Caledonian Anaconda (21 Scots Poems)

1.The Flicht o the Fite Moch: Winner First Prize (Hugh MacDiarmid Trophy) 2010 Twa beggars in a nerra wynd Lay doon aneth the midnicht stars 0 neon licht an sex-club signs Ahin a hotterel o bars Their bowster wis a rowe o cloots. Cooryin doon on his richt side The auldest chiel wis sleepin first Een steekt, wi his mou gapin wide An frae atween his lips there flew A silken moch. An eildritch sicht That raise intae the fooshty air Bravin the orrals o the nicht Bumbazed, his watchin fier espied The fite moch waucht intae the sky Syne drap upon a lid o tin Tae sook the watter trapped inbye It flichtered forrit tae a hull Bane-bare, a merle, drappit deid in flicht Pyked clean bi sewer rattens' teeth... The reid-eed tenants o the nicht A meenit there, it flappit aff Sattled abune a hudderie heid 0 connached beauty...a gang quine Member o junkie-lan's undeid It dauchled yonner, syne cam back Frae quine, tae bane, frae tin, tae mou Afore the watchin beggar's een Atween the sleeper's lips it flew Fin baith raise up at skreich o day 'Oh sic a dream! ' the sleeper said 'I dreamt I saw a sheenin loch Far siller dertin fishies sped An there lay magic, that cud sain Aa skaiths that roon the warld bled. I jyned a boat o ivory.. The feyest boat ye iver saw Wi feathers fleein frae its masts Aneth a skinklin wattergaw It berthed inbye a dragon's cave I entered...pierced its stounin vein An in its breet-felt agonies Jade-green, its bluid ran doon like rain Ahin it stood a bonnie quine Sic een! The dyews o Heiven sat there Her hair wis sheenin, lang an derk She wis fower-fauld surpassin fair I tuik her quaet haun in mine Throwe the douce nicht we lay as ane Ah! Coorse it wis tae wauken here Inthis dreich airt, jeelt tae the bane The fite moch' s wings are wafer thin Its flicht is lichter than a braith Its brither is the Laird o Dwaum Its sister is the Leddy, Daith 2.Clearances Herded like nowt tae Glesga's stoorie streets Or crammed on ships for hyne Canadian shores Wirth less than the glekit yowe that stauns an bleats Threwsed an ruggit bi press gangs frae their doors The reid lowe set tae their reefs..whyles, left fur deid Less tae the chiefs than the stag that stauns an roars Nae meat in their wymes. Nae plaid tae hap each heid Pairtit frae hames, their braes o muir an mist Aa fur a chieftain's gain, a chieftain's greed Blaik shame that mony'd tae leave a corp unblisst Greetin in cairts, tae the coffm ships they gaed Wi feint a pyok or a press, a plaid or kist Anely their Gaelic leid, their sangs they keepit Some things canna be killt, or smored, or steekit 3.The Efterstang Sic a cuttin an slicin o thrapples o woundit men Donald Mckay o Glen Urquhart, shipped tae the Indies Cumberland'a reidcoats settin a lowe tae the glen The prince on his fite shelt, slippin the leash again Snaa storm an rain on the deid on Drummossie muir Riderless mounts ran lowse throw the cauld peat bree Murdoch McRaw, bystander, ower near the melee Hingit in Inverness on the Aipple Tree For Campbells an Inglis sodjers tae wheep an scourge An hen the Heilans the banshee wail o the dirge Jyles fit tae burst wi men, hoose, byre an steadin Brunt withe fowk inbye, at the Butcher's biddin Kilt, bagpipe, banned... a culture pit tae the sword Aa fur aa faithless prince, an a chieftain's wird 4.Darien Crops dwined wi nae a pikk fur moosie's share Hunger an wae grew greater ilkie day Nae man can feed his bairns on bowls o air Ill years. Wird wis the prospecks micht be fair Gin Scotian cud rig oot a colony New Caledonia could offer mair The Bay o Darien, fowk did declare Wad be Utopia...richt cantily Five ships sailed aff, tae drap their anchors there Echt month trailed by, wi rowth o tcyauve an care Three quarters o the settlers, neth the clay Ower late tae sen wird hamewird. Unaware A secunt wave o settlers socht thon lair Tae fin it fever-rid, fu o dismay Far Spain an Englan kept the presses bare Sae brocht tae wrack, the Darien affair Song: The Doric Festival: The 5. Gallowgate Doric Celebration Tune: The Weaver o the North Writtenfor the Gallowgate Doric Celebration,2010 Doric Festival At Gairden Pairties in Holyrood They say the food is swell Bit a stovie plate is a must-hae date At the Doric Festival Chorus: The Doric Festival, the Doric Festival There's fun for aa in the North East Neuk At the Doric Festival In Glastonbury amang the dubs Wayne Tony an Michelle Wish that the gig wis at Ellon brig Wi the Doric Festival In the Central Belt the seats are selt For the international Bit the Holy Grail's at the meal an ale 0 the Doric Festival In Shetlan up at Uphellya Frae Lerwick roon tae Yell Their fiddlers cheers at the burnin pier for the Doric Festival The Colosseum in Auncient Rome Fair liked a spectacle Ye'd hae as much fun in a butcher's shop Try the Doric Festival Sae here's tae fiddle an sang an ploo Braw an traditional Ye can hae yer pick...bit book in quick At the Doric Festival 6. St Margaret's Kirk: Tune: The Dundee Weaver The Gallawgate wis puir an dreich In Queen Victoria's time Fowk didna leave the hoose at nicht The derk wis ruled bi crime An on the Sabbath they wad hae Tae thole the stink o fish Parked there in barras on the street The ratties favourite dish Here Faither John Comper did come Tae help the diocese He wirked fur mony a wirthy year Wi little thocht o ease An in the toun he made his ain Lang murned eftir his daith The Piskies named gweed Faither John A Hero o the Faith For Margaret Queen o Scotlan The Pisky kirk wis named She wis a saintly body, For charity weel famed This leddy prayed at midnicht, Rose wi the mornin bell Tae feed the orphans an the puir Afore she dined herself The Gallawgate aince sealed the fate 0 mony's a guilty loon Fin friar's wirked tae meenister Tae seek fowk in the toun Bit sune frae their auld biggin St Margaret's kirk will meet New neebors up at Marischal Fin the council takks its seat 7. Str aaberry Day Near gloamin time, the listeners pass aroon A bowl o weety straaberries, glimmerin reid Whilst dauchlin at the skepp o hinney bees A wasp sikks entry fur a sleekit feed The bowl is antique patternet, fite an blue The berries, crarnmosie, melt in the mou The poets feast on wirds, whilst bummers pu The harebells doon, each pollen pooch stap- fu The bees grow weariet, bizz inby their hoose Tae dream o thyme an heather, rose an brier The poets thochts flee aff in fantasies Sic ploys dae wirds an staaberries inspire! An aa is rhyme or anti-rhyme, or verse The pattern o the ripenin mapamoun Afore auld age comes past wi shroud an hearse Poets an bees daunce tae September's tune 8.The Twa Faces o Bride Twa goddesses wauk doon Princes Street Sharin the same skin, stewed in the same bree Jyned at the hip: ae wumman, Jekyll an Hyde Their wirth is eaksy-peaksy Wrunkkles, auld wummin guffs Are vrocht frae Youth wi its gallus, bigsie face Baith breath, keech, hae their eeses Ower the wersh wikks o Yule, The dowie haar o the Faa This schizophrenic body luiks like a Cailleach Hudderie-heided, shauchlin in bauchled sheen Wyse wumman, haudin the keys o the hoose o Daith Ye'll meet her in blindrift, kistin, ilkie obituar Luiks are a trick o the licht, a whigmaleerie In the wolf month o Februar, ben Allan Ramsay's braes The yowes' teats swall wi milk Lammies drap frae the wyme on trimmlin shanks In Embro, new girse briers in the neuks o closes Corbies nest in Kirkyairds throw the toun Skelpin alang the Royal Mile Cams Bride on fite stilettoes Her wee breists jigging wi promise A vergin ripe fur the puin 9.Caledonian Anaconda On Monday I ett twa Firths an a cuttie steel On Tuesday I ett Grayfriar’s Bobby an a Fife partan On Wednesday I raxxed ma gub An ett the hale o Princes Street gairdens as weel On Thursday I’d indigestion On Friday I ett the Stirlin monument an Sir Sean Connery Follaed bi the Loch Ness monster an Ailsa Craig The leavins made broth on Setterday. On Sunday I ett a Glenlivet distillery An cracked a teeth on Ben Nevis Thon nicht I flittit tae Orkney It is jist the richt size fur a picnic I hae ambitions Neist wikk I micht tackle France 10. I Lue ma Kintra I lue ma kintra fur its wyver's wabs I lue ma kintra fur its whigmaleeries I lue ma kintra far the North Sea bites Wi cloud an wave thegither, tapsalteerie I lue ma kintra fur its nettles' fire I Jue ma kintra fur its buckie shells I lue its rikkin kye in park an byre I lue its flichts o gloamin pipstrelles I lue its tarns, its lochans an its puils I lue its drookit waucht o lavender I lue its clarty rigs o tattie shaws I lue its ghaistly laricks in the haar I lue ma kintra wi ma heid an hairt Toun, ferm an glen, ilk prickly pikk an pairt The thrissle wi its jobby, ainnoured skin The sangs, the leids, o Scotia's kith an kin 11. Time in a Pyoke Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke, wad it unzip itsel Gyang 'Boo! ' like a cuckoo clock? Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke, wad it blaw up, A bomb in a crooded shop? Sic things stop time in its track A tsunami, an Armageddon Cairtin Daith on its back Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke Cud I beery it? Makk time mute? Bit naethin wad age nor dee Be born nor fruit. Gin I cairriet time in a pyoke Pain wad prig me tae speed The stervin wad bite ma heels Frae verra need 12. Autopsy o a Corp (Flodden) There wis nae claes on the corp Ryped bare bi reivers. A keek at its powe Shawed twa likely means o daith The heid, skewered throw bi an arra The skull, hacked in twa bi an Inglis halberd Ae haun hung bi a threid The corp wis identifeed as Jamie Stewart Nae sign o grallochin DNA suggested a Danish mither A Scottish faither, a German granminnie He wis fand on a Friday nicht Eftir a hard doonpish o rain Nine thoosan deid aroon him quaetly stiffenin Twa abbots, fifteen barons, umpteen lairds, Nine earls, aa bizzin wi flees For ease o disposal o this corp, kent details are aneth: Darg: King. Age: 40. Marital Status: Merriet Cause o daith: ambition Effecks o Daith: a michty nation murnin 13. Gadiefest 2010 Far are ye gaun, ma bonnie wee lass Far are ye gaun, ma dearie? Far are ye gaun, ma bonnie wee loon Wad ye like tae hear a story? At Gadiefest ye'll meet the best Cath Little she will cheer ye Wi tales o Wales an the tumin year Tae entertain an fear ye At Archeolink, John Wheeler wytes Weel wirthy o a mention The joy o tellin a crackin plot He'll share wi flair an tension He'll pirl a penny whistle tune He's skeely an excitin An bairns frae Oyne will tap things aff Is onythin mair invitin? Oh Glastonbury's kent warld wide For dubs an sang an blether At Gadiefest weir an extra vest An niver ye heed the weather For in the Roon Hoose bi the fire Wi Picts an Roman sodjers Draw up yer seat an hae a heat Wi Bronze Age coffin dodgers 15. Harlaw The great Macdonald o the Isles tae raxx his pouer wis keen Tae claim the Earldom o Ross an spulzie Aiberdeen Chorus: Wi a dirumdoo a dadumdoo a didtiy and a day The great Macdonald's army wis ower 10,000 men Wi swords & bows & arras, bringin terror frae their glen The provost Robert Davidson wi tradesmen frae the toon Jyned forces wi the Earl o Mar tae tum the robbers roon The provost marched frae Aiberdeen, aa clad in armour black As black's his widda's sorra fin his corp wis cairriet back Wi cavalry & infantry & shelties rinnin free The bluid ran doon sae thick an faist it reiddent girse an tree Brave Lesley o Balquyne he fell, wi his sax sons sae leal An mony a lad wis beeriet at the kirkyaird o Kinkell On Monday in the momin, the battle wis begun Bit lang e'er it wis gloamin time, ye'd scarcely ken fa'd won Sir Alexander Irvine tae the battle he has gaen Wi Hector Roy Maclean he focht till baith o them war slain Sae weakened war the Lowlanders, nae victory did they claim Bit mornin brocht the cheery news MacDonald had marched hame 600 hunner year ago an mair this dreidfu fecht wis focht At Harlaw Hoose a monument tae merk the day wis vrocht The tradesmen o fair Aiberdeen, a flag they still display Their forbears cairriet forrit at Harlaw tae heid the fray Gin Gin onybody speir at ye fit lies aneth the grun The banes o slaughtered sodjers, that battle had undone 16. The Warld Accordin tae ma Faither 'There's naethin bonnier than the win Rinnin ben bracken. Listenin tae the soun o't Watchin the meevent o win ben corn an girse.' The Grampians are tale-tellers Frae the heid o Lochnagar, The Nor East lies like a brose bowl Fu o sun an wattergaws Ye micht traivel far, farrer than yer ain faither Bit ye’ll niver traivel ayont the wyceness o this Bit ye’ll niver traivel ayont the wyceness o this It’s a puir vratch gies the hee-haw tae his hame 17. New Deer September, for Philip & Vicki Watt, Roon bales o strae lie biggit in the barn A skreich o craas flee in the winny weather Mids o the park ten nowt aroon a pen Chaa at their tooshts o stringlit hey thegither Their sharny dowps, their skelpin, dubby tails Present. Jaas doon they ett their daily maet Ane wanners aff, wyme stappt, ootower the girse As prood an vauntie's ony heid o state. The ferm road's a kirn o dubs an glaur Puils frae a jeelin doonpish full the track Laired doon bi wecht o tractor's churnin wheels Cobblin frae ferm tae park, tae wids an back. The hinneysuckle berries sheen like flame A wee jade flee reests on a rose-hip bush A hingin chyne chings, swingin on the byre Ower seen the brier's flooers will tum tae smush Grey gloamingjeels the win, herds clouds like nowt Hashin afore the derk tae their cauld hame Curmurin cushies coorie in the reef Flee ower teem staas ooto the spit o rain A grummlin pertrick clatters frae a sheugh The barley boos, somelike a shepherd's hyeuk A moosie's hole aside a timmer post Rins ben the girse doon tae its secret neuk The wannerin willies' petals dwine awa The kittlin o the place keeps tae the steadin The stirlins on the phone weers cheep an churl Or blaw like rikk alang the face o Heiven The wannerin willies' petals dwine awa The antrin while I feel as wan as them Anither year draws closer tae its eyn Auld age. The future trimmles on its stem 20 The Norlan Win The Norlan win's ajeelin win, sets icicles a-dreepin; The robin fears the Norlan win. Wi hunger she sits cheepin. Doon it sweeps frae the Polar air, its oxters fu o snaw. The Norlan win sets men fur hame, cauld, cauld, they hear it blaw. The lift is grey. The iron grun sets young an auld aa skytin Cars hoast an rikk, at momin time fin the Norlan win comes bitin An the cauldrife bawd in her winter fur, wishes the win awa An langs fur spring an a swackenin sun tae stert the slokin thaw There's mony the bird an breet an tree that canna thole its cloor The Norlan win is the hinmaist thing they'll fin at their deein oor Bit the stamies sherp in their cosmic birl like fine tae hear it skreich 21. Owersett o John Clare's 'Trespass' I dreided waukin far there wiz nae road Wi feartie-fitsteps ower the girse I trod . An aywis turned tae luik wi tentie ee Yet aa the airt I'd traivelled wiz sae fine An luiked sae braw I trampit forrit syne I thocht that ilkie stranger frooned at me An ilkie kinder luik appeared tae say 'Ye've bin on trespass in yer wauk the day.' I've aften thocht, the day appeared sae fine, Foo braw twid be gin sic a place war mine; Bit, haein nocht, I niver feel alane An canna use anither's as ma ain.