Win-Blawn (Poems In Scots)

The Hairst Plastic potties, tubs an trays Yoghurt cartons, cans o juice Cardboord, paper, bottlies, tins Rowed up ferlies on the lowse Chittered letters, pyokes an lids Ribbons, tinnies frae a bevvy Soss o aipple rinds an pips Haunwash bottles, phone buiks wechty Buiks an aerosols an sauce Save the planet is the aim Magazine an catalogue Reuse, recycle an reclaim The Tenants There's breets that bide in a body's hame, Forkietail, slater an moose Emerteen, flech, moch, ratten an wirm The tenants that bide in yer hoose They chitter an chaa they piddle an keech Ower cashmere cotton an linen Thon hornygollachs are breets tae fleg A mini breets' Armageddon Gin ye wir a Jain ye'd sikk them in Tae share her maet wi aa Bit Mr Ratten a step ower far He's nae tae be tholed ava Tragic Form Hae ye seen Ken Currie's peintin o a skate? The dowiest moo in the warld, Doonturnin, deid. Ae meenit sweemin ben the sea, The neist, catched in a picture o Aybydan wae Post Mortem state Le Coureur: The Runner. Plap, plap, plap The soun o the rinner's trainers Skelpin alang the howe Pechin, alane an shilpit Hochs like knottit towe Plap, plap plap The rinner's semmit is sypin Frae the tip o his snoot tae his taes The swat faas dreepin Plap plap plap Like a chiel on a wirkhoose wheel The rinner is thin's a straa Blawn ben a lanesome dreel Plap plap plap Tho ilkie jynt is stoonin Fit is he rinnin fur? Fun o a kind. Inhuman. The Anely Solution Wee bairn dowped in a baby cairrier Strapped in wi a safetyharness Alane on the fleer itsel Is it asleep? Is it deid? Far is the mither? The faither? It has the reenge o a bomb Tae rive a faimily apairt Foo's it bin left it's lane? Somebody'll hae tae pye! Will ye wauk on by? Ignore it? Wid ye becam pairt o the problem Gin ye decidit tae haud it? Ghaist-Spikk Fit dae ye dae in the eftirlife Ma darlin son, ma lammie? I keep nicht-watch wi the ghaistie-fowk That's fit I dae, ma mammy Fa dae ye tryst wi in the derk Ma darlin son, ma lammie? I tryst wi the deid fowk bi the kirk They're ma friens noo, ma mammy Fan micht I jyne ye in the mools Ma darlin son, ma lammie? Fin ye've larned the wirth o human jewels Fin ye've larned their wirth, ma mammy Can ye forgie me ma mistaks Ma darlin son, ma lammie? It's your mistaks caused ma hertbrakks Ower late wi her tears, ma mammy Paedo He stude ootbye the schule Breeks at hauf mast Giein it laldy The bairns watched bumbazed The daddies chased him Stottit his heid aff the grun The polis arrived an oor eftir Spylin the fun The Mechanic Scrappy the mechanic, Luiked like a deevilick frae Hades As a bairn, I thocht he bedd In thon pit aneth the intimmers o hurtit buses Ile dreeped ower his lugs Straikit his hale physog like a twa legged panda Whyles he fussled in his yirdit overalls Maister o the wrench, the sowder iron His een aye glowerin up at weers an plugs. He wis swack as a futterat, gleg as a hoolet. His wireless blooterin oot some Fifties tune As ither buses birred aff stappt wi fowk Tae Ben an lanely clachan It maun hae taen is wife a month o Sabbaths Tae scoor an dicht the ile frae Scrappy's skin I passed him in the street aince, didna ken him A cheil wi glentin een an rosy chikks Desperate Dan at the Holyrood Gairden Pairty At the Holyrood Gairden Pairty (I'm a National Treisur ye ken) I'd rather hae coo pies than canapes I'm a cultural icon mangst men Ma muscles are better nor Pope Eye Ma chest hair could thatch Bennachie I beat Batman an Shrek intae bitticks Superhero frae Bonnie Dundee The Day Las Vegas Flittit tae Aiberdeen Croupiers wir mugged bi scurries insteid o scorpions Hostesses in fish net hose Crooded into Casualty wi pneumonia Ower in Americay Aiberdonians swapped wintry clyes fur semmits Their dugs poo birssled intae heat-baked crummles Nae need tae scoop the poop Whuppity Stoory as Mither Whuppity Stoory's bin spied in Mamas & Papas Buyin babby claes fur a new-born littlin Adoption agencies wisnae sympathetic because: She wis three hunner year auld She wis a puir role model She wis a caird-cairryin pagan She keepit puddocks in the kitchie She cudnae answer the questions on British ceetizenship (Bar aa the info aboot Jamie Saxth) The fertility gadgie widnae treat her because: Her ovaries wir crined as hizzlenuts Her wyme wis a howked-oot Halloween neep Her titties wis dry as the Kalahari desert It wid be like sawin seeds in a teem chunty Bit she kent hersel she'd be a braw mither Better than thon girnin gype wi the seek grumphie Sae easy tricked intae giein the bairn awa Whuppity story dreamt that herself an the laddie Wid flee tae Disneywarld on her breem She'd makk him the warlock o aa warlocks It's nae as if thon gype, his mither Wid iver jeloose her name…