Scots Poems In Rickmatic

For Elizabeth Stewart: died Thursday 13th October 2022, aged 83 years. Fur sax decades she kept the lore O muckle balladFs tae the fore Performin on the global stage As storyteller, singer, sage Mony will this great singer mourn In Fetterangus she wis born Bit ower the waves her name's weel kent, Gaitherin friens far e're she went Her fowk wir traivellers, pipers braw An maisters o the past wir aa ‘The Cruel Mither' gart ye grue She sang it eildritch, sang it true The Battle of Harlaw, she telt Throwe sang, wi feelin deeply felt North Carolina pyed her fare In echteen states she toured aince there This lintie at Cullerlie sang Far singers, fiddlers, peers are thrang An maisterclasses she wad gie Tae students, teacchin balladry Binorrie, sangs o Dule an Ben O mony a wide an Lanely Glen She drew oot frae her bluid an banes Could makk tears tinkle frae the stanes Elizabeth Stewart, traivel licht Ye've jyned the speerits o the nicht Bit in the lift, aye sheens yer star A skeelie boat has crossed the bar The Hale Rickmatic Fantoosh fichery fooshty flech Queerieorrals or whigmaleerie Blootered an contermaschious, dreich Blythe an kittlesome blae, camsteerie Knapdarlochs, dubs an widdendreme Skittery, footery, fantoosh, fey Futterat oxter erne an tod Warlock orra coorse an wae Bosker, breenge, an bubblyjock Bumbazed, stammygaster fearie Collieshangie dirl an dule Duddies eildritch hale clanjamfrey Galluses an tattiebogle Spayver, skinklin heelstergowdie Pammer prig an peesie-weep Sottar mingin tapsalteerie Slorach, wattergaw an whaups Yird an tyauve, an darg, an mowser Ashet gowan gype an drams Wirds tae hairten ony screiver Things Cherished Haudin ma faither's haun as a wheezy littlin Watchin a leverock soarin in the lift Snod bi an ingle, warmin ice-cauld taes Nursin ma newborn son as he sooked the breist Rigs o barley sweyin gowd in the win A fiddler raxxin ooto a lang lament A time fin the deid wir wardly flesh an bluid Pure clean snaa drappin ben seelent trees First readin o Charlotte Bronte or Dickens' novel A piper playin pibroch ower a burn The skinklin doonfaa o a Heilan linn A robin reidbreist cheepin in a buss Puin the teats o a milk coo's hairy udder The wye a clarsach souns in an auncient kirk A gorblie fuffin up its froth o fluff A Gaelic congregation singin psalms A simmer's day aside a peaty puil A mummlit mantra at a Buddhist shrine A bosie frae a granbairn's ootraxxed airms Leanin inno the lang broon face o a shelt Dwaunin on a brae far birk trees showd Drappin hinnet ontae buttered toast Lippenin tae Chopin in aneth a gean An nae a thocht o toun or hoosin scheme A Nummer Poem Ae auld aipple, scunnersome, rotten Twa trauchelt tykes wi greets begrutten Three tricky tadpoles sweemin wi troots Fower faist futterats wi snottery snoots Five finnan haddies in a pyoke o chips Sax sappy silkies plashin eftir ships Sivven skreichin scurries skytin ower stanes Echt erne's pykin a deid coo's banes Nine nesty newts nippin bandies' taes Ten teenie gollachs tryin new claes tryin new claes Graffiti Is this fit the Schule larns ye? Tae clart the waas an windaes wi yer nemme? Are ye feart ye forget fit it is? Roxy, Jamil, Amelia faiver ye are Some ither body pyes Tae clear up yer daft wee gemme A Nickum's Resolutions I winna cowp tea leaves ower oor cattie's meat I winna pit puddocks on Lizzie's seat I winna drap tae clippins back o the bed I winna clart bogies on Geordie's ted I winna use sweir wirds fin veesitors veesit I will clean ma oxters wi soap frothy watter I will redd ma claes up…I'll try tae be guid Bit bein ill trickit maun be in ma bluid Scots Owersett o Hauf a Hurcheon bi Miroslav Holub The boddom hauf had bin run ower, leavin the heid an thrapple an the front shanks o the hurcheon A skirl frae a yarked open jaw. The skirl o the mute is mair awfu than the seelence efter a flood, fin even blaik swans float wyme upwirds. An even gin some hurcheon doctor wis tae be fand in a teem trunk or unner the leaves in a beechwid there'd be nae hope fur thon wee hauf on Road E12. In the nemme o logic, in the nemme o the theory o pain, in the nemme o the hurcheon god the faither, the son an the haley ghaist amen, in the nemme o pliskies an unripe rasps, in the nemme o tummlin burnies o luve iver different an iver bluidy, in the nemme o the reets which ower-growe the heids o killt foetuses, in the nemme o satanic brawness, in the nemme o skin weirin a human luik, in the nemme o aa haufs an double helices, or purines an pyrimidines we ettled tae rin ower the hurcheon's heid wi the front wheel. An it wis like keppin a lunar module frae a hyne aff planet, frae a control centre connacht bi a cataleptic sleep. An the mission wis eeseless. I warssled oot an fand a wechty daud o brick. Hauf the hurcheon cairriet on skirlin. An noo the skirl turned intae spikk, vrocht bi the vaults o oor mools: Syne daith will cam an it will hae yer een. Scots Owersett of Web of Life by Chief Seattle Ilkie pairt o this Eirde is haley tae ma fowk Ilkie sheenin pine needle, ilkie sanny shore, Ilkie mist in the derk wids, Ilkie ley, ilkie thrummin gollach. Aa are haley in the myndin an kennin o ma fowk. We ken the sap which rins throw the trees As we ken the bluid that rins throw oor veins. We are pairt o the Eirde an it is pairt o us. The perfumed flooers are oor sisters. The bear, the deer, the muckle erne, these are oor brithers. The rocky taps, the sap in the ley, The body heat o the shelt, an cheils Aa belang tae the same faimily. The sheenin watter that meeves in the burns an rivers Is nae jist watter, bit the bluid o oor forebears. Gin we sell oor lan, ye maun mynd that it is haley. Ilkie ghaistly reflection in the caller watters o the lochs Tell o happenins an myndins in the life o ma fowk. The watter's mummle is the voyce o ma faither's faither. The rivers are oor brithers. They slake oor drooth. They cairry oor canoes an feed oor bairns. Sae ye maun gie tae the rivers the kindness Ye wid gie ony brither. Gin we sell ye oor lan, myndin that the air is preecious tae us, that the air shares its speerit wi aa the life it supports. The win that gaed oor granfaither his first braith likewyse gains his hinmaist soughs The win as weel gies oor bairns the speerit o life. Sae gin we sell ye oor lan, ye maun keep it apairt an haley as an airt far a cheil man can gae tae taste the win that is swetened bi the ley flooers. Will ye teach yer bairns fit we hae larnt oor bairns? That the eirde is oor mither? Fit befaas the eirde befaas aa the sons o the eirde. This we ken, the eirde disnae belang tae cheils, cheils belang tae the eirde. Aa ferlies are conneckit like the bluid that connecks us aa Cheils didnae wyve the wab o life, they are jist threids in it. Fitiver they dae tae the wab, they dae tae thirsels. Scots Owersett o Weird bi Marin Sorescu The chucken I bocht last nicht, Jeeled, Returned tae life, Laid the biggest eggie in the warld, An wis gien the Nobel Prize. This byordnar eggie Wis passed frae haun tae haun, In a fyew wikks hid gaen aa roon the eirde, An roon the sun In 365 days. The hennie wis gaen gweed kens foo muckle hard currency, Pyed in pails o grain That she couldnae ettle tae ett Because she wis socht aawye, Gaed lectures, gaed interviews, Wis filmed Verra aften reporters wintit That I should pose as weel Aside her. An sae, haein served art Aa ma life, Aa o a suddenty I've gotten fame As a chukken breeder. Scots Owersett o With Only One Life bi Marin Sorescu Haud wi baith hauns The tray o ilkie day An pass in turn Alang this coonter. There is eneuch sun Fur aabody. There is eneuch lift, An there is meen eneuch. The eirde gies aff the guff O luck, o blytheness, o glory, That kittles yer neb Temptin-like. Sae dinna be grippy, Live efter yer ain hairt. The prices are lauchable. Fur instance, wi anely ae life Ye can win The bonniest wumman, An a biscuit forbye. Scots Owersett o Superstition bi Marin Sorescu Ma cattie washes wi her left paw, there'll be anither war. Fur I hae taen tent that finiver she washes wi her left paw international tension growes maist affa. Foo can she alane keep her ee on aa the five continents? Could it be that in her pupils that Pythia noo bides fa has the pouer tae foretell the hale o history wioot a full-stop or comma? It's eneuch tae makk me skirl fin I think that masel an the Heiven wi its sowels I hae shoudered in the hinmaist resort depen on the fancies o a cattie. Gyang an catch moosies, dinna stert mair warld wars, damned lazybanes! Scots Owerset o Wife of the Husband by Micere Githae Mugo(Kenya) His snores Proteck the sleepin hame Bit the day's Wecht An the morn's Wecht Wye wechty ower The booed mither as she Swypes the hoose Steeks the pen Redds up the hairth Beeries the reid charcoals An at the hinnereyn sikks Her restless bed His snores Walcam her tae bed Fower oors tae daybrakk His snores roose her frae bed Sax sherp Wauken O wife o the cheil! Slicin the Neeps Feedin the kye ower winter Wis a coorse cauld darg Hey tae be cut frae the rucks Silage shiftit bi spaad Neeps wir pit throwe the slicer, drapped aneth (Young beasts hinna full formed teeth) It stood in a neuk, aside the besom an harra Its rowth o slices ye loadit intae a barra Try daein thon wi a gale howlin roon the biggin Rain lashin the reef wi the soun o a thoosan wheeps Bit beasts maun be fed an wattered an beddit in strae An sattled doon wi a swatch o cauld sliced neeps Eftir, ye thawed yer dirlin neives in watter Washin awa the dubs an the orra sotter The Twal Days o Christmas On the first day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me A commode for my granny On the secunt day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the third day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the fowerth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the fifth day of Christmas the postie brocht tae me five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the saxth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the siventh day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the echth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me echt pizza slices siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the ninth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me nine burgers twerkin echt pizza slices siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the tenth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me ten fried Mars Bars nine burgers twerkin echt pizza slices siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the eleventh day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me eleven drooths aa stottin ten fried Mars Bars nine burgers twerkin echt pizza slices siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny On the twalfth day o Christmas the postie brocht tae me Twal Alka seltzers eleven drooths aa stottin ten fried Mars Bars nine burgers twerkin echt pizza slices siven mealie puddens sax bubblyjocks five ingin rings Fower treble gins Three hame helps, Twa face lifts, A commode for my granny I Ken it's True I ken it's true Because I read it on Facebook Because Twitter said it Because ma uncle's frien's sister telt me Because I feel it in ma banes Because it wis screived in ma starnies Because a blaik cat wauked afore me twice last wikk Lat Nicht Lat nicht cam saft on moosie's paws Wi starlicht glentin bricht as tears An fin the meen sheens in the derk May rest be sainfu, free o fears An may the tod, an hoolet tae Quick daith bring tae the auld an dane The sleep that niver eyns is kind Fin life's a quaich that's nearly teem