Scots Poems From Hard Listening

Epitaph for Dr Colin Milton An honest cheil has left this warld, Tae wirk wi him wis pleisur: Tae student, dominie alike The lear he shared, pure treisur He'd ay a kindly wird tae spikk Wi colleague or wi stranger An niver jouked his share o darg A scholar an arranger O conference an buiks o wecht He's earned his peacefu rest He'll be sair missed amang his fiers May he sleep weel, an blessed Benholm's Ludge: built 1610-1616 Benholm's Ludge, theWallace Touer, Wis biggt bi the Baron, Robert Keith. The brither o the Earl Marischal His family lued their waas an reef Hard bi the Netherkirkgait plunked Aside auld waas o Aiberdeen This stinch three storey Touer Hoose Luikit ootower the busy scene An eftir Baron Robert deed This verra hoose, original Wis turned intae the residence O Marischal's college principal The years birled roon, the touer wis hame Tae antrin merchants. A new wing Wis addit, an the boddom cheenged: An inn far ye'd hear siller ching Syne oor toun cooncil tuik it ower An wheeched this daud o history Awa tae Seaton's Tillydrone It stauns there, steeped in mystery Twis Marks an Spencers gart it shift Nae reivers cam tae ding it doon They pyed the flittin, stane bi stane Tae girse an widlan aa aroon East o the Touer Hoose stauns a motte A yirdy hillock, aa that be Left o a castle lang forgot Watchin the Don sweep tae the sea Noo Benholm's Ludge, or Wallace Touer Awytes fitiver fate will be The Baron, wi his sword an dug Vrocht in ae side, guairds constantly Twa Poets' Pairts A cast o Rabbie's Burns' skull Is keepit at Embro Uni, a haly relic A curio fur the nosey academic A pressman, John McDiarmid, Reid hett keen on phrenology Socht tae coont its cranial bumps Makkin a mould o the poet's creative lumps Sax chiels alang wi helpers, Wyted till derk, syne climmed in ower the waas O the great Bard's mausoleum Gaed intae the vault wi a laidder ooto sicht The lantern happt sae fowk didnae see the licht. McDiarmid plunkit the bard's heid Intae a linen pyoke, an daundered up Tae Queensberry Street, Far the plaisterer, Fraser, held it like a cup The cast o the poetic skull Wis taen tae Archibald Blacklock The surgeon, fa pit his hat on the heid, Tae meisur the size, o Scotland's bard lang deed Syne it wis wheeched tae Embro, Tae Combe, a master phrenologist, Fa joodged his cranial bumps Shawed great creativeness While doon in Yorkshire A boorich o spiritualists kent as the Table Rappers Cried up Burns tae spikk tae them in séances Near saxty year eftir his daith Poems fair flew ben the ether tae the believin Deed aged 37, his sowel still screivin! Robbers opened the tomb o the late Lord Byron The crypt wis stoory an hett, dour sicht tae see The meenister gaed awa hame tae takk his tea Leavin ahin the wirk chiels cairryin spaads Dauchlin aside the kist, swyty an scunnert Wi rummlin kytes, ill natured noo an hungeret Jim quo ‘Lat's hae a luik.' ‘Ye canna dae thon, ' sez his fier. ‘Jist watch me, ' Jim repons An sae they aa drew near Wioot as muckle's a ‘bye yer leave' He drave his spaad doon wi the virr o a haimmer Syne breeched a layer o leid, anither o timmer. Byron wis bane frae elbucks tae his tae hauns An bane frae the knees doon, Bit the lave wis perfeck Pittin the wecht on, gaun bald, nyakkit's a pluckit hen Bumbazin, the hale hypothick " I've bin in the Army, '' ane o the witnesses said " I've bin in bathhooses, I've seen aa mainner o chiels. Bit I niver saw naethin like him. He wis hung like a cuddy." Which pruves ayont aa doot That even in daith, he wis a maist extraodnar body Squatters, Scurries an Skitters It's kent as 'adverse possession' Squattin in ither fowk's biggins Shoppies, hames, banks, or bookies Plunkin yer bihoochie doon fariver ye like It's illegal, can lead tae 6 months in the jyle A £5,000 fine or baith. The ainer o the biggin can evict ye Bit maunna batter ye. Scurries are supposed tae bide on cliffs Ye dinna see humans bidin on cliffs The soun wid deefen us The win wid blaw wir coiffures inside oot Bit the toun's on the case Aiberdeen's brocht in a Harris hawk Tae fleg the scurries. Three year auld, Caad Saffron, a birdie bouncer Caain the scurrie squatters aff their stot Scurries hae taen tae chorin ice cream frae littlins Reivin fish suppers ooto the hauns o pensioners They hae nae shame ava Pirates o the air, coorse, feathered bandits In Scotland, peein ootside is a criminal maitter As per Civic Government (Scotland) Act 1982, An can lan ye a £60 fine fur skitterin in public cassies The Gordon Highlanders statue's A draw wi towrists an citizens as weel The scurries makk eese o't as a birdie laavie Even tho it's clartit wi gel tae pit the vratches aff Could they nae pee intae the waste dumps Or intae the sea? Fa hisnae piddlit in the sea as bairn fin paiddlin? Bring in mair hawks tae act as birdie polis Tae keep oor sillery toun luikin tickety boo! 9am: Crew cut wi faded sides Wayne Baxter, bawheid an eejit A blether, a millennial, a barista 9.30am: unnercut wi quiff Tarry Fletcher, a chorer, A clype, ripped jeans, Hells' Angel Leather jaiket, biker 10am: pony tail wi man-bun Timmy Trubeck, fantoosh Interior designer, a footerer A ficherer, dressed tae the nines 10.30am: Mohawk badass cut Jimmy Gammy, stars roon the lugs A sparkie, fa dibbles in coke 11am: A bob. A greetin-teenie Mona Soutar, A hackit, ugsome skyrie heidit Claik. Wirks in a bakery sellin baps an rowies 11.30am: A buikin fur Streaks an extensions Donna Davies, a merried podiatrist A nyaff wi a plookie face 12.30am: An Afro A radge. Shirley Bludder. Stinkin o hash, a student Wi attitude, ahin umpteen stooshies 1.00 pm: beaded dreidlocks A quine scart- scartin wi itch A scunner, a minger Scaled hauf her cup o coffee doon her breeks The keekin glaiss is teem, shop closed fur deener. The Spikk o the Birds The nichtingale's sang is baith soarin an liltin The merle is Chopin, Debussy, Vivaldi The leverick flees Heivenly, tunefu an spunky The mavis is noted fur giein tunes laldy The wee Jenny Wren gies her singin fu throttle The reidbreist brings cheer tae the cranreuch o Yule The spurgie's a bruiser, a fechter, a vratchie The whaup sings o hertbrakk, o keenin an dule The peesie's a lilter, the yeitie's a tweeter The scurries an craas are baith skeichers an roch The gowk an the doo they perform in the widlans Lang Sanny stauns quaet on the side o a loch The hoolet hoots oorie, while wee Tammy Norrie On cliff taps, the clown o the choir gies a cheep The erne soars sae heich that his singin is seelent While wee Willie weet feet wydes chirpy an neat The Lichthoose Cat The lichthoose cat is a curly cat Its tail gaes roon an roon Frae sclimmin the lichthoose stairs at night Like a corkscrew, up an doon Its een bleeze oot on the starns at night An the ships that pass the licht See three lamps lichtin them safely hame An twa are the cat's een, bricht The Scurrie A scurrie sat like a figureheid On the prow o a fishin boatie Wi barnacles crustin its peintit hull On the tap o the sea sae satty Ochone! Cried the scurrie, fit'll I ett Fin the coeans are teem o fish? As he tucked intae a plastic cod An plastic chips frae a dish Eureka McLuke Eureka McLuke hid a heid like a plook That wis ready ready tae pop wi notions For he wis a scientist steerin up Experiments stappt wi potions He vrocht a timmer yowe that baad An a robot he caad Ned That meeved tae the tap o a wee remote Tae bring tea an toast tae bed Mey Day Selkie Mey Day, cockin on a rock At Fitehills, a grey seal Wis luikin ootower frothin waves Giein her dock a sweel Better than a Jacuzzi In a private bubblin puil The Unborns Ane scrats at the windae o dream Like Cathy in Whudderin Heichts A quine wi hauntit een Blin tae the warld's sichts Ane's tint in the yalla fog In the loch o unbecamin A loon that micht hae bin braw Flits like a ghaistly salmon Ane is cripplit an blae An artist, bit hauf hatched He fell at the yett o conception A yorlin, frae livin snatched The unborns, far dae they bide Nae ae thing or the tither Dae they hing in the mists o time Like the wauchtin o a feather? The Waves The waves are breengin ooto the sea Blooterin the Moray coast As the storm clouds roll in the thunner bowl In the Quaich o the Heivenly Host Fa'd be a skipper o thon wud tides Far the waves rax up tae the sky An the knieve o God caas the hale jung bang Tae a wattery grave doonbye Lucy Lucy is a baa o purr She likes a bird tae ett She likes tae toss it in the air An munch it fin it's hett The Puppy I am a puppy I pee in the hoose I chaw up thecurtains, the baffies, the beddin I am a puppy, I'm Hell on the looe I'm nae a respector o palace or steadin Ma mistress maun pick up ma keech in a bg She hings it on trees, scunners birds wi the mess Sae noo the wee cheeper are smellin wi poo I am a pup an I couldnae care less The Cat at Nummer Ten The cat at nummer ten Hauds secrets in his paws He kens fa pyed the wallpaper That's clappt upon the waas The cat at nummer ten He kens affairs o state Like fa said fit tae faa Fit'd on the PM's plate The cat at nummer ten A pass he disnae need Gin cats could spikk he'd tell The PM's ilkie deed The cat at nummer ten Is Tory fin it suits He cheenges like the weather An disnae gie twa hoots The Cattie frae Nummer Siventeen I am the cattie frae nummer siventeen I hunt like a tiger, I live like a queen I terrifee moosies an birdies as weel It's jist in ma natur, nae larned in a skweel I am the cattie frae nummer seventeen A tabby wi cleuks an tae sleekit green een Mary o Mary Mary o Mary yer unca contrary Fan will ye larn tae dae fit yer telt? Tho ye gie braw bosies, sing like a canary Ye've nae maths ava tae pit unner yer belt Ye dinna like nummers the dominie sez I'll tell ye a secret quine.neither dae I Open yer I-phone, bit open it cannily Ask it the answer, bit dae't on the sly A Scots Owersett o the Poem Fareweel by Pablo Picasso The dawn that day brakk, just as the mist o the nicht Sank doon like a faem drappin tae shaw clear watter aheid The Bees in the beeskepp steered aboot tae win mair hinney It wis on thon day I luiked inno the keekin glaiss o chaunce Oors fizzed by jist as flees wheeched unner a birsslin sun The faem abune the crystal watter raise again The mist o the mirk raise heich abune me, brakkin the glaiss tae smush I drapped doon frae a ben inno the founs o scunner It wis syne that I kent fit I'd tholed It wis syne that I skirled 'Hey, day! It wis noo that I crystallized Yer pouer in the keekin glaiss o ma harns An syne I sat in the cheer o dreichness Wytin fur the glents o gowd an siller Tae sheen aince mair on the keekin glaiss