Druids, Drachts, Drochles (51 Poems In Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Simmer’s End: Deeside

The Dee lies smeeth’s a kelpie’s keekin-glaiss
The swallin rose-hip skirps the brae wi reid
Drookit wi sun, the purple heather blooms
Forget-me-not uplifts her winsome heid

A kirn o craws, blawn lum-rik, furl an flee
A peesie rises skirlin frae her reest
The milky clover dovers on her stem
A bummer sikks a harebell’s dyewy breist.

A heron, stiff’s an elder o the kirk
Is haloed bi a sunbeam, glimmrin gowd
Birks nod thegither — clash o claikin quines
A beech tree’s fusperin ghaist-tales tae a cloud

Sma bandies shoogle dwaumin bi the banks
The wechty watter’s lappin at their lug
A fisher wheeps a line slang a puil
Saft breezes gie carl doddie powes a rug

Like pink pagodas Wandrin Willies rise
A heeze o midgies steer in nippy ranks
A wid-wasp tries a fox-glove on fur size
The nettle stang’s a fire alang the shanks

The yoam o Simmer’s wauchtin frae the wids
The barley boos its bonnie, braided tap
Fern furls her feathered airms abune the brae
Trout lowp like commas, plunkin wi a plap.

Aside the slokin waves, thin-shankit girse
Hings dowie, dreepin dreich as widda’s weeds
A muckle aix ootraxxes hyne alaft
A daunce o licht an shade amang the reeds.

Neb beeriet far the thrissle breists the brae
A muir-moch frae a den o dappled neuks
Flits far tod-haunted shaddas sook the sun
A futterat pads, a moosie in her cleuks.

Tail-en o Simmer’s sweet slang the Dee
The larick biggs a reef ower glidin deer
Hawk hings, a bolt o lichtnin on the wing
Hairst-sizzen, reamin brose bowl o the year.

2. Daith

Daith meeves amang us, sleekit vratch
His victim’s ill tae ken
He makks a gairden o us fowk
Syne pues ane bi ane

3. The Quoich

Fin pibroch lingers on the lug
Fin wauchts o simmer come unsocht
Fin saftsome wins, the laricks, rug,
The Quoich rins aften ben ma thocht.

A Heilan cateran, its puils
Are targs o crystal, purest glaisse
Whyles in a tuilzie, ower it sweels
In Simmer, gowd. In Autumn, braisse.

Swack as a dauncer kicks her queats
Or swippert troot owerlowps a steen
The Quoich jinks roon a broon beech-foun,
A bonnie, bricht, plaid-preen.

The stars that licht the Heavens bi nicht
Skinkle atap her waves bi day
Pit-mirk draps doon her dusky goun
The shade, in ilkie amber bay

A fusper o rebellion hings
Yet, in the haughs o lowrin bens
Far Bobbin John cried oot the clans
A hornets’ nest, that teemed the glens.

The dawnin studs the Quoich wi dyew
The merle rings her banks wi sang
A hunner hare bells tinkle noo
Far anely ghaists an ghillies gyang.

4. Bog

Secrets bide in the bog
O warld, an weird, an wid
Still, an quate as a thocht
Sooked deep doon, an hid.

Midnicht meens lie there
Happt bi broon peat bree
Like coins in a kelpie’s lair
Ye’ve tyned, an canna pree.

Secrets bide in the bog
O warld, an weird, an wid
Still, an quate as a thocht
Sooked deep doon, an hid.

5. The Bombing

“Faither, fit kinno birdie’s yon? ”
Speired a loon at the door
“Anely a seagull hashin on
Fur the cauld sea shore.”

“Faither, fit kinno soun is yon
I hear aboon? ”
“Anely the birr o traffic, bairn,
Gaun ben the toun.”

“Faither, fit kinno ferlie’s yon
That faas frae high? ”
“A deidly flooer that blooms like a rose
Come back inbye.”

“Twelve hooses stude slang the road
An noo there’s nine.”
“Gie thanks that War has passed us ower...
This time, ”

6. Skyscraper Faimly

Skyscraper faimly, it maun be a chore
Bidin twenty storeys frae yer ain front door.
Bi day ye’ve gulls fur neebors, syne ye’ve stars aa nicht
Save on the electric wi the meen fur licht.

Skyscraper faimly, it’s affa heich, yer hoose.
Div ye keep a bat there, far we micht hae a moose?
Fit a tapsalteerie wunner o a street
Faimlies at yer heid, ay, an ithers at yer feet.

Skyscraper faimly, dis yer washin dry?
Dis yer mither peg it onno rainbows in the sky?
Div ye get a hurl on a passin aeroplane?
Veesit Spain an Italy, syne hame fur tea again?

Skyscraper faimly, ye’ve affa far tae faa
Naewye tae play wi a bicycle or baa.
Fin the bairn greets, dae ye hing her on a cloud?
My, it maun be lanely, hyne abeen the crowd.

7. The Keepsake

Nae as muckle’s a fitscraper
Nee as muckle’s a braisse bawbee
Did Aunt Margity pairt wi.
An ye canna come richt oot ’n speir
Wi the corp nae cauld.
Bit dam’t, I wis sweir
Tae leave yon bottle o Dimple
Wi gaed Uncle John last New Year
An him twa-fauld wi the flu
We’d jist be claimin wir ain
Gin we socht it, widn’t we noo?

“The pooch o a shroud’s gey teem”
Said Dougal an me.
“Ay, bit I’m nae the body that’s weirin it”
Back cracks she.

“John promised tae leave me a keepsake”,
Quo Teenie frae Brighton.
“Ah weel, ” sez the widda,
“Ye’ll hae’t … gin he’s pit it in writin.”

“Yon clock on the mantle
Belanged tae great granfaither Sim”
Quo Bunty an Bert.
“I thocht that it made a guid price
Fin I selt it, ”. Said Aunty rale smert

Gin ye hear a reeshle like leaves on the windae pane
It’s anely Aunt Margity, coontin her siller her lane.
She sleeps on a bunnle o fivers, as cosy’s a tup
An pyes her ain cockerel, at daybrakk, tae wauken her up.
She haives 50ps at the fleas fin they bizz roon her heid
Shews a hunner poun patch on a swatch o her trews wi a threid.
She’s a necklace o tippences strung like a fence roon her thrapple
An as muckle ten pences at hame as wad beery a Chapel.

8. Care

Wisna easy, y’unnerstaun...
Ye war her flesh an bluid
Seed o er seed
Bit she jist cudna haunle it
Jist cudna thole it, see?
Nae wye fur a hame tae be
Wi a bairn, boss o the hoose
Oot on the loose

Oot oan the street’s
Nae place fur a halflin geet.

A wee bit gallus loon,
Sudna be daein the Kung Fu
Drinkin the feekie wine
Winchin an chorin
Ettin the magic mushies
Sniffin the glue
Caain
aa
bastard
doon.

She did it
Fur yer immortal soul
Yer moral safety
Yer siblins welfare
Her ain sanity
She did it fur
Peace an quate
It wis a sair finality...

Abune aa
She did it fur
Fit she thocht wis best
She pit ye
Intae care
Ooto care.
It crucifeed her —
A corp that winna dee
Nur lay tae rest
She signed oan the dotted line
The Judas haun, that cowped ye
Frae the nest.

Yer a credit noo
Tae aa the multiple stauners-in
Mithers baith he-male and she-male
Ye met in the Child-care zoo
PS She nearly furgoat tae say
She Luvs you

9. Garlogie School, Circa 1915

Slowly an sadly we laid him doon
We rubbit his nose in butter
We pit him in a sardine tin
An floatit him doon the gutter!

10. Quasimodo

The sweet rot o the bramble buss,
Scratched entanglement o firs,
Places o half licht,
Are jungles o concealment.
Shaddaes, lang i the sun,
Cannibalised, amang a wab o jylers.
A wounded boar, riven wi spears
Will drag its dreepin spoor
Alang the daithly puddock steel
Far few daur gang.
I turn my spears, in their kent agonies
Watchin them bleed in secret;
Drag my Achilles heel,
Disdainin calipers,
The quasimodo hump, sae weel
Attached, I canna lay it doon,
An wid be tint wi’oot …
True Tammas, wi his honest tongue
Sisyphus, wi his stane,
The fykes an flecks o
An ill load, culled,
In the pebble wame,
Oot-scalin o insanity.
Cauld comfort,
Wi the cosie name,
o poetry.

11. Simmer Strand, North Sea Beach

The simmer sea’s a keekin glaiss
The lift, saft as a cooshie doo
Teets in o’t, wi an ee o oo
Drappin feathers, pink, an grey, an pearl
The sun skytes doon a sunbeam ower the swirl
O buttercup-bobbin waves
Chasin their blae begetters
Inno sandy graves.

Shoals o seagulls skreich;
Roch-wirdit fishwives,
They stalk the satty bree
On reid-raw shanks, fat matrons, ooto pech
Hopin a prize tae pree.

“John lues Stacy”
Screived alang the sand
Laists till the tide
Owersweels the wattery strand

The sea sooks staves like bylins intae smush
Till they’d fit ben the ee o a needle
A skittery hurlygush
O teenie-weenie grains
Reeshlin along the sea’s unfaddomed veins
The waves are shelties,
Ruled bi the meen’s reins.

12. Willie Tawse

Fin e’re the hoolet cried “hoot-toot”
Willie Tawse stravaiged aboot
Like a futterat he wid prance
At a rave, he’d heid the dance
He’d shakk, he’d lowp, like fire in’t smiddy
Like ony wino on reid-biddy
He widna wirk, tho far frae glekit
Langsyne his schulin he’d forsakit
Bit mair an mair, nocturnal grew
(Apairt frae signin on the Broo)

Aa day, some like a crooshied cloot
Ower sofa, he’d be streekit oot
Ye’d takk him fur a Wally dug
Or flattened Oriental rug
He widna meeve... jist snored, an fleched
An moched an raxxed an dwaumed an peched
Till, on the T.V. horror picturs
O timmer-sarked, wirm-etten craiturs
Gart littlins shakk. Oot on the loose
Willie wid steer, an leave the hoose
Wi ither flee-bi-nichts hobnobbin
Will-o-the-wisps at discos bobbin

Bit wheesht... I hardly daur tae tell
Aboot the cheenge come ower himsel
For Willie’s snoot grew sherp an pynted
Like sleekit tod, wi nicht anointed
His lug turned saucer-shaped’s a bat
His ee luiked nerra as a cat
Like strippit brock, his guff wis rank
Nee langer roon the quines he’d swank
For frae his sheen, new-riven teirs
Showed orra cleuks, a ratten, weirs.
This mixter-maxter breet-cum-human
Turned blaik’s a cauldron o bitumen

A rareity, puir Willie Tawse
Fa’d brukken aa o natur’s laws
Bedd hame affrontit. Stoor crept ower
His taes, his kyte, his verra glower
As deid’s a curtain’s velvet tossle
Willie Tawse, becam a fossil
O raves an discos, bairns, be feard
Mind ye on Willie Tawse’s weird

13.The Auld Curiosity Shop

Fower ferlies bedd in a neuk
A clarsach, a clock, a plate
Wi a caunlestick, yalla’s a stook
Fa keepit his coonsel quate.

The clarsach’s trimmlin note
Aince gart a laird takk tent
Ae pluck o her warblin throat
Aa sorra an blytheness blent

The ashet frae Auld Japan
A gairden catched in his glaze
Far a Geisha flutteret her fan
A Mandarin tae bumbaze

The clock wi her kennin face
Keepit time tae a littlin’s lauch
Till the littlin grew twa-fauld
An the braith o’t wis snippit aff.

The caunlestick cast a lowe
Ower a leddie’s keekin glaiss
The licht ay cocks its powe
The vauntie leddy’s aisse.
14. A Bumbee Stang Me
A bumbee stang me
I winna tell ye far
A bumbee stang me
I winna tell ye far
A bumbee stang me
I winna tell ye far
Roon at the back o
My jeely jar!

15.Davie Green the Grocer-Oh
A fragment of a cornkister composed by the poet’s grandfather Alexander Middleton, born Gellan Coull 1877, died East Mains Aboyne 1935.to the tune Rothesay-oh

A kintra chiel made up his min’
Tae stert a business in Abyne
Abune the door he hung his sign
’T wis Davie Green the Grocer-oh
An if at nicht yer feelin dry
The Charleston it will not supply
Jist takk a dander roon the wye
O Davie Green the Grocer-oh

Chorus
Caunlesticks caunles castor-ile
Fleein machines o the latest style
Aathin ye wint wi a cheery smile
Frae Davie Green the Grocer-oh

A stickin plaister fur a sair
Or soothin iyntment he’ll prepare
The druggist caas him somethin mair
Nur Davie Green the Grocer-oh
A stud o splendid horse he’s got
At cairtin jobs he’s keen tae quote
Auld Middleton he cud see him shot
Davie Green the Grocer-oh!

16.Tammy Tod

Tammy tod ahin the dyke
Did ye steal Dan Wabster’s bike?
Faither says that we maun watch
Ye, ye tarry fingered vratch

In the hen hoose on the lea
Are twa hens, far there war three
Wi a dyeukie in yer mou
I saw ye creepin ben the dyew

I ken ye canna help bit reive
Bit its agin man’s law tae thieve
Tammy Tod, foo wad ye wyle
The days awa, stappt in the jyle?
17 The Futterat
The futterat snaps up mice, fur a wager
His mowser’s brave as a serjeant major
His een are hat preens
Pink’s yer crannie
He likes bluid,
Sae ye’d best ca-cannie
He’d hae yer haun aff
Flesh, thoomb, been
His teeth’s as sherp as a guillotine
He guffs like a rotten, rottin in a drain
Lowps ben the girse like a rin-a-wa train
Like a wee fite brig
Staunin humphy ower a burn
Wi his twa een bleezin
He’ll stop an turn
An “Wha daur meddle wi me? ” he’ll spit
“I’m as jobby as a thrissle an I’m faist o wit
I can lowp, I can fecht, I can rin upstairs”
Bide awa frae the futterat
Or LUIK OOT FOR SAIRS!

18. The Heilan Fling

Licht’s a harebell on the Ben
Straucht’s a thrissle doon the glen
Bob an birl like Jenny Wren
Tae daunce the Heilan fling oh

Like a stag wi kinnelt bluid
Airm, razzed heich abune her heid
Ilkie step, a patterned threid
Tae daunce the Heilan fling oh

Velvet jaiket, siller braid
Kilt an bonnet, tartan plaid
Brooch an buckle fur the maid
Tae daunce the Heilan fling oh

Hear the rousin bagpipe skirl
Gars the pulse tae stoun an dirl
She maun lowp an hooch an birl
Tae daunce the Heilan fling oh.

19. Daddylanglegs

Daddylanglegs, like a crane
Stots aroon the windae pane
On his stilts he styters ben
Wandrin Willies in the fen
Like a muckle lang giraffe
Ower mony legs bi hauf!
20. Midgies
Vampires roon the campfires
Heeze heeze heeze
Midgies midgies midgies
Dinna bite please!

Gang tae Transylvania
Gang an takk a dook
Midgies midgies midgies
Yer naethin bit a sook!

21.ABC From a traditional bairn rhyme, spoken by Charles Middleton

A B C
Fin I wis three
I eesed tae like a tatty
Noo I’m fower,
Fowk staun an glower
An aabody caas me fatty...,

22.Doon in the Glen

Doon in the glen
Wi horns like lums
The snailie sleeps
An the wyver thrums
An the mavis threips
Her sma sma tune
Doon in the glen
At the broon beech foun

23.Dauncers

The rottens daunced alang the barn
The glegs they pranced abune the sharn
Up bi the burn, fur a braisse bawbee
Willie McArthur daunced wi me!

24.Mistress Craw

Mistress Craw
Sat doon tae jaw
Bit aa her neebors
Ran awa!

25.The Hornygollach

I met a hornygollach.
I winna tell ye far —
His heid wis facin North an East
An fit wis even waur
His airms an legs war bandy, fegs,
His teeth bedd in a jar.

I met a hornygollach.
I likit him rale weel
He booed tae me, an leuch tae me
An daunced the eichtsome reel.

26.Snailie

Snailie snailie on the waa
Are ye niver feart ye’d faa?
Wi yer hoosie on yer back
Like a hiker wi a pack?
Feech, snailie, dicht yer snoot
Slivvrin ower the waiter spoot!

27. Winter

The sna’s here
It drappit doon
A duvet ower the park
Let oot a sneeze
Amang the trees
On ilkie timmer bark
Jack Frost he peintit siller
On the fir tree’s sark.

The sna’s here
The robin wytes
Fur me tae gie him breid
His breist is nippit wi the cauld
It’s dirlin-sair, an reid
His granny sud hae wuvven him
A toorie fur his heid!

The sna’s here
The icicles like
Antlers o a stag
Are hingin lang an pyntit
Wi ilkie win they wag
An aa the clouds abune the crowds
Are playin tig an tag

28. Traditional Bairn Sangs as taught to the poet by her father, Charles Middleton, Aboyne

My mither said
I maun go
Wi ma daddy’s denner-o
Chappit tatties, beef an steak
Twa reid herrin an a bawbee cake

I cam tae a river
I cudna get across
I pyed 5 shullins
Fur an auld blin horse
I jumped on his back
An I gied him sic a crack
That I made him daunce the polkie
Till the boat cam back

29. Dandy

My lad’s a bonnie lad
My lad’s a dandy
My lad’s a bonnie lad
He likes sugar candy
Gin ye wint tae gie him a dram
Dinna gie him brandy
Takk the bottle frae his heid
An gie him sugar candy

30. Doric Food Rap

Birssle! Birssle! sing the twa broon kippers
Catched fur the grill bi the North East skippers
Oatcakes, cornflakes, da likes haddies
“Weetabix fur us” cry growin laddies!
Granda’s suppin up pease-meal brose
Gyad! Yon’s scunnerin, haud yer nose.
Granda’s teeth’s in a wee fite mug
Doon gaes the pease-meal — Glug, glug, glug.
Molly, the collie, chaws an auld coo’s been
The catty gnaws a ratty wi its milk an cream.

Skweel denner’s trendy... Mine’s a pyock
O chips wi a burger an a can o Coke
Kali, frae Bali, in classroom three
Swallaes her chippataes wi a cup o tea
Dod, Jean, n’ Donna, sit doon tae dine
On a parten, an a labster, frae the ocean brine.

Hame tae teas-snuff the smells as roon!
Hairy tatties wyte fur Willy Broon
Pizza fur Peter brocht frae Italy
Omelette fur Jessie bocht in gay Paree
Stir-fry chucken jist fur Mary Ann
Paella fur Bella — chilli fur Sam.
Mary Buchan’s waukin back tae stovies
Mrs Giuseppi’s dishin up anchovies
Jimmy May’ll hae a plate o skirly
Cullen skink is in the pan fur Shirley
An I can tell bi the sea-fish-bree
There’s buckies bilin in the hob fur me!

On wi the jammies — suppertime noo
Shortbreid, cocoa, my kyte’s fu!

31. Fairm Toun
Cross rinnin watter — turn a nippy neuk
Skiff roon a dyke an wauk a ferny brae
Sheep dover in the gloamin. Rowans, dwaum
The mist amang the birks is furlin, fey.

It rings the fairm biggins like a torc
A hoolet flichtert frae a beech’s fork
Sae saft’s the grey curmurrin o the doos
Bees sikk their skepps, the wechty barley boos.
Heich simmer in the Howe. Page frae perfection, torn
Rigs reeshle, green wi girse, or gowd wi corn!

32.'The days are riggin us in blaik'
Al-Maarri: Persian Poet, died 1058. Inglis Translator Henry Baerlein.

The days are riggin us in blaik
Fur Him fa’d hing us like craws.
There’s nae daith fur the sun. I ken
The centuries are nippicks o the nicht.

Hinna ye heard wyce bodies gie the dreich threip?
That spite o wir bigsy wyes
Wir bit quaet shaddas,
Tied tae wir taes.

First ae religion’s tapmaist
Till anither’s briered
Fur man can niver thole a mortal weird
Bit ay sikks anither gowk-spikk.

God’s abüne.We’ll niver win
Wir freedom, frae hauns that
Dig wir mools.
Nor can we shakk aside the wechty cloud
Mair nur a slave can brakk
The hefty chyne that rules.

33.Owerset in Scots frae The Prophet/The Druid, Kahilil Gibran

Quo a wife wi a bairn at her breist
“Spik till’s o littlins”
Sae he made repon, “Yer bairns arena yer bairns
They’re the bairns o Life’s Langin fur leevin.
They traivel ben ye,
Bit arena pairt o ye. They bide wi ye
An yet ye dinna ain them;
Ye may gie them luv
Bit nae yer thochts.
Their thochts are aa their ain...
Ye makk a bield fur their flesh
Bit nae their speerit,
Fur their speerit bides
In the Hoose o the Morn
An that ye canna veesit
Nae even in yer dwaums
Fur life gyangs aywis forrit
Niver back”

Quo a mason, steppin forrit
“Spik tae us o hooses”
Sae he made repon
“Bigg in yer thochts a sheilin in the muir
Er ye bigg a hoose in the toun
Fur fin ye gyang hame in the gloamin
Sae dis the gangrel inbye ye
The Iver-Afar-Aa-Alane

Yer hoose is yer greater body.
It grows i’ the sun,
It sleeps i’ the quate o nicht,
It isna teem o dwaums.
Dis yer hoose nae dwaum,
An dwaumin, quit the toun
Fur wid, or muirlan brae?

Tell’s, fowk o Orphalese
Fit keep ye in yer hames?
Fit is’t ye guaird
Wi snibbit doors?
Is’t peace? Is’t mem’ries? .
Yon glimmrin brigs
That raxx alang the summits o the Mind?
Is’t bonnieness o speerit?
Tell’s — hae ye these
Inbye yer hames?
Or hae ye anely comfort — an the wint o comfort
That sleekit scunner that gains the hoose, a guest
Syne feenishes its host, its verra maister
Its hauns are saft. Its hairt’s forged in the smiddy
The lust fur comfort smores the speerit
Syne wauks smirkin tae the kirkyaird like a gowk.

34.Wyceness an Luv
Owersettins Freely Made in Scots o Yunus Emre’s Verses o Wyceness an Luv Frae the Inglis settins o his wark in the buik ‘City of the Heart; Screived bi Suha Faiz,1992 (Element)

Fin animate/inanimate are melled
Ye ken nae wint, nae fleg
Science an tcyauvin dwines awa
Aa’s ane. Nae scales. Nae brig.

Rowe yersel in Unity.
Sing its sang richt merrily
Tae leave ahin Duality
Oh thrall, foresweir Identity!

Cast doon yer plaid,
Rin forrit, kin tae Kin
Mirled wi the muckle Ben
Tae ye, aa wyes syne win

Sense is nae langer socht
A single Mou spikks ilkie leid
An ilkie thocht that’s iver Thocht
Comes frae the selfsame Heid
An ilkie claith that’s iver vrocht
Twines frae a single Threid.

35.The Scottish Bairnies’ Makker

“Is Jimmy Annand hereaboots?
Tell him tae come ben”
Cries auld St Andrew crousely
“There arena mony men

Can reel a rhyme as guid’s a gird
The little fowk tae cheer
Throw monys the stoory classroom
His wirds, like caunles, brier.

Thon gleg Scots wirds the lave owergie
Tae muckle wechty thocht
Forgettin ilkie siller pound
Is wi smaa pennies bocht

Bring Jimmy Annand ower tae me
At rhyme, there’s nane that’s swacker
An he sall be at my richt knee
The Scottish bairnies’ makker.”

36. “Tak tent. Ma wirds are steerin again”: Fragments o Colotes

Tak tent. Ma wirds are steerin again
Claikin tae thirsels, wi me
Harknin tae them, fooshionless.
Puir Colotes, vratch an gadaboot o the thochts
Aywis harknin tae the wirds reamin ower
Sayin, “Ye, Colotes,
Colotes, ye o Lampsacus, born
Amangst the olive wids an crickets
An splytrin burns, an crickets, rinkin on
Blythe in the sun, rinkin on aboot
The pleisur o bein blythe in the sun
Ye, Colotes, (ye’ll mind the name aa richt)
Cricket o Lampsacus
Pleisur-sikker, underling, skiffie o the bluidy sun,
(An yon’s jist dandy, sez I)
Skiffie o sorts tae a claikin tongue
Ay harkin tae fit
It’s claikin aboot Blytheness
An the state o yer Sowel.”
Mind... The state o ma sheen
Hisna a luik in!
Nae yet, onywye.
Nae on a day like this
Wi the sun warmin the yird tae stoor
An buggar aa else adee.

37. The Man in the Meen

The man in the meen is a hardy gurran
Wi ice in his ee, an stars in his sporran
He teets in the windaes, the burns, the lochs
The puils in the cassies, the stirkies’ trochs

He strikks a glint frae a futterat’s cleuks
Draps spirks o fire on the weety stooks
He’s the will-o-the-wisp in the blaik pit-mirk
Crackin a spunk on the crookit birk

He kinnles a lowe in the sharn bree
Syne lichts the bawd wi her littlins three
Taps the spire o the cantie kirk
Till it’s fite’s a swan an as clear’s a dirk

He heids the onguans, at Halloween
The auldest warlock the warld’s seen
King o the ghaists an the bogles tae
He’s the leerie-man o Hogmanay

An ill-faschent carl, fa glowers aroon
The crannies an neuks o the sleepin toun
The tod an her littlins ken him weel
He’s the lamp that brichtens the hoolets’ meal

Nicht-watchie abeen the ocean wave
Guairdin the cradle an the grave
He’s a gangrel cheil o the traivellin race
Wi a pack on his back an a big, bap, face

He bedds him doon in a dubby park
Wi his quine, the gloam, an his loon, the dark
“Ta ta” sez he, “I’ll be back the nicht
Brichtenin the warld wi ma oorie lichts”

38. Here's the Kirk

Here’s the kirk, an here’s the steeple
Open the yetts, an here’s the people
The meenister preached tae Thee an me
“Aabody’s damned bit us, ” quo he
“The Turks, the Hindis, the Chinee tee
Fur we are the chosen people”

39. Trial by Cutlery

Serviette ower lap or thrapple?
Blaw on soup — or brunt yer mou?
Ett yer pudden wi a fork.
Yon’s a stammygaster, noo!

Brakk a croissant wi yer fingers?
(Fur it skytes aneth a knife
Flees across yer ashet makkin
Squarly fur yer host’s guidwife.)

Mind yer pan-loaf, dinna steep it
In the broth, syne steer it ben
Dinna speir fit’s in the tatties
Fegs, ye widna wint tae ken.

Niver news wi half a pheasant
Keekin oot atween yer lips
Dinna glug the wine like Bacchus
Dilettantes sup in sips

Gin yer cutlery’s gey stoory
Niver dicht it on yer brikks
Till they bring ben the Drambuie
Ae fause move, ye’ve crossed the Styx.

40.Roman Villa, Alcudia

Sun, shadda, palm.
Thrush’s clashin anvil
Teem shell

Sun, shadda, palm
Time’s sounless file
Teem lairach.

41.Toun Blues

Gairdens are stane Bastilles
Waas spiked wi shards o glaisse
Far fat-arsed corgies
Fyle smaa squars o girse.
Gin ye stravaig tae a park
The warld an its wife are there
Tirrin a creashie sark
Tae the tinnie birr o trannies,
The lawns, shaved flat’s a bap.
Gin ye stravaig tae the beach
The sea wull wash a condom
Ower yer sannies,
Served wi a satty plap.

Like human hutches,
Each wi’ts ain wee run
Wir gairdens thole dreich doonpish,
Wattery sun
Glimsks ower a toun wi granite biggins happed
Ilk knowe and howe ceemented ower an capped
Wi forests o street lichts
Rivers o fowk rin reamin ower the cassies
The lift is blae wi rikk
Cars, breenge an birr
Wi seagull-drappins
Clartit ower their chassies
As sweir an contermaschious as Auld Nick

The days are threidbare
Fur the indiginous Scot.
The nichts hing doon like bats,
Frae a thoosan semis an flats
Clashes the claik
O fremmit ile incomers
Makkin wir wyes an heirskip
Seem a wake.
Gaels, claw respeck an siller frae fat cats
Oor lan, an leid, is
Cairtit aff bi rats.

42.AIDS

The act o luv brings daith insteid o life
The plague o AIDS strikks silent as a scythe
The Reaper skitters skulls mangst bits o bairns
Takks flooers frae luvers’ hauns, tae hansel cairns.

43. A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever/ Birse Farmer, Circa 1963

Heich simmer makks the hochs a love-juice cauldron.
Dauchlin astride a sunshine-drookit dyke
I heard an engine purr, an iron bawdron.
The bowfin o a coo’s-lick touslie tyke.

Syne suddent, frae ayont deep shaddaed trees
A fairm-chiel drave his combine ower the lan
The jetty curls upon his broo ableeze
Wi sun, as ony bonnie Grecian Pan

Braid showders, glistenin broon, the loon, bare-backit
Sat squar abune the corn like a young God
Ridin alang the barley-rigs half-nyaakit
Watched bi a lustfu virgin, an a bawd.

Reid kerchief lichtly wippit neth his chin
A mou wad sook the hinney frae a bee
Sweet fusslin, ower the birrin chariot’s din
He smiled full on me, wi a bull-black ee.

Twa birdies flichtered, coortin ben the corn
Syne drappt tae couple, as pretensions tirred
Their birdsang like the soundin o a horn
Biddin me cast ma bairnhood tae the yird.

He raisse tae cry his tyke, the stoot claith held
The fite swan o his secret manhood trussed
As faist’s a muir-fire wi a breem is melled
I kent the gnaawin thorn-stob o lust.

44. Januar

The year birls on its axle
Rikk frae a wintry reef
Is a ribbon o grey frae a cauldron
Furled like a cassen leaf

Hyne in the wast, cauld cailleachs
The ghaists o the Grampians lie
Back o the ploo far the bare birks boo
Is blaik’s a tinker’s gley

A keekin glaiss o watter
Is the puil that the dubs rise roon
Far the elfin green o the chitterin breem
Casts its drookit likeness doon

Straicht lines o Black Watch sodjers
Haudin their bayonets heich
Are the fir wids raxxed ower fairmlans
Far the leaden lift hings dreich

Januar — spinnly branches
Wi their fingers aboot tae brier
Throw the snaw an haar o steen-cauld glaur
Gie birth tae the bairn-new year.

45. The Sang o Amheirgin: owersett in Scots

I am a stag o seeven tines
I am a spate alang a lea
I am a win ower lochan deep
A tear, the sun loots doondrap free
I am an ern abeen the Craig
I am a stob aneth a nail
I’m a bumbazement mangst the flooers
I am a warlock... it’s masel
Kinnles the cweel heid reid wi rikk.
I am a spear raxxed heich fur bluid
I am the salmon in the puil
I am a lure frae Tir-nan-Og
A knowe far sennachies travail
I am a boar, rampagin reid
A hurlygush o waefu weird
Drooned daith, aneth the ocean’s sweel
I am a bairnie … fa bit me
Teets far fey staunin steens are stapped?
I am the wame far otters bide
I am the sunbleeze on the knowe
In ilkie bees’ skepp, I’m the bride
I am the bield fur ilkie powe
The mool, far ilkie hope is happed.

46. Yule & Simmer
Owerset in Scots frae the Welsh poet Thomas Telynog Evans(1840-65)

Aa the blytheness o Natur
Beeriet in the mools o blaikest Yule!
The win sang a dowie lament —
Sic dule in its cauld cry keenin!
Syne the girthy Simmer daunces ben
A rowth o life in its airms
Skitterin rosie flooers sae bonnily brierin
Ower broo o knowe an glen.
In bonnie unity, the wid dons its green goun
Simmer cocks on the throne wi the ae eerin
Tae strum its clarsach, the willow
Fa’s strings hung quaet, sae wizzent wi wae in Yule
Noo, singin its ain sang —
Wheeshtie. Tak tent! Tak tent!
The warld is steerin.

47. The Burn an the Ben
Owerset in Scots frae the Welsh poet John Ceirog Hughes (1833-87)

Burn o the Bens, slokin an pure
Birlin doon tae the glen
Fusperin sangs i’ the girse
Wad that I war as ye!

Heathery knowes in flooer
At sicht o thee langin owercams me
Tae bide on the Ben wi ye, if
Foreay mangst the win an ling.

Sma birds o the michty Ben
That soar i’ the caller air
Flichterin frae tap tae tap
Wad that I cud jyne thee!

Bairn o the Bens am I
Hyne frae hame, in the dreich deid-thraa
My hairt is ay in the glen
Wi the heather, an birdies smaa.

48. Tae the Sun
Owerset in Scots, frae the Heirskip o the Scots Gaels

“Guidday tae ye, sun o the Sizzens.
As ye traivel the lift hyne abune
Stinch is yer fit on the clouds
Blythe mither o the starnies.”

“Ye coorie doon in the gurly sea
Withoot skaith, and or the hint o a scrat
Syne rise up ower the quaet wave
’Bune aa, a young quine flooerin! ”

49. Heich fur Houghmagandie!

The makk o man is richt designed
A wummin’s pud tae pleisur
Gin he’s weel-hung, she’ll draa the bung
Tae praise him in guid meisur

An he may chap his tirlin-pin
Her yett tae caa ajee
Fur ilkie merry maid maun hae
A jo tae birzel wi

The mount o Venus boos tae grip
A stick o Adam’s stock
The tappit hen lies doon afore
The crawin o the cock.

In mony’s a hame at dawn o day
The spurtle bangs the coggie
An gin it winna, wives will gie
The guidman’s cod a shoggie

Sae shortsome, shortsome is the nicht
Warmed bi anither’s shanks
Weel leeze-ye ’tween the snawy sheets
Fin luv kicks aff the branks

Some worship lear, an ithers, gear
Gie me a rousin randy
A brawny back, tae stap a crack
Syne heich fur houghmagandie!

50. “In This Braif Toun”: No363 Union Street (Bruce Miller’s)

Afore that this braif toun wis bigged ava
Langsyne the lan wis roch, an taiged wi whin
A puckle staunin stanes raise tae the sky
A Druid circle in the keenin win

The pagan priests were maisters o the dark
The Lang Stane bides … a marker tae their wark
Ony fa sikk tae shift it, coort a curse
Loss o their hearth an hame, their gear, or worse.

A puckle wars, a Celtic thane or twa
Disturbed this airt o muirlan bog an breem
The Causey Mounth — yon auld road frae the coast
Cut ben its braes frae Sooth tae Aiberdeen
The infant toun that traded bi the sea
Bairn o the dimplin Don, the sparklin Dee.

The cruel Montrose set aathin tae the sword
An sacked & plundered wi his Heilan horde
Syne doon yon road the deein an the deid
Fled frae the toun an washed the braes in bluid.

The lan wis tamed, the yalla corn waved heich
An strawberry gairdens ripened in the sun
A country idyll far the tounsfowk strayed
A tryst fur lovers, fin the day wis done
Until the swallin toun raxxed oot an airm
Flang Union Street throw gairden, glebe, an fairm.

Braw granite hooses grew frae corn & peat
An doctors gaithered, snod as Harley Street
In yon, the genteel quarter o the fen
Far swanky gigs an broughams cantered ben
Stablin, an cairriage hire wis ’stablished near
Tae park yer shelt, ooto the business steer.

In 1890, in this self-same neuk
A maister-craftsman warked wi willin bent
Carver & gilder, Thomas Hampton tcyaaved
Tae earn a bawbee an tae pye his rent
Syne Galloway & Sykes tuik ower his gear
An leased the feu fur mair nur echty year.

Noo Music’s selt here, fur the thrivin toun
Piano & fiddle cheer the cassies’ croun
Druid & crofter, doctor, fairmer, tee
They as hae bidden here, at 363.

51. Ins an Oots

They skelp a baa aroon a park, aimin fur a hole
Preenin aa their veesion on a flag abune a pole —
Or kick a baa aroon the girse, dubs frae buits tae knee
Rinnin back an forrit, like a reid-ersed bee.
Powk a baa alang a cloot, aimin fur a neuk,
Doon it draps. Oh winnerfu! It disna. Fit a sook!

Wedded wives an bidie-ins, aa the truth maun face
Fitba, snooker, rugby, gowf, hauds menfowks’ pride o place
Laundry, cookin, swypin styew... weemin bide at hame
Skirlin littlins, shitey hippens, ilkie day the same...

Yon’s Jock Sim stood at the door... Can Tam come fur a pint?
He canna. Faith... he’s ’neth the thoomb. His nose is ooto jynt.
An gin ye gyangs, ye may be sure, ae pint is twalve an twa
He’ll drink a hauf wikk’s wages doon... syne pee’t agin the waa
An hyter hame a sorry sicht... wi hauf.the pub in towe
(Jist drapped in fur a news ye ken, fur drams an cairds till 5 am...
Fit needs there be a row?)

They caa this thralldom ‘wedded bliss’... ye’ll find they dinna grudge it
Tae chyne ye tae a kitchie sink, wi bairns on a smaa budget.
Tae pairt wi siller tae the wife wad jist be vile wastrie
She’d spen it as on eesless dirt, like heatin, claes, an pastry.

I jinked the jyler. Noo my lane,
There’s naebody tells me ‘Canna’
Divorced, an sae I come an gae
An naebody sez I mauna

Man’s anely eese that I can see, is in aneth the sheets
My perfect stud wad hae tae haud the virr o ten Magrittes
A dash o Chopin, Freud, an Blake
Moravia an Dali
Georges Simenon, Hans Holbein, Keats,
Buddha, Burns, an Saki
Napoleon, Dante, Tarzan...
Ted Hughes, an jist fur fun
Leonidas, Aurelius,
An Attila the Hun.
Seamus Heaney, D.H. Lawrence,
Poirot, Pepys an Heinrich Heine
… Bit I’d settle fur a shottie
O a pairt-time concubine

Ay, luikin’t up, an luikin’t doon
I’m nae in ony doot
Afore I’d be a bidie-in
I’d be a bidie-oot!