Scots Poems From Stilts

Mr Dahl the Seannachie Mr Dahl wis a screiver o regular habits He ett toast in bed fin he opened his post At ten thirty he wauked tae his shed in the gairden Far he vrocht until noon as an idea-host A fine gin an tonic, prawns, mayonnaise, lettuce Fur efters, a swete chocolate bar ilkie day A nap, an at fower o clock back tae the sheddie Screivin tales until sax, wi nae ony cliché He screived tales in pincil, sax sharpened, weel pyntit His jotters, American, sent frae New York Wi a suitcase o logs as a richt sturdy fit rest This chiel, brocht tae life bi a Norwegian story A green sleepin bag kept his lanky shanks warm He lued caviar, bacon fryin, an wirds Like crabcruncher, quodwinkle, jumpsquiffling, muggled Snozzcucmber, frothbungling, unca absurd A seannachie, spy, pilot, inventor, faither A scrumdiddlyumptious creator o fowk Matilda an Charlie, The Eedjits, an Jeems An lastly the BFG, great muckle gowk Watch the Claes Foo dae fowk get steered up aboot claes? Takk the hijab, that hides the hair An whyles the face frae public gaze The queen hersel weirs heid scarfs in the hills Fur comfort? Warmth? Tae keep her lugs frae chills? Baudelaire, in his pre-thocht tae Les Fleurs du mal Screived lines rael gothic like: C'est l'Ennui! —l'œil chargé d'un pleur involontaire, Il rêve d'échafauds en fumant son houka. Tu le connais, lecteur, ce monstre délicat, —Hypocrite lecteur, —mon semblable, —mon frère! It's scunneration! — an ee reamin wi an unsocht tear, He dwaums o the gallows fin puffin his watter-pipe. Ye ken him, reader, this delicate monster, —Hypocrite reader, —ma twin, —ma brither! The blaikness o the Goth, drama an wae Repels some, ithers like the dour, the fey Claes makk the man, or woman.Choice is aa, The inner person isnae socht ava The Pedoscope The shoppie yoamed o leather Ma fit becam a skeleton at a touch The inner wirkins o ma taes Dwined doon tae banes in the shewed kist o Clarke's byordnar sheen The 26 banes o ma fit The tarsals, metatarsals, phalanges, Cuneiforms, talus, navicular, An cuboid banes, glentin oorie green In a Frankenstein monster screen The assistant's skeletal haun sliddered in It grabbit ma fit A voyce reassured ma mither: ‘A rowth o room inbye the shee fur growth' My radiated fit, thus passed fur fit In the buckled sandal Haein gotten ma radioactive hit Cat in the Gairden She sniffs the blae hydrangea She's vauntie as a pet She slivvers ower ma hose an queats She sunbathes fin it's hett Aneth the wyvin peonies She flegs a butterflee Fit fey an fremmit fancies Dae this cat's green een see? Memory Makker at Whitehills My son is makkin memories fur his bairns They staun, bumbazed watchin bummers Like licht winged dentists bizzin intae the flooers Already they hae heistit a dreein parten Frae a rock puil, pincers snappin Its ee buds on stalks, bubbles bibblin frae its mou Later, they'll flee a lowpin kite in the win Tae jyne a paper jeelyfish, a stingray, a Chinee dragon Simmer memories, passin intae their harns Like hinney stored in the caim bi eident bees Nemmes o Foreshore Rocks, frae village folklore o Whitehills Deep Jeems, Deevil's stane Bear seed, Horse heid Fite moo, Poopie moo Steamrick, Easter Gerrick Wan Nellie, Muckle Heri Lady Paon, Hole o Jordan Rumblin kitchies, Langforty Scurrie, Skuthie Lyaave, Huscey Craigneen, Saut Steens Foreshore Stanes Beach's banes A Street in Toon Wattie an Beldie, met in service at Buckingham Palace Him, in the Horse Guards, her as an unner maidie Twa genteel Doric spikkers frae the kintra Mr Greig wi his homburg hat an trench coat Walkin faist as a brock in this thick brogues Nae a spy or a spiv, A violinist, short on spikk an lauchter The auld maid Mistress Baxter, hauns like violet petals The hinmaist san in a time glaiss rinnin oot Sassenach neebors, a Suddron steekit capsule Blin fair bairns, that niver tuik the sun The chiel fa gaed his body tae medical science Nae left wi a pot tae piss in Eftir he cleared the debts o his feckless laddie Ma frien fa played hairdressers wi her mither's shears An clippit aff the braids o a quinie's hair An orra lassie pued her pants richt doon An lat her faimily tyke lick her bihoochie The blaik haired bride o an auncient bodach Fa prized a hame an security ower luve Burn o Vat June 2021 The sun beats like a haimmer doon The Burn o Vat is skinklin broon A pechin collie steeps its feet Far burn an bonnie sunbeams meet There's nae disease amang the trees Far honest nature takks her ease The birks sweesh saft far widlan craiturs Play bi the burn in pleisunt capers Here nature's flooers brier unaided Like gems upon the girse paraded They bring nae smitt upon their heids Nae pandemic amangst them spreids For anely man corrupts the lan Wi wastrel ploys an ill thocht plan A Veesit tae Cambodia In 2010 I visited Cambodia, having travelled first to Vietnam for my son's wedding in Ho Chi Minh city. Recently, I read a report on the munitions still left over from the Vietnam war, in neighbouring Cambodia. The auncient temple o Angkor Wat is a stammygaster Towrists heeze like flees aroun its sichts Cambodia's deeply mined Ten million mines still bide in a smaa kintra Veesit the pepper ferms, snap watter buffalos Dunt aboot in a tuk-tuk, three wheeled, open sided Cambodia's stappit wi ither kinds o crops Drapped in the 1960s & 1970s In the Cardamom Bens trek intae the green rainwids See sun bears, pangolins, monkeys, elephants bathin Killin wappans bide there frae the Vietnam war Gifties frae America, an Chineee, Soviet an Eastern block Ferlies left bi the Khmer Rouge An the ceevil war that cam in the 1980s. Takk a boat doon the Mekong River The liquid muscle o Asia flexxin its micht Daunder ben Phnom Penh, or Siem Reap Lie on the fite san beaches aroon the islands The area far towrists steer his bin cleared o mines Three decades o war tuik a sair-like toll on Cambodias 40,000 fowk are amputees: twice thon nummer in the hyne aff clachans Bumbazed towrists snack on wyvers in Tarantula Toun Deep fried in chilli an garlic Or crunch on girselowpers or silk wirms on a stick The puir maun risk the hidden daith o the mines Blawn tae smush fin howkin them up fur scrap Or ferm in mine parks, ettlin tae earn a livin Cairryin watter, gaitherin timmer fur kinnlin Amputees sit beggin inbye the touns On July 2020 on ae ferm alane HALO fand 37 lanmines. The fermer, a faither an husband, could ferm Withoot the fear o daith doggin his steps, Able to wirk the grun tae feed his faimly Nollywid Gin ye ging on safari, in Nigeria this day Ye winna see a lion or an antelope at play Na, hidin in ahin a buss…a Nollywid film crew A producer an director will be mebbe stalkin YOU Monsieur Mangetout Michel Lotito, June 15,1950 - June 25,2007 was a French entertainer, born in Grenoble, famous for deliberately consuming indigestible objects. He came to be known as Monsieur Mangetout ('Mr. Eat-All') . Mister Mangetout Fit d'ye ett fur denner? Skirlie, an tatties or broth? Cullen skink, stovies or partans? Cappuccino, wi plenty o froth? Mr Mangetout ett steel chynes, a kistie Wi haunles, twa beds an a plane Eichteen bikes, twa skis an a computer A watterbed wioot a maen He ett sivven TV sets, an award plaque Fifteen shoppin cairts, sax chandeliers Nails an glaiss, this byordnar muncher It's a winner he lived sic lang years! Scots Owersetts o twa Poems bi Queen Elizabeth 1st o England On Monsieur's Depairture I murn an daurna shaw I'm nae content, I lue an yet am gart tae seem tae hate, I dae, yet daurna say I iver meant, I seem sterk dumb bit inbye I dae prate. I am an amnae, jeel an yet am brunt, Since frae masel anither sel I turnt. Ma care is like ma shadda in the sun, Follaes me fleein, flees fin I pursue it, Stauns an lies bi me, daes fit I've dane. His ower familiar care it gars me rue it. Nae means I finn tae rid him frae ma breist, Till bi the eyn o things it be supprest. Some doucer feelins slidder in ma mind Fur I am saft an vrocht o meltin snaa; Or be mair cruel, ma joe, an sae be kind. Lat me tae float or sink, be heich or laigh. Or lat me live wi some mair swete content, Or dee an sae forget fit luve ere meant. Noo Gyang an Lat me Rest Noo gyang an lat me rest. Dame Pleisur, be content. Gae chuse amang the lave; ma dotin days be spent. Bi a wheen signs I see thy offfers are bit vain, An wyceness warns me that pleisur sikkith pain; An Natur that dis ken foo time steps caas ajee, Gies ower tae painfu wae, an bids me larn tae dee. Sin aa fair eirdly things, sune ripe, will sune be rot An aa thon pleisunt springs, sune crined, an sune forgot, An youth that gies chiels joys that ramstam lust desires In age repents the toys that reckless youth requires. Aa thon delichts I leave tae sic as daftness trains Bi pleisurs tae deceive, till they dae finn the pains. An frae vain pleisurs past I flee, an fain wid ken The blythesome life at last I hope tae gain. Fur wirds or wyce reports are yet examples gaen 'Gyang bridle youthfu ploys, till age cam creepin on. The pleisant coortly gemmes that I takk pleisur in, Ma aulder years noo shames sic gyteness tae begin. An aa the fancies fey that fond delicht brocht furth I dae inteyn tae cheenge, an coont them naethin wirth. Fur I bi offers vain am gart tae ken the skill Fit micht hae bin forborne in ma young reckless will; Bi which gweed pruif I flee frae will tae wit again, In hope tae set ma fit in surety tae remain. Twa Owersetts in Scots o Poems bi Queen Mary Stuart Sonnet Tae Queen Elizabeth I o England Ae thocht, that is ma grue an ma delicht, Ebbs an flows swete an wersh inbye ma hairt An atween doot an hope teirs me apairt Fin peace an aa tranquility takk flicht. An sae, dear sister, should this letter dwall Upon ma wechty wint o seein ye, It is thon wae an pain shall be ma due Unless ma wait should eyn baith faist an weel. On the heich tide aside the herbour bar An a clear lift o suddenty full wi cloud; Likewise fleg an wae full aa ma hopes, Nae because o ye, bit fur the times there are Fin ma weird twafauld strikks on sail an shroud A Poem screived at Fortheringhay, nae lang afore her execution Ochone, fit am I? Fit eese his ma life? I'm bit a corp fas hairt is rived awa, An eeseless shadda, a ferlie o wae Fa his naethin left bit daith-in-life. O ma faes, set yer envy aa aside; I've nae mair eagerness fur heich domain; I've tholed ower lang the sair wecht o ma pain Tae see yer roose sae faistly satisfeed. An ye, ma friens fa hae lued me sae true, Mynd, wintin health an hairt an peace, There is naethin wirthwhile that I can dae; Speir anely that ma misery should cease An that, bein punished in a warld like this, I hae ma portion o aybydan bliss. Relationship bi Nummers She telt him: ‘Three's a crowd! I dinna play secunt fiddle tae onybody. Three strikes an yer oot' She skirled: ‘It hit me fur sax Pit me back tae square one Fin I saw her dressed up tae the nines An ye, three sheets tae the win In seeventh heiven. Aye, it takks twa tae tango.' She gaed on: ‘In the loch o lees There's mony deid fish. Dis she ken she's a nine day's wunner? Dis she ken she'll niver makk the nineteenth hole? Fit's in the Kist Cigars an fusky, mobile phones Gowf clubs, baas, a fishin rod Takk-a-waa meals, a teddy bear Near aathin bar a brickie's hod TV remote, a jaiket tattie Fish an chips, a base guitar A meerkat toy, a perr o clown sheen Aathin except a motor car Hame grown veggies, liquorice aasorts Photies, letters, torch an flooers, Waddin frock, a signet ring A catalogue tae pass the oors A fause leg, skiis, alarm button A fiddle, butter, scone an jam Cairds an chocolate, Russian dall A breemstick, breem an a dustpan Corpse is jist the mortal clooties Gaen awa tae Kingdom Come In the kistie, in the lowe Wheech, Amen an up the lum