Aberdeen
Never having been occupied,
Conquered by anyone,
The city stands away from the rest.
No better, but different.
Grey castles of granite
Have stood the trials of man and time.
Two rivers, their mouths only a short distance apart,
Have been crossed by centuries of men.
Rivers, from whence the name came.
From Richard Cemantarius to Barney Crocket
One hundred and seventy one different men
And two women have occupied , the Provost’s chair
in the nine centuries that have passed.
Entitlement and inheritance, Lords and Lairds,
All the way to working class.
Decisions made, some right, some not,
Some puzzling, nonetheless.
For everything that changes
Nothing changes.
But everything evolves.
There was a hole in the ground, some 142meters deep,
120 round,
The stone, within, grey stone, built the town, built
the city,
And in the sun it shines.
Tourmaline, beryl and mica. Sparkling.
Silver city by the grey North Sea.
The sea beloved by all,
Though somewhat dreich,
And always cauld.
Generations have walked the mat,
A tradition, long since over.
The mile long stretch, that is Union Street,
Has truly seen better days.
Better shops, better bars, better…
Well everything.
Everything was better in the past
According to some.
Different maybe,
But better?
But now, that walk is different,
These days,
Everything is different.
Everything is empty.
Empty streets, empty offices,
Empty shops and bars.
But no different to the rest now.
Not first or second best now.
Evolved because of The Covid.
One day perhaps. One week.
One year. The city streets will throng again,
The parks will echo to the voices of children,
And balls being kicked, and laughter,
Loud, uninhibited laughter.
Unafraid. Together. As one.
A city undivided.
But that may just be a pipe dream.
As rarely in the past has it been thus.
Hardly ever since King Robert The Bruce gave us the
Freedom Lands, after kicking out the English garrison,
from the castle,
have we, the people, the city,
held one accord.
But there are always at least two sides to every story.
Sometimes more.
But one thing we all agree on,
It’s our city,
Our Aberdonia, Aiberdeen, Obar Dheathain, Aberdeen.
Silver city by the sea. Granite City.
Ours, yours and mine.
All the time.
Happy to meet, sorry to part. Happy to meet again.
Aberdeen
Never having been occupied,
Conquered by anyone,
The city stands away from the rest.
No better, but different.
Grey castles of granite
Have stood the trials of man and time.
Two rivers, their mouths
only a short distance apart,
Have been crossed by centuries of men.
Rivers, from whence the name came.
From Richard Cemantarius
to Barney Crocket
One hundred and seventy one different men
And two women have occupied ,
the Provost’s chair
in the nine centuries that have passed.
Entitlement and inheritance, Lords and Lairds,
All the way to working class.
Decisions made, some right, some not,
Some puzzling, nonetheless.
For everything that changes
Nothing changes.
But everything evolves.
There was a hole in the ground,
some 142 meters deep, 120 round,
The stone, within, grey stone, built the town, built
the city,
And in the sun it shines.
Tourmaline, beryl and mica. Sparkling.
Silver city by the grey North Sea.
The sea beloved by all,
Though somewhat dreich,
And always cauld.
Generations have walked the mat,
A tradition, long since over.
The mile long stretch, that is Union Street,
Has truly seen better days.
Better shops, better bars, better…
Well everything.
Everything was better in the past
According to some.
Different maybe,
But better?
But now, that walk is different,
These days,
Everything is different.
Everything is empty.
Empty streets, empty offices,
Empty shops and bars.
But no different to the rest now.
Not first or second best now.
Evolved because of The Covid.
One day perhaps. One week.
One year. The city streets will throng again,
The parks will echo to the voices of children,
And balls being kicked, and laughter,
Loud, uninhibited laughter.
Unafraid. Together. As one.
A city undivided.
But that may just be a pipe dream.
As rarely in the past has it been thus.
Hardly ever since King Robert The Bruce
gave us the
Freedom Lands, after kicking out the English
garrison,
from the castle,
have we, the people, the city,
held one accord.
But there are always at least two sides to
every story.
Sometimes more.
But one thing we all agree on,
It’s our city,
Our Aberdonia, Aiberdeen, Obar Dheathain,
Aberdeen.
Silver city by the sea. Granite City.
Ours, yours and mine.
All the time.
Happy to meet, sorry to part.
Happy to meet again.