Scots Poems From Neptune's Staircase

The Widdendreme (nightmare) I dreamt the wild hunt raced alang the nicht Skeleton riders on their baney shelts An fearsome wis The Horde tae mortal sicht Warlords o Norsemen, Picts, an aucient Celts Drivin the Wins afore them, storm an hail The skulls o victims hingin frae their belts The Horde breenged ower the clouds, tap o a gale Daith skirled aroon them, gart aa birdies flee Ghaists jyne them in their eildritch Heivenly trail Aa nicht I tossed, tholed thon cacophony The thunnerin hooves drummed ramstam in ma lugs Till day-brakk brocht an eyn tae thon fey spree Abriachan Wids The larick is gracefu, the swetest o trees Leerichie, larichie, leerichie Her cousin the pine rattles cones in the breeze Leerichie, larichie, leerichie At gloamin Abriachan wids takk their ease Leerichie, larichie, leerichie An saft thrum the bummers, their brithers the bees Leerichie, larichie, leerichie Reid squirrels gae skytin up hazel an ash Leerichie, larichie, leerichie Pine martens an brocks disappear in a flash Leerichie, larichie, leerichie There's Herb Robert, an tormentil, bird's foot trefoil Leerichie, larichie, leerichie An an auld coffin track, an a tint fuskey still Leerichie, larichie, leerichie There's tree pipits, lichens, wid warblers an wrens Leerichie, larichie, leerichie An aroon the swete scent o the heath in the glens Leerichie, larichie, leerichie The Fairy Puils, Skye Did ye cam by the fairy puils The fairy puils, the fairy puils Did ye cam by the fairy puils Tae see the fairies dauncin? I cam by the fairy puils The fairy puils, the fairy puils I cam by the fairy puils I saw the nickums prancin Oh did ye takk them by the haun By the haun, by the haun? I didnae takk them by the haun The fairies' wyes are dauntin If I had taen them by the haun By the haun, by the haun If I had taen them by the haun Ma family wid be murnin Neptune's Staircase Neptune, wid ye enter the staircase? Lat locks heist ye up an awa Biggit bi Tammas Telford, Ye can be sure ye winna faa! Neptune, fit dae ye think o Ben Nevis? Saxty fower fit in the air, ye've gaen See Loch Linnhe an its waters bonnie The Caledonian Canal's supreme! Midgies A midgie bite's waur than a hornet's sting It'll hae ye dauncin the heilan fling They arrive in thoosans yer bluid tae sook Yer left wi byles like a stoonin plook Aboot oor midgies I like tae blaw Tae fleg the toorists I craa, I craa Bit in the heilans this year ye ken There wisnae a midgie in howe or glen Cauf Days Ma cauf days didnae cause ithers offence I'd paiddle, plyter, skim steens, splash an dook I'd play wi dubs an dockens, makkin mince Nae electronic ferlies. Jist a buik Wis aa the stimulation that I nott I'd fish fur bandies, plunkin them in jars An nae computer fried ma growin harns At nicht I'd feast ma een on meen an stars Eftir Daith I shauchle tae ma bed, coddlin ma sairs Winnerin fan I'm gaun tae jyne the deid. Fit peers are due tae drap in the Abyss? I like tae think fowks' ain faith sets the compass I like tae think I'll jyne the cosmic bree Wi mebbe meetin whyles, tint faimily. Classical speerits wytin bi the Styx Auncient Egyptians waukin the Field o Reeds Moslem believers safe in Paradise, weel planned Christians in Heiven, snod amang the clouds Buddhist Nirvana, Celtic Tir na nÓg Vikings' Valhalla, Shinto's Warld o Derkness Hindu Reincarnation, Theosophists' Simmerlan Fin I wis five, I wis an animist I kent that I wis sib tae burns an Bens, Tae stags, fish, leaf an tree An auld wife noo, I still believe thon's true An animist turned Buddhist, patently Eftir daith… real Hell micht anely be The Unkent, cairried on eternally Loch Ness Alpacas Niver mind luikin fur Nessie There's alpacas tae meet by Loch Ness Ye can meet them an feed them an greet them Thon alpacas are sure tae impress Mercury, Jupiter, Chaos Zodiac, Aero an Luno Apollo, an Star, rose-grey Storm Tae Scotlan frae far Altiplano! On the First Day o Xmas this is fit I ett 1. A ten pun roast turkey 2. Twa brussel sproots 3. Three clootie dumplins 4. Fower byled tatties 5. Five dough baas 6. Sax buttered rowies 7. Sivven sausage rolls 8. Echt sherry trifles 9. Nine chocolate sweeties 10. Ten dauds o shortbread 11. Eleyven efter echts 12. Twal Rennie peels Doric Owersett o I lost my identity card bi Yehuda Amichai I tint ma identity caird. I hae tae screive oot ma curriculum vitae aa ower again fur mony offices, ae copy tae God an ane tae the deil. I mind the photie taen thirty-three years back at a win-scoored neuk in the Negev. Ma een wir prophets syne, bit ma body hid nae idea fit wis happenin tae it or far it belanged. Ye aften say, Thon is the airt, This happened richt here, bit it's nae the airt, ye jist think sae an live in error, an error fas eternity is greater than the eternity o truith. As the years gae by, ma life keeps fullin up wi nemmes like abandoned graveyairds or like a daft history class or a telephone buik in a fremmit toun. An daith is fin somebody keeps cryin fur ye an cryin fur ye an ye nae langer turn roon tae see fa it is