The Cyard's Kist (28 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.The Cyard's Kist
'There's nae guid comes
A's wrack, fin the Cyards are here
Wi a birn o bairns at their back
An their hawkin gear.'
Bit the lassie didna list
She wis mad tae lift the sneck
On the cyard's kist.

There wisna the gowden glint,
Nor the silk sae braw
The finest Flander's lace,
Nor the ring sae sma.
Bit the road that niver ends
An the words unsaid,
The darklin wid for a wa'
An the whin for a bed.

Tell true, did iver ye wist?
The hale o the warld lies there,
I' the cyard's kist!

2. Hedgehogs
A bourich o preens
That's quick tae fleg;
Twa bitticks o' een
An a wee, wee neb;

Come scooshlin oot, wi the starry mune
Fin whins are dark an the walks are teem.

Far they come frae, naebody kens,
Jinkin awa frae the sicht o men
An for their coortin', I maun suppose,
They rub their snoots like Eskimos!

3.The Cyard's Coortin'
He hawked a puckle pots an' pans,
Till — scunnered o' the wark,
He timmered up the kindlin'
Till the swat ran doon his sark
Syne he wat his whussle freely
Frae a coggie keepit handy
An' thochties turned — as thochties will —
Tae blythesome houghmagandie.

The larik at the lochan's brim
Wis warslin' i' the win's
The burnie boundin' doon the brae
Cam' splytrin' ower the linns
A hale clanjamphry o' doos
Reviled him for his sins...
Bit a' the gangrel cared aboot
Wis coortin' i' the whins.

There's nae a cyard that wauks the road
Bit harkens till the kimmer
The lassie he'd a notion for
Wis noted as a limmer
Ye can tak' a horse tae watter,
Bit ye canna gar it drink
An' there's mair tae winnin' lassies
Than b' tippin' them the wink.

The warmest hopes o' laird an' loon
Are aften quickly cweeled
An' for a' his airt, an' guilin'
Weel, his wooin' wis repeeled
She rammed his bunnet ower his lugs
An' pulverised his shins
An' yon's the recompense he got
For coortin' i' the whins.

If yer lookin' for a moral —
Niver lippen till the clack
Jist tak fowk as ye fin' them —
Dinna mak' the cyard's mistak.

4.Johnny
Fowk squattit in doorwyes —
Shifty-eed, reid-biddy earls,
Watchin the seamen scalin aff the docks,
Scraunin the streets for a hard-faced quine,
Buyin an 'oor o warmth
Far the screichin seagulls dine.

He bedd in a single room —
Fower waas an little mair.
His gear, as auld an dane's himself—
In the rochest side o toun
A deid-end, doon-cast lair:
Ye widna turn a hair,
Tae see him pass, snod-bonnetted,
Claes a bittie the waur o' weir.

Bit fin he sang
Man, it wisna a room ava,
For he sang frae the hairt
Auld, hauntin lays
O roads he'd tramped an seen
In his waulkin' days.

Syne the dreich, bare waas dinged doon,
For far an wide his music tellt
O' the clean, cauld muirs
O' the tinkler loon.

Gin I'd his smeddum, airt, an' inward sicht —
I'd shak life bi the lugs
An' set it richt!

5.Images
If I gaed blin the morn
There's sichts, like draps o dew,
Wid bricht the dark...
Wippet an warm, safe within,
An' niver tyned.
I can mak Winter, Spring;
Fin I've a mind.

Lyin, stibble-chaffed, i' the hairst park,
Ringed bi lang-airmed trees,
The weird wid cleft wi calls
Watchin' the sair-made kye
Trauchle frae brae till byre;
The soughin' win' i the girse
An' the sky on fire.

Three hills, guardin' the west
An' a lang sweep doon
Tae an oxter o' tummlin' watter:
Fine tae cweel yer cheek
I' the bank-heich spray
Fin as stauns still
An the roses fa' bi the fern
At the ebb o day.

Age winna blaud this sicht...
A bairn's weel-treasured ferlies
Will gang wi me, ticht-keepit,
Intae the last guid nicht.

6.Lost Youth
As I gaed ower the stormy muir
The sky was riven like the sea;
The muir-fowl fled the onding's rage,
Aroon the sleet fell cruelly.

'Whaur are ye gaun on sic a nicht? '
The reeshlin bracken seemed tae speer.
'A road that hisna seen my step
This mony a dreary year.'

As I cam ben the soundin Dee
The birks wir chitterin i' the mist,
`Gae back, gae back, ' they whispert, saft,
`It is a worthless tryst.'

As I cam ower the Linn o Muick,
The larik murmered through the smoor,
`Oh whaur left ye the bonnie bairn,
That cam' this road afore? '

Syne, I glanced blythely in the burn,
Bit oh, my hairt wis turned tae stane.
A wizened wife wis mirrored there —
The bonnie bairn had gaen.

7.The Tryst
Twa lovers trysted bi the birk,
The lass had munelicht in her een,
Bit creepin saftly throw the mirk
The waukrife lad had nane.

Warm was his kiss an' strang his airm,
The blin-sicht mowdie turned awa,
Nae lad sae fine could mean her hairm,
Her bridal guest, the hoodie craw.

A lass gaed up the ferny hill,
A gowk came back wi' feint a word;
The cankered worm wis on its broo
An in its wame, the yird.

8.The Lintie
The lintie lichtit on the bough
Abune twa lovers true
An' sweet an' lang she sang her lilt
Fin love wis fresh, an' new.

Fin love grew auld, the bird cam' back
Bit didna hinner lang
For `Fegs, ' quo' she — 'there's nocht bit strife
A spittin' futterat's man an' wife
I widna waste ma sang.'

9.A Guid New Year
Fin e're the auld year hirples oot
In ilka hame the toast is raised
An yet, ahin the Season's cheer
Hidden awa, the hint o' fear

For the Past is safe ahin us:
A barn, wi the hairst stap-fu;
Fit lies afore, is a cauld, braid park
Waitin the bite o' the ploo

The bairns are beddit an' sleepin'
The slowest crap ava;
As we squar' up tae the tick o' the clock
An think fit'll yet befa...

For Time's a bitter sickle
An noo's fan its edge is keen
An empty seat, by the Ingle
A glaiss that's sittin teem

Bit the sna bree happen Morven
An the lang, dour rigs o' Cromar
An the grey grey mist o' mornin'
That sleeps on Lochnagar
Can lauch at a body's fancies
Time winna alter them
For they've bin there sin' the start o't
Safe, till the warld's end.

10.Homecoming
The salmon swims tae the lochan's briest,
The bees win hinney frae the muir,
Sae 'tis wi me a tug at the hairt
An it's sair, man, sair...

Tae stan at the mou o' the quate hoose
Whaur ilka room is teem,
Hearin the step o' a bairnie's fit
Come lichtsome doon, in a dream.

Bit the bairns are gaen these mony years
An echoes soun i' the stair;
Wi' only masel tae min on them
The ghaisties heezin there.

For I ken I sud snib the door
An leave this rickle o waste
Tae the caller air o bog an thyme;
The simmer sun an' frost.

Bit iver an' aye I come my lane,
As if tae a jewelled kist,
Tae an auld deen hoose
Wi' the reef staved in
The haunt o the muirland mist.

11.Sklaik
'Ye dinna tell me — damn the bit —'
(A glimmer lichts the ee,
Syne a the sklaik comes scalin oot,
Like midden oozin bree.)

It's pintless, syne, tae quanter them —
Their argument's entire;
'There's water far a stirkie droons;
An' far there's smoke there's fire.'

If half they said wis Gospel;
We'd be damned for ivermore;
The curse o Scotland's villages...
The sklaikin at the door.

12.Glen Muick
The skies drift doon — a dreepin' blur
That maks o' Ben an' brae a shroud
As if grown weary o' the lan'
The mountain coories i' the cloud

An' naething steers within this warld
0' stormy lift, an' troubled tarn
Bit drooned reflection o' the hills
As lang as Time, as bricht as starn

In ilka crag's a favoured face
In ilka burn's a frien'
An' aa' the days we've been apairt
Are as they'd niver been.

13.Hist ye back
The howlet, teetin' frae the wid
Jeloosed the moosie's track
A dainty nippicky o' fur
A tasty hist ye back

The yowe gaed stytrin' throw the whin
Oer oot-rigs lang, an' black;
As hunkrin' doon, wi' slivrin mou
The tod cried 'Hist ye back'

Abune the burn the puddock hodged
His hurdies strang an' swack
O' sweet an' cweel, the waves aneth
A sloakin hist ye back

She'll kiss him aince, she'll kiss him twice —
The fiercest hist ye back
She'll kiss him ower and ower again
Tho' aa' should gang tae wrack.

14.Mither Tongue
Written on hearing the Rev. Lamont's Service in Scots, Denburn Parish Church
’Twis a gey stammygaster, a meenister spikkin’ like yon —
Nane o’ yer peely wally affairs, that hae ye hodgin’ i’ the pew
That’s best forgon.

“Gin ye despise yer mither tongue, as weel despise yersel”
These were his wards, or near eneuch —
Nae pan-loaf bletherin’, bit cantie, couthie stuff.

Syne I didna sit in a kirk ava — for his wards struck hame —
The years rowed back, like meltin’ sna’, an’ I sat ma lane
In a cauld, hard chair, at a fantoosh schule
Recitin’ the ‘Puddock.’

Abody snichered an’ smirked as the wards fell deid
At the only bairn o’ the hale jing-bang, tae ken fit she read.

I felt like a dinosaur, I tell ye — the last o’ a line
A freak at a sideshow, better kept oot o’ sicht;
A grim day yon — ye wis naething there,
Gin ye couldna cock yer snoot, or yer crannie, or baith
‘Uppity vratches, nae worth mindin’, ’ ma mither said.
Aye; bit they hurt me sair.

And tae this day, tho’ I ken it’s wrang
If the wards slip oot — the auld spik, in genteel company
I feel a pang o’ shame for the bonnie, birlin’ wards
That loup frae hairt till mou,
Couthie, an’ kent, an’ fine
For I’m back in time, on a cauld hard chair
At yon fantoosh schule — an’ the snichers there.

15.The Dominie
The dominie thocht it an unca thing,
The Mither tongue.
Like Sabbath braws, he glorified gentility
An’ hauled ma kail daily throw the rick
Dubbin’ the Doric orra, coorse, ill-fared
A peer realtion o’ the Southern spik
Set by unsung.

The mannie’s deid or, if he’s nae,
By God! he should be!
Mim-moued, his cantin’ quate.
Nae doot, he’s since jeloused,
It’s deeds that mak the man — nae wards
A thochtie late.

16.Sunday School Picnic
At first peep o’ the whussle we were aff —
Hyterin by whins, a tattie wummlin’ on my speen,
Pechin tae win the line.

Chae cam first — a sleekit limmer o a loon,
Swickin, his tattie held doon, firm, wi his thoomb.

The meenister gaed him a prize, bit nae cheer.
I feenished wi the lave, naething byordnar,
Bit hinmaist, on cam Dod;
Skitin doon on his doup, sklytert in sharn,
Till, wi a roar, fowk rose tae clap him hame.

Syne, up he trauchles, jobbit wi nettles,
Face like a hairst meen, fit tae burst,
Tearin ower the grun.

I couldna fathom it ava; the fuss they held wi him,
Until my faither, wi a kindly grace, explained,
“It’s nae the rinnin o the race that coonts,
Bit foo it’s run.”

Grown aulder noo, I whyles mum my lot,
Fin ithers draw awa, an gain apace.
Bit syne his words return an comfort bring —
“It’s in the wye ye rin it — nae the race.”

17.Hen’s Lament
It’s nae delight tae be a hen,
Wi’ clooks an claws an caimb.
Reestin wi the rottans
In a hen-hoose for a hame.

Nae suner div I sattle doon,
My clutch o’ bairns tae hatch;
The fairm-wife comes — a scraunin’ pest —
She cowps me aff ma cosy nest
A tarry-fingered vratch.

Jist lately, though, she’s changed her tune —
Ma platie’s piled wi corn,
“Sup up, ma bonnie quine, ” says she,
“We’re haein broth the morn! ”

18. Halloween
Fin nichts draw in an fires burn high
An antrin bogies glower inbye
An leaves gang tapsalteerie ower...
Canny! Yon’s the witchin hour.

Lift the neeps frae yont the dyke.
Howk them oot wi muckle fyke.
Candles teet tween eerie een,
Fairies flit at Halloween.

Pare the aipple’s rosy cheek,
Gin yer true-love’s name yed seek,
Or, in darkened mirror watch,
Wheest! his likeness ye may catch.

I’ve heard tell, but say it low,
O warlocks steerin, lang ago,
Risin, grim, frae graveyard stane,
Wid fleg the breeks frae ony wean.

Sae gin it’s a the same tae you
I’ll hug the cheery ingle-side;
Lest wi the ferlies in the dew
I micht collide.

19.A Sair Miss
For A.J. Blackhall, World Barley Champion
Set doon
Wi the wecht o years at his back,
A sklyter o yird flung ben,
As a last fareweel.
The mourners staun like hoodie craws
Ower near the mou o the grave for comfort,
Dark an cweel.

Syne, for a pairtin thocht, Say only this —
A guid man gone.
A sair miss.

20.The Bogie
The Bogie bides abune the brae
As queer as cannel-licht,
For in a dwaum, I spied him there,
Ae ghaistly, gurley nicht.

His heid is hapt wi’ stringly web
He hirples back an ben,
A muckle humfy-backit gleg
Deep, in a gorbelt den.

Ugsome, unsocht, he creeps aboot,
A touslie tinkie tyke,
He is the wailin i’ the win,
The fear ahint the dyke.

“Wheest, bairnies, wheesht, ” I whisper,
As the lowe cracks i’ the lum,
“For gin yer coorse — ye niver ken —
The Bogie-man micht come.”

21.Eternal Record
‘Pit yer penny on the plate, ’ said Ma o’ rectitude, a pillar —
(My need wis greater nor the kirk’s
It AYE wis wintin siller.)
‘An dinna glower at me like yon
Wi’ sic a gurley look
The Lord is writin’ a’thing doon,
He keeps it in His book.’

Fin I fed the dog wi candy
Till his teeth were fairly stuck;
Fin I swicket at Monopoly
Or glaured ma sheen wi muck;
She wis sure tae gar me rue it
Wi’ a thochty o’ a froon,
‘Aye — there comes a day o’ recknin’,
Mine — He’s writin’ a’thing doon.’

I’m aulder, bit nane wiser —
An’ I fairly shak tae think
That the Angel wi the ledger,
Maun be rinnin oot o’ ink.

22.Pet Shop
A hingin-luggit rabbit baps its feet,
Its loupin’ snibbit in,
Yarks its snoot, teetle the pen,
Syne bauchles back, doup doon,
Duntin the cage, in bye-gaun,
Wi’ its croon.

Heezin up abane
A squatter o squeaks
In a kirn o strae.
Moosies, an’ ither flechy beasts,
Jink intil play.

Aneth, a rack o shiny bowls —
Fish, goggle-eeed, glower oot
Like hauntit owls.

A budgie, dry’s a birsled bane,
Its wings doon-cast as dreepy drawers,
Rives wi’s beak agin the bars.

If, for the sake o’ bed, an’ bite tae eat,
Freedom wis price tae pye,
A’d raither wint ma meat!

23.Shuffled Pack
There’s been misdeals, aboot the antrin pair
A queen o’ hairts, his sattled wi’ a joker.
Bit Matrimony’s an unchancy thing
A gamble, like a skeely game o’ poker

The bairns are trumps — I ken the faces yet
Yon’s got his faither’s hair — a spaded Jack
An’ she’s a spikkin’ likeness o’ her mother
A’s tapsalteerie, like shuffled pack

It isna safe, tae say a wardie wrang
For faith, they’re as conneckit weel throwither
Yon wisna Geordie’s son-in-law ava
Bit Nancy’s sister’s second cousin’s brither.

24.Bairn-Sang
There’s a hole i’ the sky,
At the back o’ the day
Tae gang til’t naebody daurs
For there, like a barfit bairn, stauns nicht
Wi his neive stap-fu o’ stars

The day creeps oot, wi a hirplin’ gait
A gomeril spent, an’ dane
Its lowe burned grey as a ghaistie’s goun
An’ the gloamin’ glint i’ its een

An’ ben yon chink, at the back o’ the cloud
Far the settin’ sun sits reid
Fleerichin’ up, till an unkent hame
Are the souls o’ the newly-deid

There’s a hole i’ the sky,
At the back o’ the day
A place far naebody’s been
Till Daith, the lanely leerie man
Cam’s steekin’ their waukrife een.

25.Kith and Kin
He taks efter my side
Man, there wisna wan o the line
That couldna wheeple a tune.
Black-haired as craws
An’ kittlesome, quanter-kine.

It eesed tae bamboozle me sair
The interest fowk showed in a cot —
Discussin the set o’ a bairn’s heid
Like a new-bocht stot.
Wis it close tae the bluid?
Claimin’ the verra licht o’ts een
For a Sire lang deid.

Sizin up my ain bit loon
There’s a mixter-maxter o favours.
His virtues are a’ my ain
Bit his fau’ts are his faither’s!

26.Teem Slate
A tousie heid booed ower her latest trock
(The cheapest wylins frae the sweetie shop)
Bairn-pleased, an naethin blate
Wi twa, three, sticks o’ chalk,
An’ a teem slate.

A half-oor saw it cast aside
Scoored, bladded, spiled;
Its reel run oot
An’ a’ its magic filed.
The antrin owergaun wi a cloot
Restored its favour
Snorrels cancelled oot
As easy’s scalin waiter frae a pail.
The slate took on its maiden sheen,
Fresh, clean an hale.

Afore I gang, twa-faul, intae the dark:
Set by my wardly gear, for timmer sark,
Turn dweeble, auld an sweir;
Lord, I wid ask for naething mair
For it’s weirin’ late.
Gie me a twa three sticks o chalk —
An’ a teem slate.

27.In Absentia
‘Mak the maist o’t noo —
Ye’r a lang time deid.’
Jokin’ like, the auld sang...
Ay, bit it gars ye think
An’ its nae sae wrang.

I widna be comfy
Loupin aboot wi muckle wings,
Face as shiny’s a puddock’s dock,
Mindin ma Ps an Qs aa day,
Wi’ the unco-guid an’ sic-like stock.

Surely thae widna miss ae face,
Meenisters, Lords an’ Commons,
Hashin oot o the mools
Rinnin’ the last celestial race?

I’ll sneak awa at the final trump.
Cry, ‘Ta Ta! ’ tae the kirkyaird,
Stanes an’ aa,
An’ mak’ for the crags o Lochnagar,
Brave an braw.

28.The Sodjer
Heatherin eerin orin aye,
The drums are dirlin lood ootbye;
Hiddledum diddledum deitherin deist,
The pipes are willin the lads tae list.

Too roo rantin ree
Hine awa an ower the sea;
Hudderin heiderin hodderin hey
Cannon rick is cauld an grey.

Eenertie feenertie fichertie feg
The sodjer’s gotten a widden leg;
Pirlie wirlie winkie woan,
Fars the cheer in winnin yon?