Scots Poems From The Sanctuary Knocker

The Sanctuary Knocker I've chapped at the sanctuary knocker I've priggit tae be let in Tho I'm nae frien nor foe tae ye Nae sib….nae kith nor kin Ma kintra's riven apairt bi war Ma bairnies greet at nicht An ye hae peace an breid tae spare I claim alms as a richt I hinna steepit ma hauns in bluid Nor bombed bairns in their bed Tho cauld's yer kintra, fey's yer wyes It's tae yer yetts I've fled I've chapped at the sanctuary knocker Stranger, aneth the skin I hae a hairt that beats like yours Stranger, can I step in? Easter Wids Catkins in their foggy hoods Fite an saft as Angels' snoods Nod as breezes daunce alang Girse is fair wi gowans thrang An the incense o the trees Aa the widlan purifees Idioticals Wioot wids, watter, flooers, natural ferlies Touns an aa inbye them Are idioticals  hotterels o soun an stramash The Japanee caa it Wid-dookin, Shinrin-Yoku Wauken ben wids, yer sheen Kickin the tatterwallops o leaves Bricht harrigals o Autumn Lippenin tae the leerickie-laricrichie Sweeshle o larick, rowan, birk The skreich o a collieshangie o craws Or keekin up at the shelts'-tails in the lift O a saumon gloamin The branches hung wi the perlin o dyewy moosewabs Evenin in Yule, in the queeriesome colours o cauld It's gledsome tae watch the burns Breenge heigh-ma-nannie doon the bens Scoorin panjotterls o leaves frae the puils sides Feelin the shmoodrichs o sna Faa saft on yer jeeled chikks Smoke A puff of smoke, grey fluff and feather Bursts from a hedge On a clumsy fledgling flight Nature has dressed the braes around in gold A glut of glorious daffodils Snowdrifts beneath the tree Are a distant memory The clock ticks on Round the changing face of seasons The mirror shows late winter all year round Cheenge is Lichtsome Cheenge is lichtsome, whyles onchancy Heelstergowdie, muckle an least Aa the warld's gaun tapsalteeerie Ozymandias, wha'll faa neist? Stars an stripes, nae hugger-muggery Oh, wi lauched at fey ongauns! Like a B Movie, wi skulduggery Showbiz, sabre-rattlin, cons Cheenge is lichtsome, whyles onchancy Naebody's lauchin here, this day Thon wins o cheenge will they blaw lichtly Ower the seas frae the U.S.A? Between the Cemetary & MacDonalds Tattered memories blow across the pavement A toddler cries fat tears down chubby cheeks Seagulls are active ingredients in this cityscape Sirens wail by, opening wounds in the ear of day Millions of birds have slipped through the back door of night This street, these centuries, this city How many winters will pass before they crumble? Will pestilence, war, or global warming prove fatal Before more than birds pass through the door of night? Easter Bairnie: for Skye-Marie Anderson The April trees are wauchts o green New-glimmerin in the glentin sun The rikk o barbecues soochs by Risin ootower the flooery grun A heron stauns abeen the Don Far waves rin by like liquid glaiss It makks o steen a nat'ral plinth It's like a statue, motionless A tyke dooks at the watter's edge Dowp wags like a clock pendulum Wee birdies in the hedge's mids In hidden hoosies, threip an thrum Students wauk coortin haun in haun Ithers stravaig, een glued tae phones Ye hear the crack o beer-tin taps An early foggy bummer drones A fisher yarks his sheenin line Alang the current, trystin troot A bairnie's Easter days are catched In a prood parent's photo shoot Treisur mair dear than that o Kings The joy tae faimlies new life brings The Corp in the Cooncil Meetin Cooncil meetins, it is said Are scunnersome an borin As Mr Bentham could attest Wis he asleep an snorin? Na, na, his spirit micht hae bin His mummy niver spakk In fact, the perfeck cooncillor I think they'll seek him back! Princess Mary's Xmas tin The Princess Mary Xmas tin Wis vrocht wi siller for officers, Braisse for the ordnar sodjers, Tae be giftit on Xmas Day,1914 Ilkie tin wis peintit wi her pictur An stapped wi a swatch o baccy, A pack o fags in a yalla monogrammed paper, A lichter, a Xmas caird A photie frae the Princess hersel. Forbye, Puckles o tinnies hid sweets, chocs, lemon sookers Anely 400,000 wir at the Front fur Christmas Bi then, the Deid Man's Penny Fower inches in diameter, wis sent insteid Tae the murnin neist o kin A wee braisse tin, fur the shell-shocked The blichtit, the gassed, the blin The Tortie Some fowk are killt bi fire an sword Aeschylus daith indeed Wis fey: frae oot the Heivens drappt A tortie on his heid Cadail, Mo Ghaoil - 'Sleep, Darling, Sleep' Regimental Pipe Tune 'Sodger, lie doon on yer wee pickle straa, It's nae very broad, and it's nae very braa But, sodger, it's better than naethin at aa, Sae sleep, sodger, sleep." Requiem for a Coo A rocket fae the USA drappt on a Cuban coo Alas, thon douce-like bovine breet Deid faist, wioot a moo The Cubans beeriet it wi state, A maist sincere procession A victim, politeecians said 0 imperialist aggression In Church Twa auld caileachs dover on their pews The kirk is cauld, the seats as hard as steen Their hair, like rattens' tails, Faas oot aneth their fake fur bunnets Their glaisses slide tae the eyn o their nebs They are rowed like buckies Booed ower their fooshty Bibles Oh, the wershness o auld age Beens like spunk-sticks Ye could crack in a meenit Dried up like the river beds o Afric Drouthy fur rain. They were born fin wee fite tykes Glowered intae gramophones Fin trams gaed rick-ma-tick alang the rails The psalms are their pop tunes Naethin tae dae bit staun in the queue Wytin tae enter God's mansions Up in the lift The Wesley bone folk tradition Fit micht ye dae tae pass the time? Peint on a horse vertebrae of course! A Methodist preacher raxxin his airms Listen, or thole Damnation's curse! Dunfermline Toun The coach parked in Dunfermline toun Sae passengers could dine An ilkie floor-pot in thon caff Sprootit a plastic vine The tatties, hard as hinnersan Wis granite-like an teuch An beeriet aneth greenery Bit they war chaip eneuch Auld bodachs weirin basebaa caps Wis pushin cairts like Zimmers A heeze o European leids Wis heard ower gairden strimmers Wee knickums skirled like banshees Aroon hydrangeas an heather An Fifers ower a mug o tea Cried, ‘My, thon's affae weather! ' An sic a rowth o geegaws there Tae tryst cash frae the pooch An halflins deavin faithers (Bairns are aywis on the mooch) Ay, bluid-reid wine wis drunken Ower the olives an broon breid Bit nae in unca quantities Na, temperance ruled the heid Ah, weel-a-wat Dunfermline The kintra's fate's decidit At Burger King, or Dobbie's Britain jyned or else dividit Ower panini, pizza, curry Latte, watter, Chardonnay The Fifers argy-bargy Vote for Sturgeon or fur May? Funeral for a Shank There aince wis a shank amputatit That in Mexico City wis fêted Its funeral wis lang An byordnar lang Fur a shank tae be sae celebratit Bit it didna bide lang in its lair It vanished ae day tae thin air Did it lowp aff itsel? Did it drap doon a well? Thon shank isna seen onymair! Byron's Waddin A jeelin win blew frae the sea The snaa cloud gurly flew Tae County Durham's, Seaham haa A waddin pairty drew This twa days intae Januar The year, echteen fifteen The bride, Sir Milbanke's dother A virgin, fair an clean Young Annabella stude unveiled Snod in a muslin dress Her een war glentin, bricht an blue Her bridegroom tae impress The groom, fite-face an curly powed The lad o her desirin Cam hirplin, gammy-fittit in, George Gordon, sixth Lord Byron At his command, the bridal richts War keepit quaet an quick Her dowry, less than he'd hae liked Luve, thin as caunle-rikk The bride pit on her traivellin claes The coach wis fussled up Far kirk bells pealed an muskets fired George dooned the stirrup cup An first they cam tae Rushyford The groom wis stern an dour The bride sat winnerin, fearie-faced Fit merriege held in store At Halnaby, throw drivin drift Baith lay at last in bed Lord Byron, throw a nichtmare cried ‘I am in Hell! ' he said Daybrakk wis cauld, The groom stepped oot His mainner…jibes an sneers Young Annabella kept inbye Her pilla wat wi tears Ego-Trip Am I braa? Am I winnerfu? Tell me. I wint tae ken Am I a stoater? A bobbydazzler? Text me. Snapchat me twitter me Naebody's takkin me on! Ma phone hisnae pinged in five meenits Nae ony hits? I Facebook, therefore I am…. Toun-Soun(2) Fitbaa supporters argy-bargyin Teethless junkies priggin Protestors giein it laldy Cars birrin Taxis tootin Scurries skreichin fit tae burst yer lugs Bussies hotterin Boozers singin Steer aa thegither an ye hae a toun Lament From a Special Unit Ither bairnies see the stars Aa I see are fuckin bars Magic mushies gart me spin Reefers let the madness in ‘Keeps him quaet' they telly my ma Life set me up tae watch me faa Locked up. Keepit ooto sicht Halflin caged in eynless night The Mither Washed the plates an walked the dug Pared the tatties, raiked the aisse Teemed the chunty…skelped the rug Scoored the steps an buffed the braisse Bleached the hippens, manglit sheets Preened the linen on the line Hoovered neuks, fed girnin geats Beddit ilkie night at nine Prayed tae God in kirk on Sunday Prayed that he micht keep a place In his mansion up in Heiven Fin at last, she'd see his face At the Hinnereyn, turned scunnered Bairns grew unbelieving, up Aa her tellins gaen fur naethin Tears in her communion cup An English Yowe An English yowe is a genteel yowe It disnae baa it beys It weirs a coat like a judge's wig As it minces doon the braes Like a curly poodle escaped frae Crufts It looks doon its neb gin ye meet it The thing tae dae wis an English yowe Is tae cut its thrapple an eat it The Yett I'm a yett. Langsyne I micht hae bin a tree Throw the aix-man, I tint ma reets An the jyner jurmummled me Wi his plane, his saw, his nails Till I wis aa o a mixter-maxter Noo I'm a yett The Sizzens dinna bother me Gin I'm feelin contermaschous I skreich, fur I'm stiff in the jynts I'm a kirk yett Sae nooadays I'm anely in eese on the antrin Sabbath A waddin, a kistin, a chirstenin Or a programme on Sangs o Praise Ne'er dae weels peint me whyles Fur community service…nae pride in thon darg In Spring fin I see the trees in the kirkyaird Fu o leaves, an din-raisin egg-hatchin birds I'm gled I'm a yett Noo, ma congregation's cheenged ‘Happy-clappies' the grave-digger caas them. Nae mair lang langamachies o sermons The meenister's Nigerian. I hear I'm tae be peintit baby pink The Saltire Rap John Knox, Darnley, Annie Lennox Burns, Ma Broon, Macbeth, the Krankies Bishop Elphinstone, Doon, kilt socks Calvin, Wallace, Bruce, the Kelpies Nichola Sturgeon, Jackie Kay The Big Yin,007, a rowie Tam o Shanter, Troon, the Tay Nessie, Silkies, Greyfriar's Bobby Irn Bru, Glen Fiddich fusky Byron, Scott, Mars bars in batter Gorbals, hame o mony a plisky Embro culture, Glesga patter Up yer kilt an doon the watter Vikings, Romans, Picts, the lave Scots wirds bubble up an hotter Tattiebogles…Sawney's cave Easter Sabbath Daffs dwine, a deein, dowie yalla show Wee lammies hunker bi their mithers' wymes Gean blossoms faa as fite as Winter snaa The breem's in bloom, the birks are elfin green Douce bluebells nod their bonnie fairy snoods A bigsie cockerel waukkens aa frae sleep A cloud rowes like a steen frae Heiven's moo The pea-the-beds are thrang in ilkie sheugh Fur a deid Son At the risin o the sun an its gaun doon I mynd on ye At the blawin o the win an the cauld o Winter I mynd on ye At the brierin o buds in Spring's rebirth I mynd on ye At the blueness o the lift an Simmer's warmth I mynd on ye At the reeshlin o the leaves an the brawness o Autumn I mynd on ye At the stertin o the year an in its eyndin I mynd on ye As lang as I live, ye'll live For noo ye are a pairt o me Fin I'm trauchelt an short o smeddum I mynd on ye Fin I'm sick an sair-hairtit I mynd on ye Fin I've teuch decisions tae makk I mynd on ye Fin I hae blitheness I'd yearn tae share I mynd on ye Fur as lang as I live, ye'll live Fur noo ye are a pairt o me Foriver an ay, my son Owersett intae Scots o The Jackfruit by Ho Xuan Huong I'm like a jackfruit on the tree. Tae taste, ye maun plug me quick, while fresh: the skin roch, the pulp thick, aye, bit oh, I warn ye agin touchin - the rich juice will poor oot stainin yer hauns Owersett intae Scots o ‘Spring Watching Pavilion; by Ho Xuan Huong Doucely Spring gloamin cams tae the pavilion, Unclouded in the least bi warldly sins. Three times the temple's bell rowes like a wave Unsettlin the puil far lift an watter mell. I' faith, the sea o Luve canna be teemed An the burnie o Grace flows easy aawye. Noo, far, far is Nirvana? Nirvana's here, nine pairts in ten. Scots Owersett o Weaving At Night - by Ho Xuan Huong Licht's wick turned up, the chaumer glows fite. The loom meeves easy aa nicht lang As feet wirk an push aneth. Glegly the shuttle flees in an oot, Braid or nerra, muckle or wee, skytin in snug. Lang or short, it glides oot smeethly. Quines fa dae it richt, let it steep. The claith colour winna dwine afore three hale years. Scots Owersett o On Sharing A Husband - by Ho Xuan Huong Be damned the weird that gars ye share a man. Ane kinoodles aneth cotton blankets; t'ither's cauld. Iklie noo an then, weel, mebbe or mebbe nae, Aince or twice a month, och, it's like naethin. Ye tyyaave tae stick tae it like a flee on rice Bit the rice is blichtit. Ye slave like the skiffy, Bit wioot pye. If I'd kent foo things wid be I think I'd hae bidden alane. Scots Owersett o Autumn Landscape by Ho Xuan Huong Drap bi drap rain skelps the banana leaves. Praise faiver sketched this dowie scene: The lush, derk canopies o the wizzent trees, The lang, lang river, slidderin smeeth an fite. I heist ma wine glaiss, drunk wi rivers an Bens. Ma pyoke, breathin meenlicht, stappit wi poems. Luik, an lue aabody. Faiver sees this landscape is bumbazed. Scots Owersett of If You Forget Me - by Pablo Neruda I wint ye tae ken ae thing. Ye ken foo this is: Gin I keek at the crystal meen, at the reid branch O the slaw autumn at ma windae, Gin I touch near the lowe the shadda-like aisse Or the wrunkled corp o the log, Aathin cairries me tae ye, As if aathin that lives, Guffs, licht, metals, Wir wee boaties That sail Tae thon isles o yours that wyte for me. Weel, noo, if bittie bi bittie ye stop lovin me I'll stop lovin you bittie by bittie. Gin o a suddenty ye forget me Dinna luik for me, Fur I'll already hae forgotten ye. Gin ye think it lang an wud, The win o banners that blaws ben ma life, An ye decide tae leave me at the shore O the hairt far I hae reets, Takk tent That on thon day, at thon oor, I shall heist ma airms An ma reets will set aff Tae seek anither lan. Bit gin ilkie day, ilkie oor, Ye feel that yer weird lies wi me Wi unyieldin douceness, Gin ilkie day a flooer Clims up tae yer lips tae seek me, Ah ma luve, ah ma ain, In me aa that lowe is rekinnlit, In me naethin is stamped oot or forgotten, Ma luve feeds on yer love, ma dearie, And as lang as ye live it'll be in yer airms Withoot leavin mine.