15 Scots Poems From The Gype

The Gype I've a face like a bap an a neep shapit heid Fur mair than three hunner year I hae bin deid An me bein glekit I quickly wis feed I'm the Laird o Udny's feel Ma hair's like a coxcaimb, fowk caa me a gype Bit I'm wattered an fed (an I'm nae ane tae clype) Ilkie shank is as skinnymalink's a drainpipe I'm the Laird o Udny's feel I am coo an goose herd tae the Laird at the Haa I tied towes roon his geese necks an thrapplit them aa Bi mistak, bit himsel widna turn me awa I'm the Laird o Udny's feel I telt him the geese hid bin chokit wi greed An they'd stappit thirsels ower forcey wi seed Me bein a gype, naeb'dy thocht I hid leed I'm the Laird o Udny's feel Fin the Castle o Knockhaa wi flames burnt thrang Ma tyke raised me up wi a bowf lood an strang The maister slept on till a kistie I flang Throwe the windae an saved him, it made sic a bang I'm the Laird o Udny's feel Ma Mistress sent me on the Jacobite's cause Wi letters…nane stopped me (a feel kens nae laws) Bit the castle wis selt intae Hanover's paws An the Haa wis gien ower tae thon reid-coatit craws Nae mair eese fur Laird Udny's feel Ae nicht I wis drookit in peetiless rain Atween fever an puirtith I scarcely won hame Dinna beery me like a breet wis ma refrain Bit they laired me unmerked wi nae cairn or heidstane Fur the Laird o Udny's feel A century later fowk set thon tae richt An noo I've ma name on a stane in full sicht O the warld, Jamie Fleeman, sae sirrah, gweed nicht Frae the Laird o Udny's feel. The Murmichans The Faerie Queen rides oot o nichts Heid o the Host…Unseelie Coort Her sheltie's mane has tinkling bells Deevilish is her eildritch sport Nuckelavee gyangs back an fore In kirkyairds, ben new howkit mools The corp, sooked dry inbye its kist Canna buy life for ony jewels An hyne awa a hoolet sabs Will o the wisps licht up the muir Tae tryst men men intae daithly bogs The meen hings yalla, wae an queer In oorie glens pale ghaisties flit An widdendremes cam coorse an chill Shellycoats rattles throwe sea haar Murmichans' weird's tae dae man ill Time Warp: 1897-2017 Great-grandsire ran his empire frae this shop Tradin the milk hurled in frae his dairy ferms Noo it's the Corner Tree Café Fake Edwardian/ Victoriana theme Hurricane lamps wi bulbs insteid o wicks Hing frae the windaes, relicts o somewye's past Washed up like trendy driftwid A railway clock ticks ower boxies frae Whitstable Fishmerket cockles an winkles stamped on its sides Great grandsire's brakkfast wis brose Fresh frae the udders o his milkin kye A daud o breid fur denner, hotchpotch soup Neeps an tatties an ingins grown in his ain kailyaird Noo café clientele claik in the chaumers Scones reest in a birdcage. Vintage widden boxies Haud chintzy furliegorums. (Elizabeth Draper- silks and threids O Paradise Raw in Lunnon's Bethnal Green) Menus are screwed on slabs o smeeth planed timmer The dairy cairts aince clunkit ower the cobbles Muckle cans clink-clinkin as the shelts' Sheen struck the grun, the cans war reamin fu O cream tae full toun faimlies cuppies, tins an joogs Eenoo the menu's firmly cosmopolitan Café latte, café mocha, expresso Green tea, Cappuccino, Americano, The sannies are stappit wi voodoo mango Pesto, hummus, olives, an pastrami Brie, chorizo, dill crème fraiche et al Tea-total, ma fermin kin fa ained this airt Micht hae approved o the liquid refreshments here The café serves up smoothies, mango, papaya Peach, sweet tattie, wud English elderflooer Bollywood dreams chai an E teaket teas Milk o soya, almond, coconut Nae waucht o sharn an strae Nae swyte o wark sypes frae the ghaists Fa aince vrocht in this neuk The claik aroon is global an genteel The Hoolet The hoolet sat in the hoolet's tree He cockit his lugs an he listened An fit wis his name I canna weel gie Fur I'm nae richt sure he wis christened He sat on his branch, I lay in ma bed We twa watched ane anither He fleched his oxters, he preened his wings Wi niver a skreich nur a blether He furled his heid frae wast tae east He cast his een up tae the meen He pykit his clooks an he shoogled aboot Syne dauchled as still as a steen The meen wis fite an the hoolet wis fite He wis winnerin ‘Fa's thon vratch O a fremmit body abed in the hoose In a neuk o ma huntin patch? ' He luikit lang wi his glimmrin een His feathers pluffed oot bi the win Twa carnivores in the mids o nicht Jist takkin each ither in The Jaickies The jaickies are aff frae the lum again Hae they gotten a time-share in Aden? Mebbe they're sikkin the win in their wings At the crack o the Bullers o Buchan Wad the jaickies be paiddlin wi roch drookit claws On Peterheid's cauld sanny stran? Or checkin fur ghaisties at Slains dae ye think? Or the tatties in Tipperty's lan? The hoodies ne'r set aff on furreign stravaigs Tae Strichen, tae Mormond or Fyvie. Sae fit trysts the jaickies tae savour delichts In Langside or Turra or Crivie? Oh jaickies oh jaickies cam back tae yer lum As neebors yer perfeck, yer blin deef an dumb Tae oor ongauns. Ye niver gee should we gae raikin Niver spikk o oor craps fin at marts fowk are sklaikin Tho a chucken is braw, clockin free reenge or pen A lum's nae a lum wioot jaickies ye ken Twal Wild Geese Twal wild geese wauk beak tae dowp The corn in the parks blaws brawly The win in the birk gars the green leaves lowp An the clock o Time ticks slawly A tod whyles cams tae the cattle yaird The corn in the parks blaws brawly He struts wi the pride o a bunnet laird An the clock o Time ticks slawly Fin first I cam here, a growthy seed The corn in the parks blaws brawly The oats grew heich as ma wee bairn heid An the clock o Time ticks slawly A shelt still plooed the gweed broon grun The corn in the parks blaws brawly An the yolks o the eggs war bricht's the sun An the clock o Time ticks slawly Noo the kye are selt an the staas are teem The corn in the parks blaws brawly An masel grown auld bit the girse still green An the clock o Time ticks slawly The Seelent Cell The dowie soun o the Boddam Coo Manes ben the cauldrife lan Ootbye the Nor Sea wars agin The rocks, the haar, the stran In the seelent cell the prisoner lies In the derk, wi his thochts alane He's tint aa sense o day an night A lowe wioot a flame The warld ootbye is deef tae his waes Nane ken he's steekit there In the leevin hell o the seelent cell Pit mirk an teem an bare An warder in fu riot gear Fin the door like the lid o a can Is opened…a wud breet breenges oot A breet, that aince wis a man O the seelent cell wis blaik's then pit At the fit o the deepest mine An thon's far the hardest prisoners War sent tae serve their time Gentle Johnny Ramensky Johnny was a miner's son Brought up in Glesga toun Grew up tae be a safe brakker Weel kent for miles aroon This Lithuanian convict Afttimes brakk free o jyle They catched him and they shackled him His escapades tae spyle Bit fin the public kent o this They tuik the cause in han Gart shackles tae be banned foraye In prisons throw the lan Fin WW2 wis ragin Gentle Johnny jyned the fray He trained as a commando And wore the Green Beret They drapped him intae Italy Tae fecht agin the Hun A saboteur an safe-brakker His medals, bravely won Bit fin the war wis eyndit He tuik up the burglar's role On gamblin an the dug track Gaed the siller that he stole He sickened in the prison He deed within a day An Gentle John Ramensky Passed intae history Sydney Goodsir Smith Whit o the Warks o Sydney Goodsir Smith A Lallans, poet, artist, dramatist? A michty screiver o the Scots Renaissance A pouerfu playwricht an a novelist Born in New Zealand, as a halfin lad Moved ower tae Embro wi his faimily At Oxford, studied History…wine, in France An practised Art in blythesomeItaly His wirds ye'll find in mony skeely buiks Skail Wind, The Wallace, Under the Eildon Tree Carotid Cornucopius, Lines Review Kynd Kittock's land aired on the BBC The Grace of God and the Meth-Drinker's much lued The Wanderer, The Deevil's Waltz read weel So Late into the Night and Figs and Thistles An wirds on Robert Ferguson, puir cheil His drawins edited bi Chapman Press Orpheus an Eurydice, his poems, colleckit An mony screivins upon Scottish lear An ither buiks, wi doucest wirks, selecktit Ye'll fin his wirds set doon in Makar's Coort His banes lie quaet in cauldrife Dean kirkyaird Kent as ‘the kilted kiwi' or ‘The Auk' Kenspeckle body an a michty bard Rowan The rowan disnae argy wi the win It bides jocose in its birth spot It lichtens the wid wi flouers Like bridal wreaths It brichtens the wid wi berries In autumn lowes. Its leaves reeshle an fusper like a fugue Its life is green, fite, reid Spurgies flee tae its branches Deevilicks fear its pouer I cairry ye I cairry ye inbye ma hairt An while I live ye'll niver dee Until ma een are steeked foraye An eftir, fit will be will be Simmer Moods: A Scots Owersett o a Poem bi John Clare I lue at gloamin tide tae wauk alane Doon nerra wynds ower-hung wi dyewy thorn Far frae the lang girse in aneth the snail Pit-mirk creeps oot an sproots his feartie horn I lue tae dwaum ower leys jist newly mown Far dwinin girse perfumes the gurly air Far bees raik roon wi waesome, wabbit drone In vain fur flooers that briered nae langsyne there Whyle in the sonsie corn the happit quail Skirls ‘weet ma fit' an hid as thochts unborn The fey-like corncrake steps aroon the rail Hubbers ‘craik craik' like vyces neth the grun Richt gled tae meet the gloamin's dyewy veil An see the licht crine intae derk aroon Yule-Daunder,1957 I gaed oot tae the winter drift Tae see the toun aa happt in fite An ma wee shadda streekit lang Far cranreuch cauld did nip an bite An stervin robins on the wing Duntit sma shmoodricks aff the twigs An ilkie lum fite toories wore A snaa shawl happit aa the brigs The wynds war seelent in the cauld Rikk raise frae lowes in ilkie hoose The clocks war reid as poppy flooers The cushie doo's curmurin crouse Noo I am auld's Methusalah I dinna daunder in the sna I coorie in the hoose's warmth Leavin the storm tae gull an craa An my bairn fitsteps vrocht langsyne Hae thawed awa like Time itsel Sae short the space atween the crib An kist that knolls the kirkyaird bell Brither Masons Mozart, Robert Burns. Benjamin Franklin Alexander Pope, Gilbert (an Sullivan) , Sir Alexander Fleming, Peter Sellars Sir Walter Scott, John Wayne, an Sun Yat Sen Atlee, Garibaldi, Dr Bernardo The Duke o Wellington, John Glen Roosevelt, Louis Armstrong, Trollope, Garrick Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir Winston Churchill Kitchener, Kipling, Wesley, George the Fourth Jenner, Hogarth, Sheridan, Buffalo Bill Fowk said the clachan's Masons kept a goat That brukk its towe an chawed fowks' hingin waashin They beeriet granda free, a hale clanjamphrey, Weirin their braw regalia, lambskin aprons An uncle, bein honoured bi his lodge Wis blaik affrontit bi his drunken wife Teemin a glaiss o fusky ower his heid. Nae winner Brithers ban females frae meetins Ye widna wint sic cheils tae be misfittit Kenspeckle Chiel: Robert Lovie Tune: The Barnyards o Delgaty A laddie frae New Aberdour He gaed tae Broch's Academy An bein smert he larned faist The winner's door he caad ajee Chorus Doric, Compere, Manager Entertainer, clivver cheil Blythe an couthie, kind tae aa Weirs the Heilan costume weel For twenty years Rob Lovie bedd At Fyvie Castle- sic a hame A hunner rooms an veesitors In thoosans…nae twa days the same Chorus He rules the reest at Braemar Games Keeps up wi cabers, dancers, pipes Fin clansmen cam frae hyne awa Helps aabody frae chiefs tae gypes Chorus The Duke o Rothesay socht his aid Tae launch the Rothesay Rooms sae braw Tae gie a heist tae Ballater Fin floods near washed the toun awa Chorus Pied piper o the North East land His bothy ballad Doric's real He's lichtened cruise ships wi his claik And Glesga's Commonwealth Games as weel Chorus Be't Royalty or common fowk This lad o pairts pits aa at ease The ghaists o Fyvie Castle ken Tae bide wi Robert is a breeze Chorus He is the Fyvie Pimpernel Jist try tae catch him on the phone They seek him here they seek him there Blink twice an Robert Lovie's gone Chorus