10 Scots Poems From The Poetry Hat Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1. Fermtoun Idyll
The sharny parks lie hett in the heicht o Simmer
The kye staun pugglit an trauchelt in the girse
Flees heeze aroon the hochs o the Friesian milker
Her dreepin teets are fu as a miser's purse

The ferm hoose coories doon aneth the wids
Aneth the wids an doon ablow the Bens
As bonnie an airt as iver graced the kintra
Bricht wi poppies an thyme frae the uplan glens


2. Daisy
Fa could eat Daisy sae fite an sae fair
Wi her wattles sae reid an her caimb in the air?

Nae mair eggies an sodjers in china egg cup
Gin ye thrappled puir Daisy an byled her up


3. Burn o Vat
Siller rins the Vat at gloamin
Skirped wi whisky-glents o gowd
Growin derkness mangst the fir trees
Catch the antrin prearlin cloud

Trinkle trinkle rins the Burn
Treetlin ower the troot-broon steen
Bonnie riverie o the Heilans
Hashin on till warlds be deen


4.Wumman an Cat
Miss Geddes steers her parritch doucely
A lanely secretar in her flat
An aa she has for company's
The TVscreen an her green-eed cat

Miss Geddes warssles intae wark
Far colleagues barely ken her name
Tho she's vrocht there nigh saxteen year
An ilkie scunnerin day's the same

In sun, in snaa, in haar in weet
Chyned tae her desk like some auld soo
An ilkie cheenge is smaa an quaet
Anither wrunkle ower her broo

Her cat, Flitch, has anither life
He lowps frae hoose tae street at nicht
An fin the meen hings ower the stars
His een bleeze bricht wi eildritch licht

His claws are reid an raxxed tae kill
His back is booed, his teeth glent sherp
Till pammerin sleekit ben the wids
He grallochs birdies in the derk

His friens are Minnaloushe, Sabine,
Nekobus, Makalu, Lucifer
An little Miss Geddes kens o this
Fin Flitch cams hame like a Sanct, tae purr


5.Twa Wee Craws
Twa wee craws withoot their maws
Gaed aff tae see the toon
They drapped, for fun, tae chaw a bun
A car caad twa craws doon


6.Variations on the Scottish Scone Eating Ceremony
Tyrone McGraw, aged three
Stuffs hauf a scone in his mou
In a wunner.
Jam squelches doon his chin
In jammy runnles
‘Pure deid brilliant, maw, ' sez young McGraw

Miss Clarissa McBride
Beheids her scone, perjink like, wi a knife
Her crannie cocked, in the noted genteel mainner

The scone lies quartered like Wallace
The clarty strawberries, the hero's reid intimmers
Oozin ower the fleshy dough, like bluid

Rab Duthie, tattooed welder,
Opens his piece-box wi a sigh.
‘Nae scones again, ' he murns
‘I'm nae some coffin-dodger.'

Kirsty McFaddyn an her professional peers
Sook their Proseccos, turn the ashets roon
Ett the peely wally triangles o breid
(thin as a leaf, wi cucumber atween)
Savin the scones for last

They tap it aff wi cream..
Scones, for the fashionistas


7.At the Carnies
Faithers stravaig by rides
Baldies wi shaved heids, their pynts wallopin
Lowse abune their trainers,
Their bellies shooglin, builder's bum ahin

Littlins, plottin wi swyte, plap past
Wi faces like wee hairst meens, rosie-reid wi rinnin
Ice cream melts in cones
Pygmy volcanoes eruptin treelips o fite

Weet hippens wechtit doon wi pee
Gar babies waddle like dyeuks

Trauchelt, the antrin toddler losses the plot
Skirls, snotters, greets, fleein in aa directions
She stamps her feet wi roose, a bylin kettle hotterin

The waltzers birl, a blur o skyrie cars
Stappit wi skreichin quines
Tae a dirl o lug-crackin music

Showdie powdie the pirate swing boats
Raxx heich tae the lift
An back. The Muckle Wheel furls roon
Like a Buddhist prayer wheel
Lauchter instead o prayers, wauchtin throwe the air

The makkie-on warld o the carnies
Far baddies aywis losse, has its ain glamourie
Aabody aff doon the Yalla Brick Road
Faister than a sports car at Le Mans

A fite wifie wi purple taenails
Gluggers doon the dregs o a frappacino
The play neuk for bairns is
Saft as a heeze o burgers. They stot an winna brakk

Aabody etts on the hoof like a herd o Friesians


8.Maister Callum Brochan, described as Scottish Food
Maister Callum Brochan
Is a sonsie wee pudden o a chiel.

Frae ahin, his bihoochie resembles
Twa clootie dumplins fechtin in a pyoke

It's as weel nae tae staun ower near him
His oxters bowf
Like the choicest fried kippers
Left twa days in the rain

His hair is taiglet like a bummil buss,
The colour o Irn Bru

His teeth are the hue o tablet,
Saft an broon wi sookin
Pandrops tae smush durin kirk sermons

His lugs are like twa mushies
Growin ooto a muckle neep
An his een are wee an weetie
Like blueberries new pickit
Bi an auld wife wi forcey thoombs

His wyme is as wummly as cranachan,
An his braith is wersh as goosers
Kirned wi dulse bree an ingins

Nae tae aabody's taste,
Bit watch his face licht up at
A deep fried Mars Bar!


9.Referendum: Eurydice Tint
A flashmob o mair nor 1,000 roarin ‘Ay'
Stappit the auncient Castlegate o Aiberdeen on a Setterday rally
Chantin, flag wyvin fowk
Bairns wi Saltire faces
A dug weirin its fite an blue jaiket
Gas wirkers, ile wirkers, halflin, littlins
Auld bodachs, chauncers, skiffies, sparkies
Cheerin ahin pipers, hippies, students
The warld an its wife on the rin up tae makkin history

Wallace's wirds dirled ben the granite cassies
Bruce on his shelt, raised his haun tae the lift,
In the killin hoose, the office, the mart
In the picture hoose, the howff, the skweel
The spikk on ilkie neuk wis aboot the Future
Posties, porters, bikers, hikers, argy bargyin

An syne, the votes war connted
Hopes cam tummlin doon
The aisse o yestreen steered up wi virr an smeddum
Swypit awa like stoor
Fit a difference a day makks!

The scales o indeceesion had trimmled an cowped
At waddins, kistins, christenins
At ceilidhs, bevvies, rammies
Aathin hung on the threid o brakkin news

Fit ouiji boord cud hae faddomed thon ootcam?
This day oor kintra cud hae raxxed its auncient wings
Taen flicht an soared

Bit like Orpheus luikin backwird at Euyrice
Dootin the pouer o oor richt tae a blythe new stert
We lowsed the grup on oor ain Weird an Kintra
An watched, puir gowks, it scalin like Scots mist


10.Twa Bs
A bidie-in called Beldie wis bidin at Braeside
Wi a bowdy-leggit Brocher, bynamed Bill
She wis boggin, a richt bletherskite
Bumshayvelt, bap-faced vratch
Fin her birse wis up the bizzim near could kill
Bob wore the breeks, the birkie, breengin blootered ben the hoose
Wi a beezer o a beilin on his snoot
He'd bowf Belle on her bihhochie, gar her bubble fit tae burst
Black-affrontit ither bodies gaunb aboot

It ay eyndit wi a bosie, for Bll hid a buttery wye
An fir wis twa blaik een cfin yer in luv?
It wid gie ye the dry boak tae see them bbbin tae the Broo
Like twa mochles frae a midden, haun in glove


11.Sheila Stewart MBE 1937- 2014
Born in stable in Blairgowrie
Blessed wi lear frae a traiveller's tent
Sheila Stewart, a hawker's dother
Sang for a Pope an a President

Berry pickin an besom makkin
Traivellin the glens in a shelt an cairt
Puin the flax an gaitherin corn
Thirled tae the beat o Nature's hairt

Last o the Stewart tribe o Blair
In Princeton, Harvard, she spakk wi virr
Sang wi the conyach in her sowl
Frae years o warssle in ootlinned smirr

Bullied an thrashed mangst the scaldie pupils
‘I'd burn ye aff the face o the earth'
A government body telt her faimly
Little they kent o the traivellers' wirth

Tattie-howkin, hawin the neeps
Fresh-watter pearlin, hairstin braw
Hamish Henderson thocht her heirskip
Wis reamin fu as a watterfaa

Kent an heard bi Royals an commons
(Aa the warld is the traiveller's stage)
Dother o the Queen o the Heather
Mither, traiveller, singer an sage
She'd hair as blaik as a corbie's wing
The muckle sangs fand a perfect reist
In her, the bairn o a maister-piper
The jewels o Scotia bedd in her briest
Born in stable in Blairgowrie
Blessed wi lear frae a traiveller's tent
Sheila Stewart, teller o stories
Talent like thon is born, nae lent