11 Poems In Scots (Comings & Goings)

The Warld's Eyn 1977. Test o the Space Shuttle Enterprise The Sex Pistols skreiched their styte. Morph bauchled ben the screen Reid Rum won the Gran National again Star Wars Sci Fi premiered in picture hooses Elvis Presley deed. The warld murned. Christine Eadie an Helen Scott gaed oot on the toon Aged 17, a quines' nicht oot in Embro Last seen leevin inbye the Warld's Eyn Howff Waukers fand Christine's corp in Gosford Bay Nyakkit. Helen, sax mile awa in a stibble corn park Baith quines hid bin threwshed, gagged, Bun, thrappled an raped Nae attempt wis made tae hap their corpses. 26 years gaed by. The programme Crimewatch Tuik an anonymous caa, fresh evidence Hid bin fand. A wheen years eftir The quarry wis finally catched. Angus Sinclair, let aff aince, retried Fand guilty, will be free fin he's 106 Facin a heicher coort than mortal judges Eftir the Battle o Flodden, Embro bigged a waa. The warld ootbye thon waa wis the Warld's Eyn Twa teenage quines discovered the truith o this Fin ae nicht's innocent pleisur turned tae horror Twa Scots Owersetts o Sangs frae the Muckle Furth frae Inglis translations bi Thomas A. McKean, Director of the Elphinstone Institute Warlds Apairt I haud ye in ma airms, an thon is fan it sterts I sikk faith in yer kiss, an peace inbye yer hairt I taste life on yer mou I lay hauns on yer hurts Bit luikin in yer een, I ken we're warlds apairt Far the hyne oceans sing an raxx their swallin tides In this dry tribbled airt yer brawness it abides Doon frae the muckle Ben, the road it rowes tae derk Neth Allah's blessèd rain, I ken we're warlds apairt Ower muckle, nae eneuch, is fit Truth seems eenoo Haive Truth itsel awa, its in a kissin mou Yer skin upon ma skin, oor beatin hairt tae hairt Life walcoms us inbye, the Deid teir us apairt We'll lat bluid bigg a brig frae Bens up tae the starns We'll tryst upon the ridge, atween oor warlds apairt We've got this meenit yet, afore its stoor an derk Let's takk the gift o Luv, the gift that's frae the hairt Tae the Wud Tarek River On a heich bank o the Tarek x2 We Cossacks brocht 10,000 cuddies An the park wis happt an the bank wis happt Wi thoosans o knifed an shot bodies Chorus We lue life brithers x2 There's nae wae whyle we're wi oor chieftain We lue life brithers x2 There's nae wae whyle we're wi oor chieftain An the first rifle shot x2 An the first shot hurtit ma shelt An the neist rifle shot x2 Wi the neist rifle shot I wis killt Ma wife will lament me x2 She'll mairry again an forget me I'll anely miss freedom, freedom an fecht Ma auld mither dear an ma cuddy The Gloveress Calf skin gloves haun stitched wi pure silk threid Years I trained tae dae this bluidy job Makkin gloves fur spyled wealthy weemin Set tae the trade frae bairnhood, I wis The wages puir. Whyles, I machine the gloves Whyles line them, cannie-like wi mappie's fur Pernickity customers micht order buttons Or silk inbye, an fancy falderals Thon's fikey wirk. Oors o a thankless darg Saxteen oors a day, wi a pittance ower Tae pye fur coal, rent, meat, an caunle-licht The fowk fa weir the gloves, the great an gweed Fund kirks an theatres, gyang tae pairties, races Ma sister leaves the hoose bi owl-licht Tae sell hersel in the streets, a common hoor Or we wid sterve, oor bairns wad dee o hunger Ma mither takks in washin. Hauns reid raw, Reid raw an hackit. Nae fine gloves fur her. The King o the Scottish Gyspies: William Billy Marshall 1672-1792 King Billy cud sing auld ballads lang Cud fecht like a wolf, wis slee an thrawn Jess Smith, telt fowk that the traivellin clan Cam whaur a feather is born, seeds blawn Oh the Romas' feet are restless kind The Roma's spikk is kent bi the fyew The Roma lue the wyes o the wids The siller glents on the mornin dyew Bill wore the skin o a lamprey eel Bun roon his wrist in the boxin ring He'd howk at een, he'd club, he'd kick Like a tyke wi a ratten, the Randie king He'd seventeen wives, this dun-skinn't cyard An bairns as mony's the seeds o thrissles He'd served wi Marlborough, sodjer an tar Wis a fu o blether's a kist o fussles The Faas, the Baileys, the Youngs, the Taits Whariver the gangrel bodies gaed Wi their waggons, their shelts, their tinkler tools War gweed tae the fowk fa pyed their trade King Billy levelled the laird's lang dykes That held the watter back frae the puir The Royal fences he cowped as weel Syne meltit awa tae wid an muir His banes lie deep in Kikcudbright kirk His stane has horns o the Zodiac ram Crossed speens..may the Roma ne'er ken wint An coins, a meal for a hungeret man Oh the Romas' feet are restless kind The Roma's spikk is kent bi the fyew The Roma lue the wyes o the wids The siller glents on the mornin dyew Reid Licht Embro The night brings hoors an hoolets oot The howfs are hotchin, promise pleisur For houghmagandie there's nae doot Some wirk the streets tae gaither trisur Bit fa's the prey an fa's the raptor? Quine wi nails crammosie reid Hoor or her pye-by-oor captor Wi murderous thochts, whyles in his heid? Spaewife-Speirin Spaewife, oh spaewife, fit weird's left tae dree? The plaidie unraivels, as faist as it's vrocht Will the yet forrit be snecked or ajee Mishanters cam readily, unseen, unsocht Spaewife, oh spaewife, I carena a whit Ma banes are turned bruckle an fain wad I flit Spaewife oh spaewife, fin this warld's ahin Wll my laddie be staunin tae welcome me in? Spaewife oh spaewife, I'd drap like the corn Gin there's a here-eftir, I'd leave life the morn The Alternative Tourist Tour of Properties Owned by Nyaffs In Aiberdeen takk a turn roon a seaside High Rise Check oot the guff o pee in the lift, the brukken intercom The graffiti scrawled ower the waas on the secunt storey Fur the ultimate frisson (by-passin the stank o fish comin aff the sea) Step ower the druggies jackin up on the stairs Dinna pet the pit bull on the landin Its teeth are mingin. Its temper's legendary In Dundee, veesit anither colourful schemie Step throw the yett o flat nummer thirtythree The guide weirs leopard skin tights Is perma-tanned like an orange She luiks like a chanty-rassler on a spree Dinna feed her fartin cat It'll gie ye flechs an gob on ye Makk sure yer inoculatit fur dysentry Embro's sublet aff frae a close is a must Takk tent o the gairden's lanscapin The rippit sofa stukken wi gaffa tape Luik on the scene wi envy, Mr Paul Getty The brukken Ikea press, mangst the nettles an dug keech The peelin plaster gnomes, an the terracotta warrior Minus twa airms like the Venus de Milo Chappt aff bi a minger wallopin a machete In Glesgae, step inno an up-mairket semi-detached The guide here, Fat Shuggy, is modelling his favourite gear A mankini aneth a peenie wi plastic boobs Based o the paps o ane o thon Hollywid stars Check oot the thatch o his chest hair Ye cud beery Govan in it. His bling can be seen frae Mars Inverness features a bijou but-n-ben Fur European wirkers. Nine o them share a bed In shifts o three. The bath has twinty nine tidemerks The loo boasts a crinoline dallie ower the lavvie roll There's an Elvis Presley lampstaun wintin a shade The ashtray is reamin wi tabbies. The carpet's clarty. Like yer waukin on superglue.The doorbell chimes ‘Amarillo' Jist for you.Midgies makk up the protein in the soup The plastic flooers in the windae hae brewer's droop Whuppity Stoory as Mither (Whuppity Stoory is Scotland's Rumpelstitlskin) Whuppity Stoory's bin spied in Mamas & Papas Buyin babby claes fur a new-born littlin Adoption agencies wisnae sympathetic because: She wis three hunner year auld She wis a puir role model She wis a caird-cairryin pagan She keepit puddocks in the kitchie She cudnae answer the questions on British ceetizenship (Bar aa the info aboot Jamie Saxth) The fertility gadgie widnae treat her because: Her ovaries wir crined as hizzlenuts Her wyme wis a howked-oot Halloween neep Her titties wis dry as the Kalahari desert It wid be like sawin seeds in a teem chunty Bit she kent hersel she'd be a braw mither Better than thon girnin gype wi the seek grumphie Sae easy tricked intae giein the bairn awa Whuppity story dreamt that herself an the laddie Wid flee tae Disneywarld on her breem She'd makk him the warlock o aa warlocks It's nae as if thon gype, his mither Wid iver jeloose her name… Welcome tae the Warld Welcome tae the warld new littlin Bare an Bonnie, welcome in! Aa yer lifetime lies afore ye A hale journey tae begin May yer days be fulled bi pleisur May health be yer greatest treisur May luv find ye, in gweed meisur Bonnie littlin, welcome in! Infant Joy, by William Blake, owersett here in Scots Blythe Bairnie 'I hae nae name; I am anely twa days auld.' Fit'll I call ye? 'I blythesome am, Joy is ma name.' Sweet joy befaa ye! Braw joy! Sweet joy, bit twa days auld. Sweet Joy I caa ye: Ye dae smile, I sing the whyle; Sweet joy befaa ye!