.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam shoutit, "Gie's another wan!".
~~~
Gently sobbin'. Herr aw drippin'. Wilma looked up,
through the rain.
"Uch, tell me God", She pled aloud. "Wull ah ever love a man again?"
When suddenly the rain went aff - as though the clouds
hid aw run dry.
But much merr sudden, a voice behind her;
"Aw Wilma, c'mon hen; therrs nae need tae cry."
Wilma jumped three fit - her bus-ferr jumped seven,
as wildly she spun 'roon an'...let oot a shrill laugh:
it was wee Danny Rennie (a big shot wae ri Clennie);
she could see he'd a herrcut an' been neara bath.
~~~
Wilma surveyed'im an' liked whit she saw therr:
gone wis the long herr that bred tales a' lice.
nae merr huddi pimples tae frighten a poultice,
"In fact," Wilma thought. "He's helluva nice."
"Eh, Wilma... ah hope ye don't hink ah'm a chancer but,
if yir no' rushin' tae git hame thi'night.
Wid ye like tae go, eh, furra walk?"
Inside Wilma glowed.
"Well, ah don't, an' ah'm no, an' a would...zat awright?"
~~~
She went home - some hours later,
when the dark had turned light.
~~~
It's three months later, rain's pure lashin', Big Tam's dressed,
in his Faither's suit.
He's at Boots' corner - oan a promise;
Wilma phoned, and asked him oot.
Wilma says that, she forgives him, an' she's sorry for moaning,
aboot his 'few beers'.
So if he'd like tae wait, he'll getta surprise, an' one he'll remember,
she hopes, fur years.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
the glesses were raised all 'roon the room.
As Danny, kissed Wilma, the people applauded,
and toasted:..."The Bride anni Groom!".

Translation and notes for non-Scots out there:

Glesga Kiss - In it's purest and original sense: 'To headbutt AKA 'stick the heid oan' But here, of course, a kiss is
a kiss is a kiss.
Pure lashin'- Pure = Very much, in copious amounts..
"Haw baw-heid! A'hm gauny pure stick the heid oan ye if ye don't stoap pure bammin' me up!".
"Hey, you fellow there with the rotund face that momentarily reminded one of a soccer ball,
should one be so disinclined to cease ones tomfool raillery; then one will have no choice but
to perform a 'Glasgow Kiss' on one. One can only surmise that ones incessant fleering will
abate forthwith post-kiss.".
Boots' Corner- The corner of Argyle St/Union St in Glasgow where Boots the Chemist once stood (now a KFC)
where generations of Glasgows would-be lovers would arrange to meet...and
occasionally suffer the humiliation of being stood up. Personally, the 'Heilanman's Umbrella',
the area under the Central Station bridge, offered more in way of shadows to stand in when it became
clear she wasn't coming.
"Aye...the games-a-bogey wee man, it's hauf-past 12. Yiv missed the late bus noo!".
Jiggin' - Dancing...but modern - not a Highland Jig.
Could have been to the famous Barrowlands Ballroom at'The Barras' flea-market,
or to enjoy the grand opulence of the Plaza Ballroom.
"Wherr ur we gaun tae?
'Ower tae ra Plaza... Hope yiv goat yer dancin' shoes oan hen?'
'Aye... So ah huvny! Ma feet ur still pure loupin' fae the last time ye goat bevvied-up an tried tae
dae ra Alley-Cat tae Englebert Hingmyboabs' Last Waltz. So ah'm wearin' ma sannies so ah kin jump oot
yir road when ye start yir birlin' aboot.".
Hen - Slang for a young woman or girl - both strangers and family/friends.
Often gives rise to the pithier retort:
"If ah'm a hen, then you're a duck.
Ah lay eggs an you lay muck,
an you're the wan tae clean it up!".
Much like 'Jim or Jimmy when addressing a strange man esp. over 25, and usually for a light or the time.
Not used when addressing friends/family... unless their name is Jim strangely enough.
"Is Jimmy comin' oot Mrs McClutchie?".
"Ah've telt you afore... therr's nae Jimmy stays here. Therr's a James though...? Will ah get him fur ye?
"Aye... Okay Mrs... Is it awright iffy brings Jimmy's baw...?".
Hen has, for some time now, been vying with 'doll' for top spot in the Glesga-Vocabu-Lothario.
The Clennie - Pet name for the Municipal Dept of Cleansing, Glasgow City Council.
Oan a promise- The presumption that tonight might be the night - given the serious amount of kissing (winchin,
snoggin, nippin etc.) that went on during the last date.
More often than not ends with the Big Yin/Wee man theatrically projecting the nights' intake of
imported beer/super-lager over the steps of the Kebab shop/chippy steps.
"If you think ah'm gauny kiss that mooth efter watchin it launch electric soup... you kin take a
run up ma humph. Go an ask that Polis fur a hankie.".

It's half-past seven, the rain is lashing, she's dressed in black,
looks like a mourner.
No umbrella, legs all splashes, Wilma's waiting at Boots' Corner
because she's going dancing with Big Tam.
She hopes he will not let her down
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam buys a pint, and settles down.
~~~
It's quarter-to, it's getting dark, she tries to look quite unconcerned.
"My butt", She thinks. "It's freezing. You would think by now I would have learned.".
All around her, other girls, wait five minutes, then are met.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon bar,
Tam lights another cigarette.
~~~
It's just turned eight, she's close to tears. Now it's dark.
She waits alone.
Each girl, in turn, had met their dates, had kissed,
embraced,linked arms, had gone.
A single tear dropped from her cheek, and lost itself
in all the rain.
~~~
Meanwhile,
in the Gordon Bar;
"So honey, you want the same drink again?".
~~~
Wilma checked her watch, and bus-fare, and stepped out onto
Argyle Street.
She cursed her luck, the rain, Big Tam, her leaky shoes,
and frozen feet.
As she made her way to her bus stop,
Wilma trudged - her mascara ran.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
Tam shouts, "Give me another one!.".
~~~
Gently sobbing, hair dripping-wet, Wilma looked up
through the rain.
"Oh, tell me God;", She pled aloud. "Will I ever love a man again?".
When suddenly the rain just stopped -
as if the clouds had all run dry.
But more sudden than that,
a voice spoke behind her...
"Hey Wilma, come-come now there's no need to cry...".
Wilma jumped three feet - her bus-fare jumped seven -
as she spun round wildly and...let out a shrill laugh:
it was Daniel, her neighbour, and local road-sweeper
(once known for his fervent avoidance of baths).
~~~
But Wilma surveyed him and liked what she saw there:
gone was the long hair that had bred tales of lice.
No more had he pimples so big they'd scare poultices.
"In fact," Wilma thought. "He looks awfully nice.".
"Um, Wilma... I hope you don't think that I'm cheeky by asking,
but, if you're in no great hurry to get home tonight...,
would you like to go, um, for walk with me?".
Inside, Wilma glowed.
"Well; I don't, and I'm not, and I would...that alright?".
~~~
She went home - some hours later,
when the dark had turned light.
~~~
It's three months later, rain is heavy. Big Tam's
dressed in his Father's suit.
He's at Boots' Corner - expecting 'afters' -
Wilma phoned and asked him out.
Wilma said that she forgives him and is sorry for moaning
about his 'few beers'.
So if he'd like to wait, he'll get a 'surprise'... one he'll remember,
she hopes, for years.
~~~
Just up the road, in the Gordon Bar,
the glasses are raised all around the room.
As Danny kisses Wilma, the people applaud
and toast... "To the Bride and the Groom!".

Untitled

by

Monty Bing

upon the hill there wiz a coo,it must huv mooved its no there noo!

Untitled

by

Monty Bing

if ah wiz a bull and you wur a coo,ah wid wang it intae you

mah arsehole

by

Monty Bing

ah fingurd mah arsehole n' noo mah fingur smells like puir shite,
aye...thats right...puir shite,
ah fun noo that ah canny wash it ('cos ah like the smell),
ah...
ah...
ah...
ah canny think o onything else fur the noo