Unwinted (Scots Poemset Al)

Otter There aince wis a nippy wee otter Fin ettin its tea made a sottar Fin it's ainers cried ‘Orra' It keeched on the flora An weed like a mink in the watter Female Menstruation Shark week-Aunt Flo's visiting- Granny's doon frae the hills Period- Lady business- The Curse….lie down & take some pills Les Anglais ont debarqué- Checking out the Red RoofInn On the Rag- Red Badge of Courage(all down to original sin) Mother Nature's gift- The Red Baron Jam rag time- Girl flu-leak week- blood plug- tampon Riding the Crimson Pony - Red wedding Crimson tide- Moon time- all names for blood letting The Chat Show Host spikks tae the Proverbial Corbie Foo are ye sae partial tae ettin een? Tykes bark as they are bred Are ye nae sorry tae slay a lammie? Daith speirs nae awkward questions Yer aye the first tae feed aff ony roadkill… There's naethin got frae delay Bit dirt an lang nails Ye've nae close friens I jelouse Friens are like fiddle strings They maunna be screwed ower ticht Yer voice is verra roch Gin ye've gall in yer mou, Ye canna spit hinney Dis etten orrals an intimmers nae scunner ye? The proodest nettle growes on a midden Thank ye maister corbie, fur allowin this veesit I hope I hinna kept ye frae yer busy schedule Veesitors are like fish..kept ower lang they stink Wee the Bed (Dandelion) Wee the bed, wee the bed, fa luiks best? An orchid or rose sae fair? Hinneysuckle, a treelip o ivy Wi scent in their creamy hair? Wee the bed, binna disjaskit Yer sonsie an strang in the reet An ye'll nae cowp ower in a simmer shouer Or dwine in the simmer heat Wee the bed, wee the bed, bairnies' frien Wi yer clock they lue tae blaw Fa daur gie ye the name o weed Wi yer gowden face sae braw? The Coo that Lowped ower the Meen A wee Heilan coo wi a langin fur fame Tae cairry the honour o Scotlan afar Flew up intae space in a faist rocket plane The first coo in history this plisky tae daur It's noo in the fack files wi ither space breets Fruit flees, an puggies, an fortytwa mice Twa rattens, a French cat, a mappie, a fish A wheen hornygollachs, aa fired in a trice Alang wi some puddocks, a tortie as weel, A scorpion, a husky frae Russia sae cauld And noo tae tap aa, there's oor ain Heilan coo Wha's like us? Nae mony. We're brave an we're bauld! Girls What are little girls made of? What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice and all things nice That's what little girls are made of What are little girls made for? What are little girls made for? Periods, childbirth, menopause That's what little girls are made for What are little girls made of? What are little girls made of? Original sin & mother's gin That's what little girls are made of What are little girls made for? What are little girls made for? The glass ceiling, cooking, cleaning PMT and child rearing That's what little girls are made for Here lies a tree it used to be so cool, shady by some decree it was cut down no bough to see it's now a stump a vacancy Alas poor tree Now RIP Michael Marra (17 February 1952 - 23 October 2012) Tune: I'm a good looking widow/ My Home (pipe tune) Michael Marra wis kent as the the Bard of Dundee, He performed in arts centres, folk clubs an TV Brocht up in the district o bonnie Lochlee Weel lued as a singer an screiver Assparkie, an baker, an builder he vrocht In theatre, whyles, radio, far talent wis socht The son o a prenter an a teacher, self taucht He left schule at 15 this braw screiver In Lunnon he met in wi Dougie McLean, The band wis caad Hen's Teeth, a catchie like name Wi his brither in Skeets Boliver, chasin fame Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver Wi Thunnerbird Records twa singles he made Streethoose Door wis a stoater, bi mony twis played As wis Moonlicht in Jeopardy, gran serenade Frae the Bard o Dundee, the braw screiver Did ye catch him in Perth in the Demon Barber? Did ye watch his Nan Garland, an opera o virr He duetted wi Polwart an Eddi Reader Dundee's favourite skeelie sang screiver Twa Scottish orchestras, played wi himsel Concerto Caledonia fell unner his spell Wi Mr McFall's Chamber he performed as weel That mervellous sangster an screiver He acted an screived the show Fragrant Delicht Wi the poet Liz Lochhead, it hit the nail richt In Washington DC, an Australia each nicht That it ran, sae weel vrocht bi thon screiver He penned operettas, wirked wi Dance company (‘Love an Pocket Money' Frank McConnell's Plant B) St Catherine's Day played bi Dundee Repertory Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver In Washington DC,he'dhis fingerprentstaen In ae sang, Marra screived aboot ither faats gien Fin Shirley McKie wis blamed, stude in her sheen Ay wirkin fur richt, Dundee's screiver His sang "Chyne up the Swings" prayed that littlins could play Ay, even on Sunday, Wee Free's Sabbath day "Happed in Mist" a deserter, shot for fleein the fray Wis peetied richt sair bi thon screiver His sang "Hermless"ye'll hear roon an ingle or bar His bairns hae the gene, an his fame's traivelled far A hummle, a couthie, a talented star Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver Newt There wis a newt gaed traivellin A trip tae Troon- she'd try it Until a heron snapped her up Tae supplement his diet Heather Up amang the heather At the back o Bennachie A bumbee stang me Weel abune the knee I wish I'd climmed up Morven Or Mortlich near the Dee An worn a pair o leggins Tae prevent catastrophe Huntly Street. The media banner said it all Nun,59, raped and slain in a cathedral by junkie altar boy Sister Josie, bespectacled, grey haired, kind Worked at the Society of the Sacred Heart She shared an office at the city's cathedral With the priest who found her body one sunny day in May The caretaker met a strange young man In a corridor in the pastoral centre. He wore a silver stud in his left nostril An earring in his left ear. His hair was cropped to the skull. He spoke with a Liverpool accent. The Father saw him scrambling over a wall. Bare-chested, covered in blood. The priest and the caretaker found her in the office. Sister Josie, half-naked, lying on her back, Her arms outspread, as though she'd been crucified. Her rapist had beat her, stamped on her. Half strangled her, severed her ear with scissors, Bit and stabbed and sexually assaulted her. Sixty separate injuries in all, including Eight broken ribs and a fractured spine He was sent to Carstairs without limit of time Near the street corner in the flats A homeless man murdered a teenage girl Hacked her to pieces, hid the parts in a cupboard With two accomplices. Later, he danced, Filmed gloating over the murder A relative moved in across the passageway, thrilled To have his own keys, a furnished flat A new life. A fresh start. A cause for celebration I hadn't the heart to tell him The yellow and black banner banning entry over the passage Signalled the council operatives, like busy wasps Deep cleaning away the remains of the young girl's life So when from a bus window, I saw a young man face down On that street, I swithered. Should I disembark, stand by him, phone the police? People flowed round him like an urban river Bypassing a rock. But I had somewhere to go, to work, And anyway, it was none of my business Still it's a niggle, like a stone in the shoe. What would you do?