Poems In Scots & English From A Sharp Key

Bairn Play Villanelle Feetikins pammer an littlins skirl Thons the wye the bairnies play Haud yer lugs they're like tae dirl Watch wee quinies daunce an birl Skirts are fleein an hair's agley Caa the ropies plain an purl Here's the loon wi the cruikit curl Plays his lane near ilkie day Here is a tyke that likes tae gurl Watters warm, the waves they furl Dookins braw in the hett sun's ray A paiddlin laddie pykes his scurl Here's a cairt…d'ye wint a hurl Intae the lan far aathin's fey? Is thon a draigon? A skytie squirrel? Thon's the wye the bairnies play A Wee Camsteerie Spell Ten skirps o collieshangies Twa jilps o clishmaclavers A haunfu o langamachies A toosht o fearie blethers A skoosh o futterat's piddles A swatch o tattiepeelins A ream o warlock's riddles A skyte o pyson't beilins The fuskers o a kittlin Swyte frae a puggie's taes A waucht o whigmaleeries Banes frae a carlin's steys Mell in a midnicht cauldron As blaik's the earl o hell Twa steers an the kirn is feenished The wee camsteerie spell Music Music is a butterflee ye canna preen doon Like the sea soun that sweels in the shell fin held tae the lug It gars ye trimmle like a sea-anemone It can wring tears frae a steen It lowses the yetts o the cage o yer wirkin day Birds frae the orchestra flee in tae sweeten yer life It's a heich wire circus swinger, that gars ye haud yer braith As it rises an faas, rises an faas It's a wattergaw, a meerimatanzie, a michty linn o notes Wolves frae their cranreuch airt hear its cauld lament It floats frae cars an hoose windaes It is the souns trimmlin on air Echoes frae the past, the crescendo an staccato o the present Mrs Jekyll-Hyde I'm in two minds whether to leave him or not I can never tell where I stand with him Mr Punch or Mr Casanova Will he be kind and loving? Or wallop me over Friends don't believe me when I tell them ‘Surely not' they say ‘He's a real star of a man' But then, he's never hit them like a comet Out of the blue When his fists are itchy It's muggins that carries the can Grief is a Word Leaves, husks, seeds, all moulder into mulch Dusk enters the woodlice a trail of smoke Drifting and darkening Years hang like dew from a spider's web The sediment of mourning sinks to the lees Sometimes you were merry's a jockey at Ascot Who'd guess you'd fall before the race was ended The sky is mother of pearl the oysters empty In the wood, life's leeched away Shadows are crow pecked rags Far off the recumbent hills Are drained of niggardly sap Winter has turned things to stone God has turned off the tap Under my feet in the impenetrable dark The sweating worms toil in the blind earth The periscopes of mushrooms do not rise I remember your coming your womb wraps Your feather breathe, my ears two shells Attuned then to your needs your suckling gums A seed falls at my feet. I see your face in the clouds Bring on the undertaker, and the muffled drums Engorged The sight of Cousin Jean, suckling her baby boy At six years old, my eyes ballooned on her swollen breast Years later I learned the word engorged Veins choked with milk like the waters of Babylon The Mourner Frae the kirkyaird mools tae the bar Held up atween twa friens Like Christ on the cross The pish ran doon his breeks Free as the tears frae his een An fa's tae judge on sic a day as thon Naethin bit drink fur a bereaved da tae lean on The howl in his hairt like the howl frae a pack o wolves The Crush Guests at a Hollywood party rushed in to find a young starlet, fully dressed, writhing in pain on a bed.A day later she died from peritonitis, caused by a ruptured bladder. The star Fatty Arbuckle was charged with first-degree murder, eventually reduced to manslaughter. The star, thought to have weighed about 260lb (118kg) , was portrayed as a fat brute who had pinned down his prey, rupturing her bladder. Later doubt was thrown on the verdict. Who'd want to sleep with a human blob? A starlet might to win a two bit part A real crush. Fatty Arbuckle squashed her flat Liver, belly and ribs. Lungs, kidneys and heart Showgirl and Wishbone In the margin of memory Hangs a wishbone. Delicate, neat A twiglet of hens branching ribs Ravening teeth laid it bare As a bed stripped of a sheet It was never honed for a flight path It is part of the cage the hen has left behind Like a corset a show girl steps from One of the feathered kind Snow White's Credentials ‘You don't come from here, ' they rasped ‘I do' she replied. ‘I can't help being pretty' ‘Your clothes are different' they gasped She replied, ‘I was born in your city.' Their prejudice was very tightly clasped As unlike them, she was both wise and witty The Winnie Poem Winnie the Witch and Winnie the Pooh Were bored and bothered with nothing to do They climbed a rainbow and stepped on a cloud ‘Get off! ' cried an Angel ‘No Winnies allowed! ' But a high-flying dragon who needed a friend Cried ‘Hop on my back to the world's end We'll have such adventures.'And off they flew The witch, the dragon and Winnie the pooh The Deckchair's Advert Sprauchle Sun-sook Oot-raxx I'm a couch fur yer dowp Skelp on the sun scream Enjoy Noah Turns Picky Absolutely no sharks I'm closing the doors to Rottweilers, skunks, and otherundesirables Can remain at sea, in perpetuity Or send in references And a copperplate CV Toulouse-Lautrec His family roots ran back to Charlemagne Were Count-crusaders, wealthy hunting men Who intermarried to keep money safe His parent-cousins inbred him disabled He chose Monmartre, hideaway of cripples Misfits, whores, bohemians and painters Meeting like-minded souls in bars and brothels Absinthe drinkers at the Moulin Rouge All night parties, artists, patrons, dancers He was the poster maker of the age Life was a cabaret, a sleazy stage The Glutton, Electric Ray, and High Explosive Nana the Grasshopper, and Chocolat, He painted un-matched couples ‘Reine de Joie' And‘A la Mie', drink fuelled, drawn close by need You couldn't miss him at the Folies Bergère Full black shovel beard, limbs of a six year old Malicious wit…then syphilis…Paralysis, a stroke at 35 Then death opened its trap door…just a little Just above five feet, and he was gone FiveOwersetts o Cattie Poems The Cats o Kilkenny (Anon) There aince wir twa cats o Kilkenny Each thocht thon wis ae cat ower mony Sae they focht an they hit An they scrattit a bit Till apairt frae their nails An the taps o their tails Insteid o twa cats there's nae ony Cattie; owersett o a poem by Zbigniew Herbert (1924-2000) He's aa blaik, bit his an electric tail Fin he sleeps in the sun He's the blaikest ferlie ye'd think o Even sleepin, he catches a frichtened moose Ye can see thon in his wee cleuks Growin frae his paas He's unca nice an nesty He pykes birds aff the trees Afore they're ripe Wid; owersett o a poem by Zbigniew Herbert (1924-2000) A path rins barfit tae the wid Inside are mony trees, a gowk bird Hansel an Gretel An ither wee breets. Bit there's nae dwarfs Fur they're aa gaen Fin it growes derk A hoolet steeks the wid Wi a muckle key Fur gin a cattie creepit in It wid raelly cause an unca rowth o herm Pittin Doon the Cattie: Owersett o a poem bi Billy Collins The assistant hauds her on the brod The fur hingin lowse frae her wee skeleton An the vet heists the needle o fluid That'll draw a line throwe her ninth life ‘Painless, ' he tells me ‘Like coontin back frae a hunner' Bit I wint tae tell him That oor puir cattie canna coont ava Far less tae a hunner Far less backwirds Owersett oa Cattie poem frae Cauld Ben Poems, Han Shan (750-800?) In ither days I wis puir eneuch tae suit Bit noo I'm jeeled in utmaist puirtith I makk a bargain- things dinna wirk oot I takk the road- it eyns in wae an skaith I wauk in dubs- ma feet skyte oot frae unner I dowp doon in the shrine- I thole the belly-rive Sinsyne I tint the mony-coloured cattie Aroon the rice jar, hungered rattens wyte Sydney at the Cinema A little girl called Jessica Whose pet was Syd the snail Was taken to the cinema A treat that would not fail An when the lights were dimming From her pocket she fished out A seashell, and then Sydney From this cockle he peered out No worms, no grass, no daisies Just a noise to wake the dead Of kiddies' picture trailers That were far above his head Popcorn huge as boulders popped Into pink mouths like cement mixers While children all around jumped up As if they'd drunk elixirs That night with his horns pounding Returned to his garden den Sydney slid away, escaped And sadly was not seen again The Pangolin Did ye hear aboot the pangolin That tried tae play the mandolin He spoke in Thai an Mandarin Bit couldnae get a date Because nae lady pangolin Could whip up the adrenalin Tae wyle him as a bidie-in Rigged oot in armoured plate Night River I prick my ears to the lullaby of water Under the vast configuration of galaxies The river soothes and cleanses the muggy heat of day Rhythmic, by fox paths and spray struck water weeds Rhythmic, by the warm quilt of fields on the far side Rhythmic, by the out-sprawled suburbs of sleeping families Dark shapes of salmon, glide like drowning leaves The river is my kinswoman, my back story She rattles the time-smoothed stones Like a shaman, telling the bones Ode to a Mobile Phone You're a dead ringer…no fun When you break up a concert, rudely No manners- making me Public enemy number one You're a disaster Trickier than a troupe of Gibraltar monkeys With apps an functions galore That I'm never going to master I'm a stop/go, on/off person, No technocrat But forget instructions I'm told they're so old hat ‘Madam, you play around with it Get to know your phone.' Really? Why would I want to do that? ‘Hello phone. This is me, your owner Act up and I'll smash you…splat The Brock Brock wis snocherin aneth the grun Fite an blaik wi a shovel heid Abune, the win in the trees wis strang Mony's the fairmer wished him deid Aathin he did on the ferm wis wrang Broch wis snocherin aneth the grun Meen wis sheenine ootower the lea Brock steppt oot wi a gangin fit Aff tae the hen hoose, feathery prey His een wi murder an starlicht lit Thrapples brukken an heids agley Meen wis sheenin ootower the lea Auncient, pouerfu, widlan breet Jaws as strang as a poacher's trap A myth, a legend, a waukin gods Up frae the unnerwarld, tae snap At wirms in the newly howit sod Auncient, pouerfu, widlan breet Primeval laird o a sunken sett Hyne afore cheils plooed up the yird Yer forefowk paddit atween the trees An the anely spikk wis o breet an bird Far hoolet hoots an the midgies heeze Primeval laird o a sunken sett Lang may ye rule the widlan yet Wasp Stings The bike resembled a paper ball Seemingly in a tenantless state My brother kicked it, unthinking Wasps in their stings hold hate He cleaved the day with his screams Wariness came too late Buttons the Campus Cat In the international ranks of cats Of campus felines, Buttons is best An Aberdeen tom, with fur like snow Who stood for rector, with cheek and zest A political tom, with crowds of fans Arnold Schwarzeneggar would be jealous ‘Cats not beaurocrats' Buttons cried The purrfect candidate. Proud and zealous! Endings Hemingway could hunt, fish, box and sail Died by his own hand, American macho man Attila József, Hungarian, Threw himself under a freight train Death derailed him Kafka, Czech, a German speaking Jew, Escaped the Nazi death camps That turned his younger sisters into smoke T.B. waved him off Wen-I-To, spoke against Chiang Kai-Check A terror squad of murderers erased him Virginia Woolfe stepped into the River Ouse The tongues of water over her head for once Her pockets weighted by stones Jacques Vaché committed suicide as a joke (Life had the last laugh there) Proust was a hypochondriac. To ensure he did not catch cold His tailor make him several bulky overcoats, Worn in increasing layers, like a Russian doll, like a human ball Despite all this, the great man died of pneumonia