Albert Kirk Jr
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albertkirkjr.bsky.social
Albert Kirk Jr
@albertkirkjr.bsky.social
460 followers 980 following 550 posts
Scriever, Gomerel.

Scriever an Furthsetter o pish watter: a scots zine. A micht dicht ma posts noo an agane.

#ScotsLeid #ScotsLanguage #Scots #ScotsPoetry #ScotsScrievin #Gaidhlig #Independence #Scotland #ScottishIndependence #Music #Zines #ScottishZines
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albertkirkjr.bsky.social
Great movie. Bresslaw excellent.
Bernard Bresslaw and Sid James in Carry On Camping. Their heads are sticking out of a blue tent. They are happily ogling something out of shot. Probably Babs Windsor.
November 10, 2025 at 10:21 PM
albertkirkjr.bsky.social
I Shotts The Sheriff
Killie Me Softly
Wishy On A Star
Whole Lauder Love
I West Calder Say I Love You
Highway To Yell
These Butes Were Made For Walking
Tangled Up In Rhu
Don't Go Brechin My Heart
November 7, 2025 at 7:55 PM
albertkirkjr.bsky.social
A'll tell the ghaist gin A see it agane 🙂
October 31, 2025 at 9:49 PM
Reposted by Albert Kirk Jr
kokopellibfree.bsky.social
This wis 'e saison o #Samhain. Tae handsel 'e new beginnins, ilka body pit up their bagies, neeps, tumshies, pumpkins, or ony licht thay haed.

A Lichtsome Samhain!

---
(Ah'm nae native spikker.)

#Scotstober 2025-31st - #neep, #tumshie, #baigie
#WriteInScots #Scots #Doric
#WritingCommunity
This wis 'e saison o Samhain. Tae handsel 'e new beginnins, ilka body pit up their bagies, neeps, tumshies, pumpkins, or ony licht thay haed. A Lichtsome Samhain! --- © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree #Scotstober 2025-31st Halla E'en! neep - tumshie - baigie
October 31, 2025 at 11:12 AM
albertkirkjr.bsky.social
Onywey but, here it is, “Gallowgate Halloween” by, as A juist telt ye, NOT Edwin Morgan…
#Scotstober #Halloween #Halleen #Poetry #EdwinMorgan

An A'm gey sarrae for the tottie text 🙂
This is the first image of three in the post. Each image contains part of the poem. GALLOWGATE HALLOWEEN By Not Edwin Morgan Seven o'clock. The bus growls In the evening chill. I get off at Barrowland, Notepad in hand with a deadline to meet, And hope for public crisis or squalor. A greasy, one-legged creature trundles Past in a rusty wheelchair, garbed In soiled trackies and a Celtic top, But does nothing for me except Cadge a couple of quid, For Special Brew no doubt, Or A thighful of opium: Is an overdose in the street too much to ask? A nondescript old dear shuffles Along the frost-sparkled pavement, Face pinched with hunger, down To her last chuckies of coal (Do they still use coal? Check that later.), Unsteady in her Sue Ryder shoes, She does not, alas, collapse Or have the decency to fall through a window. Three urchins approach with holes for eyes, Each in a white sheet (I say white - they were filthy), The cheapest of guises, poor things, Although gallusness is free in the Calton: “Ho, Mister! Going tae gie us a pound fur wur Halleen?” Halleen! Brilliant! I write that down. But I do so sadly, because these wretched phantoms Cannot imagine the real ghosts of the Dear Green Place - Shipyards, backcourts, Tongs, etcetera - And their snotter-encrusted coupons (Which obviously I can't see, but come on), Like the barnacled hull of the Waverley (It still sails from Glasgow - I looked it up) Reflect a demoralised Clyde, Drained of all hope. I wait for a bit to see if they get hit by a truck. No. Tyche does not smile on me. Then thankfully the mother scuttles out: Jesus, the state of her! A midden in human form, blue tattoos On the arm - Hugh, Davie, Tam - The children's names, I surmise (Or the fathers’, perhaps), Vodka on the breath, Ciggy hanging from the lip like The condemned men who once swung here, Or Kelvingrove's Christ of Saint John, She sings to me in the local patois: “Mr Morgan! Going tae no dae a poyum aboot me and my weans?” Excellent. Clearly uneducated. Not like me. Professor and Poet. OBE FRSE. I assure her that I will do as she pleads, Safe in the knowledge that she’ll never read This. I give the children five pounds (They only wanted three, remember), For which they are told to be grateful And I get a taxi back to the West End. No-one died, unfortunately, Which would have been handy, but I'm consoled by what really matters in life: The simple delights of a good, honest, vibrant First draft.
October 31, 2025 at 8:25 PM
albertkirkjr.bsky.social
sin it says “By Edwin Morgan” on it tho it clearly isnae. Sae A wrut a muckle NOT afore his name sae naebodie is swickit by it. An A'll tell ye whit: A reck yon poyum is a DAMMT DISGRACE, an the scriever shoud be black-affrontit. Nae wunner the ghaist boltit whan A seen it.
October 31, 2025 at 8:19 PM