15 Scots Poems From The Gype Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Gype
I've a face like a bap an a neep shapit heid
Fur mair than three hunner year I hae bin deid
An me bein glekit I quickly wis feed
I'm the Laird o Udny's feel

Ma hair's like a coxcaimb, fowk caa me a gype
Bit I'm wattered an fed (an I'm nae ane tae clype)
Ilkie shank is as skinnymalink's a drainpipe
I'm the Laird o Udny's feel

I am coo an goose herd tae the Laird at the Haa
I tied towes roon his geese necks an thrapplit them aa
Bi mistak, bit himsel widna turn me awa
I'm the Laird o Udny's feel

I telt him the geese hid bin chokit wi greed
An they'd stappit thirsels ower forcey wi seed
Me bein a gype, naeb'dy thocht I hid leed
I'm the Laird o Udny's feel

Fin the Castle o Knockhaa wi flames burnt thrang
Ma tyke raised me up wi a bowf lood an strang
The maister slept on till a kistie I flang
Throwe the windae an saved him, it made sic a bang
I'm the Laird o Udny's feel

Ma Mistress sent me on the Jacobite's cause
Wi letters…nane stopped me (a feel kens nae laws)
Bit the castle wis selt intae Hanover's paws
An the Haa wis gien ower tae thon reid-coatit craws
Nae mair eese fur Laird Udny's feel

Ae nicht I wis drookit in peetiless rain
Atween fever an puirtith I scarcely won hame
Dinna beery me like a breet wis ma refrain
Bit they laired me unmerked wi nae cairn or heidstane
Fur the Laird o Udny's feel

A century later fowk set thon tae richt
An noo I've ma name on a stane in full sicht
O the warld, Jamie Fleeman, sae sirrah, gweed nicht
Frae the Laird o Udny's feel.
The Murmichans
The Faerie Queen rides oot o nichts
Heid o the Host…Unseelie Coort
Her sheltie's mane has tinkling bells
Deevilish is her eildritch sport

Nuckelavee gyangs back an fore
In kirkyairds, ben new howkit mools
The corp, sooked dry inbye its kist
Canna buy life for ony jewels

An hyne awa a hoolet sabs
Will o the wisps licht up the muir
Tae tryst men men intae daithly bogs
The meen hings yalla, wae an queer

In oorie glens pale ghaisties flit
An widdendremes cam coorse an chill
Shellycoats rattles throwe sea haar
Murmichans' weird's tae dae man ill


Time Warp: 1897-2017
Great-grandsire ran his empire frae this shop
Tradin the milk hurled in frae his dairy ferms

Noo it's the Corner Tree Café
Fake Edwardian/ Victoriana theme

Hurricane lamps wi bulbs insteid o wicks
Hing frae the windaes, relicts o somewye's past
Washed up like trendy driftwid

A railway clock ticks ower boxies frae Whitstable
Fishmerket cockles an winkles stamped on its sides

Great grandsire's brakkfast wis brose
Fresh frae the udders o his milkin kye
A daud o breid fur denner, hotchpotch soup
Neeps an tatties an ingins grown in his ain kailyaird

Noo café clientele claik in the chaumers
Scones reest in a birdcage. Vintage widden boxies
Haud chintzy furliegorums. (Elizabeth Draper- silks and threids
O Paradise Raw in Lunnon's Bethnal Green)
Menus are screwed on slabs o smeeth planed timmer

The dairy cairts aince clunkit ower the cobbles
Muckle cans clink-clinkin as the shelts'
Sheen struck the grun, the cans war reamin fu
O cream tae full toun faimlies cuppies, tins an joogs

Eenoo the menu's firmly cosmopolitan
Café latte, café mocha, expresso
Green tea, Cappuccino, Americano,
The sannies are stappit wi voodoo mango
Pesto, hummus, olives, an pastrami
Brie, chorizo, dill crème fraiche et al

Tea-total, ma fermin kin fa ained this airt
Micht hae approved o the liquid refreshments here
The café serves up smoothies, mango, papaya
Peach, sweet tattie, wud English elderflooer
Bollywood dreams chai an E teaket teas
Milk o soya, almond, coconut

Nae waucht o sharn an strae
Nae swyte o wark sypes frae the ghaists
Fa aince vrocht in this neuk
The claik aroon is global an genteel


The Hoolet
The hoolet sat in the hoolet's tree
He cockit his lugs an he listened
An fit wis his name I canna weel gie
Fur I'm nae richt sure he wis christened

He sat on his branch, I lay in ma bed
We twa watched ane anither
He fleched his oxters, he preened his wings
Wi niver a skreich nur a blether

He furled his heid frae wast tae east
He cast his een up tae the meen
He pykit his clooks an he shoogled aboot
Syne dauchled as still as a steen

The meen wis fite an the hoolet wis fite
He wis winnerin ‘Fa's thon vratch
O a fremmit body abed in the hoose
In a neuk o ma huntin patch? '

He luikit lang wi his glimmrin een
His feathers pluffed oot bi the win
Twa carnivores in the mids o nicht
Jist takkin each ither in


The Jaickies
The jaickies are aff frae the lum again
Hae they gotten a time-share in Aden?
Mebbe they're sikkin the win in their wings
At the crack o the Bullers o Buchan

Wad the jaickies be paiddlin wi roch drookit claws
On Peterheid's cauld sanny stran?
Or checkin fur ghaisties at Slains dae ye think?
Or the tatties in Tipperty's lan?

The hoodies ne'r set aff on furreign stravaigs
Tae Strichen, tae Mormond or Fyvie.
Sae fit trysts the jaickies tae savour delichts
In Langside or Turra or Crivie?

Oh jaickies oh jaickies cam back tae yer lum
As neebors yer perfeck, yer blin deef an dumb
Tae oor ongauns. Ye niver gee should we gae raikin
Niver spikk o oor craps fin at marts fowk are sklaikin
Tho a chucken is braw, clockin free reenge or pen
A lum's nae a lum wioot jaickies ye ken


Twal Wild Geese
Twal wild geese wauk beak tae dowp
The corn in the parks blaws brawly
The win in the birk gars the green leaves lowp
An the clock o Time ticks slawly

A tod whyles cams tae the cattle yaird
The corn in the parks blaws brawly
He struts wi the pride o a bunnet laird
An the clock o Time ticks slawly

Fin first I cam here, a growthy seed
The corn in the parks blaws brawly
The oats grew heich as ma wee bairn heid
An the clock o Time ticks slawly

A shelt still plooed the gweed broon grun
The corn in the parks blaws brawly
An the yolks o the eggs war bricht's the sun
An the clock o Time ticks slawly

Noo the kye are selt an the staas are teem
The corn in the parks blaws brawly
An masel grown auld bit the girse still green
An the clock o Time ticks slawly


The Seelent Cell
The dowie soun o the Boddam Coo
Manes ben the cauldrife lan
Ootbye the Nor Sea wars agin
The rocks, the haar, the stran

In the seelent cell the prisoner lies
In the derk, wi his thochts alane
He's tint aa sense o day an night
A lowe wioot a flame
The warld ootbye is deef tae his waes
Nane ken he's steekit there
In the leevin hell o the seelent cell
Pit mirk an teem an bare

An warder in fu riot gear
Fin the door like the lid o a can
Is opened…a wud breet breenges oot
A breet, that aince wis a man

O the seelent cell wis blaik's then pit
At the fit o the deepest mine
An thon's far the hardest prisoners
War sent tae serve their time


Gentle Johnny Ramensky
Johnny was a miner's son
Brought up in Glesga toun
Grew up tae be a safe brakker
Weel kent for miles aroon

This Lithuanian convict
Afttimes brakk free o jyle
They catched him and they shackled him
His escapades tae spyle

Bit fin the public kent o this
They tuik the cause in han
Gart shackles tae be banned foraye
In prisons throw the lan

Fin WW2 wis ragin
Gentle Johnny jyned the fray
He trained as a commando
And wore the Green Beret

They drapped him intae Italy
Tae fecht agin the Hun
A saboteur an safe-brakker
His medals, bravely won

Bit fin the war wis eyndit
He tuik up the burglar's role
On gamblin an the dug track
Gaed the siller that he stole

He sickened in the prison
He deed within a day
An Gentle John Ramensky
Passed intae history


Sydney Goodsir Smith

Whit o the Warks o Sydney Goodsir Smith
A Lallans, poet, artist, dramatist?
A michty screiver o the Scots Renaissance
A pouerfu playwricht an a novelist

Born in New Zealand, as a halfin lad
Moved ower tae Embro wi his faimily
At Oxford, studied History…wine, in France
An practised Art in blythesomeItaly

His wirds ye'll find in mony skeely buiks
Skail Wind, The Wallace, Under the Eildon Tree
Carotid Cornucopius, Lines Review
Kynd Kittock's land aired on the BBC

The Grace of God and the Meth-Drinker's much lued
The Wanderer, The Deevil's Waltz read weel
So Late into the Night and Figs and Thistles
An wirds on Robert Ferguson, puir cheil

His drawins edited bi Chapman Press
Orpheus an Eurydice, his poems, colleckit
An mony screivins upon Scottish lear
An ither buiks, wi doucest wirks, selecktit
Ye'll fin his wirds set doon in Makar's Coort
His banes lie quaet in cauldrife Dean kirkyaird
Kent as ‘the kilted kiwi' or ‘The Auk'
Kenspeckle body an a michty bard


Rowan
The rowan disnae argy wi the win
It bides jocose in its birth spot
It lichtens the wid wi flouers
Like bridal wreaths
It brichtens the wid wi berries
In autumn lowes.

Its leaves reeshle an fusper like a fugue
Its life is green, fite, reid
Spurgies flee tae its branches
Deevilicks fear its pouer


I cairry ye
I cairry ye inbye ma hairt
An while I live ye'll niver dee
Until ma een are steeked foraye
An eftir, fit will be will be


Simmer Moods: A Scots Owersett o a Poem bi John Clare
I lue at gloamin tide tae wauk alane
Doon nerra wynds ower-hung wi dyewy thorn
Far frae the lang girse in aneth the snail
Pit-mirk creeps oot an sproots his feartie horn
I lue tae dwaum ower leys jist newly mown
Far dwinin girse perfumes the gurly air
Far bees raik roon wi waesome, wabbit drone
In vain fur flooers that briered nae langsyne there
Whyle in the sonsie corn the happit quail
Skirls ‘weet ma fit' an hid as thochts unborn
The fey-like corncrake steps aroon the rail
Hubbers ‘craik craik' like vyces neth the grun
Richt gled tae meet the gloamin's dyewy veil
An see the licht crine intae derk aroon


Yule-Daunder,1957
I gaed oot tae the winter drift
Tae see the toun aa happt in fite
An ma wee shadda streekit lang
Far cranreuch cauld did nip an bite
An stervin robins on the wing
Duntit sma shmoodricks aff the twigs
An ilkie lum fite toories wore
A snaa shawl happit aa the brigs

The wynds war seelent in the cauld
Rikk raise frae lowes in ilkie hoose
The clocks war reid as poppy flooers
The cushie doo's curmurin crouse
Noo I am auld's Methusalah
I dinna daunder in the sna
I coorie in the hoose's warmth
Leavin the storm tae gull an craa

An my bairn fitsteps vrocht langsyne
Hae thawed awa like Time itsel
Sae short the space atween the crib
An kist that knolls the kirkyaird bell


Brither Masons
Mozart, Robert Burns. Benjamin Franklin
Alexander Pope, Gilbert (an Sullivan) ,
Sir Alexander Fleming, Peter Sellars
Sir Walter Scott, John Wayne, an Sun Yat Sen
Atlee, Garibaldi, Dr Bernardo
The Duke o Wellington, John Glen

Roosevelt, Louis Armstrong, Trollope, Garrick
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir Winston Churchill
Kitchener, Kipling, Wesley, George the Fourth
Jenner, Hogarth, Sheridan, Buffalo Bill

Fowk said the clachan's Masons kept a goat
That brukk its towe an chawed fowks' hingin waashin

They beeriet granda free, a hale clanjamphrey,
Weirin their braw regalia, lambskin aprons
An uncle, bein honoured bi his lodge
Wis blaik affrontit bi his drunken wife
Teemin a glaiss o fusky ower his heid.
Nae winner Brithers ban females frae meetins
Ye widna wint sic cheils tae be misfittit


Kenspeckle Chiel: Robert Lovie Tune: The Barnyards o Delgaty
A laddie frae New Aberdour
He gaed tae Broch's Academy
An bein smert he larned faist
The winner's door he caad ajee

Chorus
Doric, Compere, Manager
Entertainer, clivver cheil
Blythe an couthie, kind tae aa
Weirs the Heilan costume weel

For twenty years Rob Lovie bedd
At Fyvie Castle- sic a hame
A hunner rooms an veesitors
In thoosans…nae twa days the same

Chorus

He rules the reest at Braemar Games
Keeps up wi cabers, dancers, pipes
Fin clansmen cam frae hyne awa
Helps aabody frae chiefs tae gypes

Chorus

The Duke o Rothesay socht his aid
Tae launch the Rothesay Rooms sae braw
Tae gie a heist tae Ballater
Fin floods near washed the toun awa

Chorus

Pied piper o the North East land
His bothy ballad Doric's real
He's lichtened cruise ships wi his claik
And Glesga's Commonwealth Games as weel

Chorus

Be't Royalty or common fowk
This lad o pairts pits aa at ease
The ghaists o Fyvie Castle ken
Tae bide wi Robert is a breeze

Chorus

He is the Fyvie Pimpernel
Jist try tae catch him on the phone
They seek him here they seek him there
Blink twice an Robert Lovie's gone

Chorus