Serendipity (18 Scots Poems, Ceylon Et Al) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.A Song of Two Islands

Neep an tattie, ingin, leek
Frost pits roses in yer cheek
Geans an aipples on the bough
Heilan kye an wolly yowe

Ginger, nutmeg, cardamom
Pepper mace an cinnamon
Tea an rubber, fenugreek
Rice an rubies, saffron teak

Piz meal brose an Cullen skink
Chips wi Irn Bru tae drink
Boozer, bingo haa, computer
Larry, TV, wirk-commuter

Passion fruit an papaya
Melon, limes, malaria
Elephants an wud monsoons
Coconuts an big baboons

Seagull, spurgie, blackie, doo
Microwave an pouered ploo
Bairns that’s niver kent a da
Diets, stress, bulimia

Tuk-tuks fire waukers an snakes
Lagoons, leeches, lotus, lakes
Buddhist, scorpions, buffalo
Rabies, demons, sweet mango

Misty bens an cweelin breeze
Wauchtin saftsome ben the trees
Watterfaas that’s like wir ain
Mak Sri Lanka hame fae hame.


2.The Tea Estates (On the Colombo-Nuwara-Eliya road)

As I cam doon bi Ythanside I saw a fruit bat hingin
Twis barbequed bi pouer lines far bamboo trees war swingin

As I cam ower bi Logie’s braes the tea pickers war thrang
Roon Hatton toon they aa booed doon the Earl Grey amang

They pued the leaves at Kennilworth an roon bi Abbotsford
Claikin in tamil dialect sae I kent feint a wird

While in the car the driver-chiel newsed constantly o cricket
A watter buffalo in dubs wis battin flees mid-wicket.

We skirted Deeside’s misty braes nae far fae Lonach lan
Till hashin on bi braid Strathdon tae Edinburgh cam

A cobra hunkered up its heid far Aiberdeen cowps doon
An roon bi Faithlie, pelicans flew ben the gaitherin gloom

The rich reid stoor o Serendip is mony the Scotsman’s shroud
At rainbow’s eyn they rest at last, fae chasin furreign gowd.


3. Nuwara Eliya (City of Light)

Fit’s it like in the lan o tea an roses?
Mochy corridors, bat keech glaurs the waas.
At ilkie neuk, ye think tae catch a glisk
O some lang-deid colonial planter’s wife
Ficherin wi pearls, poorin oot the gin.
Hard on the ootskirts, shacks o wid an tin
Sell fruit an ingins, tatties, neep an leeks
A butcher wi twa teeth, stauns, knife in haun.
Ahin him, flees hug meat hung fae a hook
Tattiebogles guaird, nae parks, bit fowk
Tae fleg coorse jungle demons fae the toun.
Termite mounds, whaur ooto sicht an soun
Mongoose an cobra fecht their deadly war
Stags heads, deid orchids dwinin in a jar
Aabody smiles an says the Tamil Tigers
Are peaceful noo, that strife is aa ahin them
The quaet termite mound gies nocht awa.
Photies o Brits in full-rigged evenin dress
Elephant feet umbrella stands, nearhaun
Rifles an kills recordit, tae impress
Tennis coort intrigues, gowf, neth misty Bens
Auld Frozen Mutton’s peintins roon the waa
Deeside’s bunnet lairds in palm-tree glens
Hill station jist like Kent or Banchory
Windsor, Ascot, braw Victoria Park
Tudor an Georgian hooses, Earl Gray tea.
Weel wattered lawns, rose buss an mellow sun
Mossy gravesteens tell in hidden howes
Foo mony Scots hae fertilized this grun.


4. Major Rogers

Here lies Major Rogers
Fa thocht it sport tae sheet
Hunners o hermless elephants
He cudnae even eat

His hauns war reid an gory
Like ithers fa hae sodjered
The endin o his story?
Twice bi lichtenin he wis Rogered.


5. The Savage Celt

Nae winner the Auncient Romans nearly fyled thirsels wi fleg!
Oor savage Celts cud skail mair bluid than a supersonic gleg!
Wi hair that’s spiked like hedgehog’s prods, aa pierced, tattooed an peintit
Ae gweed gaun luik at a wud Celts plook an twinty legions feintit!

On illicit booze they’re quick tae roose.
They skreich, they curse they skirl
They hunt in packs, they dish oot slaps
Wad makk even a mammoth dirl

It’s a gey brave body that hauds the road
Fin the clock chimes ten by fower
Fur thon’s the time the Academy throws open wide its door.


6. Tinkee the Porcupine

Far ye have a kittlin, a dug or a moose
Kanthi’s got a porcupine pet in her hoose
It’ll pose fur its photo: ‘Twa hunner rupees? ’
An withoot bein telt, at the flash it says ‘cheese’


7. Tea-Ceremony

Blin-drift furls roon the steadins
Nowt chaw their new-hashed neeps,
Their strang braith rikks like twinty bylin kettles.
Slivvers hing frae the sides o each sappy moo

The collie hoggin the seat ower in the hoose
Cocks up his lugs at the turn o the ootbye key,
Lowps onno the fleer wi a cheery wallopin tail
His maister’s buits dunt snaa abeen the rug

The fermer’s dowpit doon. The tea’s brocht ben,
Aywis the same fite mug,
The speen left in, near staunin up itsel
Wi the wecht o fower sugars, tarry bree.
He raxxes in his pooch fur the fusky flask
Cowps ae stiff jeelip in an steers it weel.

Draas Capstan full strength ooto his dungarees
Taps oot a smoke, kinnles a spunk
Syne sooks a lang waucht in,
Hoasts aince an pyocvhers a gob o glut
Inno the spirkin fire, heists the mug tae his moo
Wi fingers braid as puddens, brooned wi rikk.

Takks the first sip, sighs, raxxes, eyn o day
Darg feenished, he enjoys his strang Birse-tay.


8. Watterbuffalo

Up tae the oxters in glaury dubs
The watterbuffalo yarks the ploo
Yoked tae the will o the fermin chiel
Fin he cries wheep, its Micht maun boo.

An boo it dis, as it breenges on
A muckle breet wi its wudness tame
Like a fire that’s kept in a crofter’s hairth
(Foo cauld, thon crafttie withoot the flame)
Warsslin on baith breet an man
Daein the darg tae full their wame


9. Aside the Lagoon

A bonnie wird, thon wird lagoon
Bit nae tae bide aside at noon
There’s riftin taeds aneth each tree
An turtles hotchin ben the bree

A preyin mantis cocks its een
Ae meter fae yer TV screen
An fin ye takk a shooer ye’ll meet
Ten lizards baskin in the weet

There’s hornygollachs on the fleer
A millipede hauf up the stair
An hauf a hunner mozzies croon
Aa nicht aside yer braw lagoon.
Bit fegs, nae waur nur Heilan loch
That’s naethin bit a midgie troch!


10. At the Hinnereyn

At the hinnereyn
On the plane gaun hame
I fell tae winnerin, as ye dae in a sardine tin
Wi wings an a toytoon shitehoose
Fit’s in a kintra name?

Gin ye trepan a Scot
Like a stick o Embro rock
Place rins richt throw us
Harns an hairt an wame


11. The Green an Pleisunt Lan
Tune: can be sung to a variation of ‘To be a Farmer’s Boy.’

Ten generations o my fowk hae vrocht the North East lan
They hyewed the neeps they stooked the corn,
The rigs ran straicht an gran
The steadins stappt wi kye, were swypit bare o soss
Until a kurn commuter hames war biggit roon the closs.

The gutsy toun claims aa aroon, the green belt’s noo a street
Far barley wyved abune the brae, suburb an city meet
An this is progress we are telt... Mair trees are felled fur hames
As skalin like an ile slick gyangs shops an wynds an lanes.

I sit amang the traffic birr, far thunnerin larries roar
I lang tae hear the leverick sing, or see the lintie soar
Bit fin the lans aa smored, we’ll hae a film tae haun
Tae show that this aince eesed tae be a green an pleisunt lan.


12. The Ghaists o the Nor East Neuk
Tune: The Lincolnshire Poacher

In the auction ring at the Thainstone Mart
The dowps o the tabbies lies
Wi tooshts o sharn fae glebe an barn
Fur the sale is ower an by
Bit gin ye sit in the seelence there
The bleat o the yows that’s gaen
Wauchts ben the pen far fermin men
Stepped oot tae the dark an rain

Stepped oot tae the dark an rain ma lad
Like the stooks in the parks o auld
Far michty shelts atween the stilts
O the ploo wirked ben the cauld
The fusslin peesie on the brae
Gaed wheeplin ower the mill
Bit as lang’s there’s fowk tae sing the sangs
Thon stooks’ll be staunin still

Sae here’s tae fowk like the bothy king
That’s keepit the memory bricht
O cornkist an tattie shaw
O harness stinch an ticht
The sizzens cheenge an sae maun we
Bit fyles wi a backwird luik
At the lan wir forebears vrocht sae weel
The ghaists o the Nor East neuk


13. Faither an Son:
Tune: Immortal, Invisible, God only wise

My faither wis a fermer an he tcyauved on the lan
Raised sons an gowd barley far the heich mountains staun
The Sizzens war his maisters bit the wins they blew free
It’s a gran life bit a hard life said ma faither tae me.

The corn it micht wither an the tatties takk blicht
We’d bide at a calvin throw the rigs o the nicht
The frost it wad freeze us an the snaa blaa cruelly
We’re thirled tae these acres, said ma faither tae me.

Fowk said we wir wealthy, bit oor siller wis tied
Tae the tractor, an the combine an the steadins outside
It wis brose fur oor brakkfast, it wis breid fur oor tea,
Son, it’s wirth aa the warsslin, said ma faither tae me.

I gaed tae the skweel an fin ctober wun roon
I bood tae pu tatties like a gweed fermer’s loon
Till ma hauns they war hackit, fur a wee token fee,
Sune my lan will be your lan, said ma faither tae me.

Oh, the rigs they sook ile up, far the dark oceans sleep
Far the siller is certain, wirkers’ pooches are deep
It’s the hale warld I see noo, nae the lan’s tyranny
Buyin pleisurs fur ma family that war ne’er gaen tae me.

I wauk ben the byre noo, far the nowt aff the brae
Wi subsidies faain, they are skimpit o strae
Quit this life fur some leisur, is the coonsel I gie
Easy earned, quicker spent lad, said ma faither tae me


14.Gweed Coonsel tae a Frien…
A Scots Owersettin o a Poems by Catullus

Frien Furius, ‘fa ains nae slaves nur gowd’
Nae sonsie flee in the press.
Nae wyver. Nae bricht hairth-lowe
Anely a da an a stepminnie
Fas strang teeth snap up aathin ye pit afore them,
Auld buits an nails.

Coont yersel weel-saird
Yer faither, his shilpit wife, yersel
In fine trim
Nar twa faul wi the bellyrive
Nae vexed aboot reivers, floodin, or fire
Thon bogles that fleg the weel-aff
Fa wad ettle tae pooshun ye?
Yer three bodies clean as a bane
Byornar dried bi cauld, heat, hunger
Fit mair cud ye sikk?
Swyte, pyochers, slivvers…aa snochers
Unkent bi yersels
Fegs, yer as clean as fussles
Even yer erses are dry
As weel wirkin satt-poorers
Wirkin 10 times a year at maist.

Yer keech’s like steens or
Braid beans lang in the sun,
Easy crummlit tae stoor atween the fingers,
Leavin ahin nae sossy skitter skyte.
Thon blissins are nae tae be lichtlified
Ye should stop deavin fowk
Bi priggin fur haund oots
Ye’ve mair nur eneuch as it is
Gin ye anely kent it.


15.A Warlock Visits the Doctor’s.

Hoastin an snocherin! Hap yer moos! Keep yer germs tae yersels!
I anely cam in cause I lost the pooer o castin magic spells!

Ma kyte’s bin sair since Wednesday last- it micht be the puddock stew
I hinna bin richt since Halloween…I’m needin a cure richt noo!

There’s peely wally fowk in here wi dizzens o different bugs-
Aathin fae wattery een an plooks tae stoonin taes an lugs!

They hirple in an ye dinna ken if they’ve plague or a fuzzy heid,
An I see them glowerin at ma veins, cause its green, ye ken ma bluid.

I think I’ll leave, I’ll gyang tae the vet, that’s mair fur the likes o me,
Fur since ma pooers hae dwinnlit awa I canna whoosh nur flee.

He plaisters the birdies brukken wings, he bandages partans’ shells
Sae surely a vet can gie me back the poouer o makkin spells!


16.The Bogles’ Ceilidh at Blethertoun Kirkyaird

At the ghaists’ an bogles’ ceilidh, tae win in ye maun be deid
Clankin chynes, or in a gounie wi a green licht roon yer heid.

Broonies, kelpies, ghaists an bogles, poltergeist fae graveyaird glaur
Silkies, skeletons an banshees proppin up the potion bar.

Zombie, alien, broomstick rider- fiddles bow an bagpipes skirl
Up the steeple, roon the yew tree, tak their partners, wheech an birl.

Voodoo, viper, cat an corbie, roon the gravesteens hooch an prance
See them lowpin, hear them lauchin, lowpin in the ghaisties’ daunce.


17.The Castlegate Unicorn Spikks

A unicorn’s hame’s in the cauld an weet
The hurly-burly o spire an street
Wi the skirlin gull an the cooshie doo
Neigh say I an the doo says croo

Aa the gossip an sklaik wi hear
Tittle tattle fae far an near
We ken aa the hullabaloo
Neigh say I an the doo says croo

Fas bin chorin an fas bin hired
Fas promoted an fas bin fired
I ken mair nur the police HQ
Neigh say I an the doo says croo


18. This Braif Toun

Eerily wearily rins the tide, washin the shores o a Norlan toun
Up in the sky far starnies bide, sits the meen in her siller goun

Doon the derkness the Northern Lichts cast their magic on crest an flag
Stepping ooto their civic frame, city unicorn, leopard, stag

Sae in a nicht o stars an frost, the market cross like a caunle shines
The unicorn, stag an leopard lowp, oot ower the city’s streets an wynds.

They’re the heralds o history, telling the tales o bluid an sword
Up the Castlegate, doon the Green, the glory symbols o Bon Accord.