10 Scots Poems From The Poetry Hat

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