Where'm I from? The land ov slated slums
n junkfilled yards, zinc bathtubs, drab privet
an cluckin hens n neighbours clockin wiv it.
(My ol man the man who pulled down these drums.)
Then igh-rise flats of sex, drink, graft and porn,
work ta rule an all-out lightning strikes;
now turf n tides, the sweep of Galloway dykes,
a forge of stars frae dusk tae salty dawn.
Or none of these? A tricky kinda bloke,
me time spent on the whizz, dispensinfears,
I live in dreams then die, me ome is ears,
a con-man priest who stalks in holy smoke.
Me talk turns heads but no cunt's got a clue
bout where I'm from or what I'm comin to.

This poem was written some time ago but keeps on coming back to me. It is great for beginning readings. The poem is a sonnet constructed along the Shakespearean model and written in a moulded kinda cockney with a few Scots words thrown in, representing the mix of influences and origins. The phrase "on the whizz" actually means picking pockets but metaphorically it relates to any sort of "borrowing".