An Infestation Of Clocks: Scots Poems Poem by Sheena Blackhall

North Berwick Witch Trials
North Berwick hugs the gurly coast
East o Auld Reekie toun
A fishin clachan, the Bass Rock
Stauns far the waves clash roon

Here were the coorsest Witch Trials held
That Scotland's ever kent
For Jeems the saxth, thon cruel lord
Hunners tae torture sent

Fin Jeems sailed aff tae Denmark's shore
Tae meet his royal bride
Storms forced him back, an gart him think
That witches cursed the tide

Syne Agnes Sampson neist wis catched
An tae the King wis brocht
An she confessed, on Halloween
His doonfaa she hid socht

Twa hunner witches wi her met
Fleein on sieves, wi wine
An at Sanct Andra's kirk they gaed
An daunced a reel sae fine

At thon same kirk the witches met
The Deil richt eagerly
An dug the deid frae oot their graves
An flang them in the sea

Cummer, gae ye afore, they cried
Cummer gae ye, quo they
An aa tae raise the gurly storm
An swall the waves sae grey

Or sae twis said, for fowk confess
Tae aathin, unner pain
An wae betide thon wicked king
That brunt them in the flame


The Doric Cod
A cod frae the Broch, spikkin Doric
Sent a diner frae Grimsby euphoric
He cried, ‘what a dish
Is this Scots speaking dish
Washed down with a gin-sling and tonic! '


Cauld Feet: Tune: Drumdelgie
Oh Hogmanay's an eildritch time the turnin o the year
A cauld an coorse an killin time fur gangrels on the muir
An mony's a lanely tinkler lad has perished in the blast
An mony's a lanely tinkler in a blizzard breathed his last

A hameless gangrel piper lad ae gurly Winter's night
He focht throw drift an bitter wins, nae bield wis seen in sicht
He sheltered in a busse an fand a chiel lay in the sleet
A corp, twis weirin bonnie buits baith frozen tae its feet

Noo rug an rive he couldnae pull thon buits frae the deid chiel
He tuik a knife an sawed awa the feet an buits as weel
Bit cudnae weir them till the feet thawed frae the frozen ice
He trampit on until he saw a licht in Winter's vice

It wis a ferm, the fermwife widnae lat him share the fire
Bit her gweed man alloued him tae bedd doon in the cauld byre
He pit the frozen feet an buits in the troch aside the coo
An in the mornin they hid thawed them aa as swack as new

He tuik the deid feet frae the buits that fittit him richt braw
His auld buits on the corp's feet, he pit, syne steppt awa
He thocht the ghaist micht need some buits fin up tae Heiven he gaed
An syne aside the fermer's coo, deid feet, auld buits wir laid

At daybrakk frae the ferm the wife cam ragin fit tae bite
She spied the deid feet an the buits an skreiched ‘oor coo's gaen gyte
It's ett the gangrel in the night, bit fa'd believe we're clear
They'll lay the murder at oor door, an we'll be hanged fur sure! '

The piper, hidden, played his pipes they skreiched like a banshee
The fermer an his wife tuik aff ootower the muir tae flee
The gangrel piper an his buits they tuik the ferm in haun
He bides there tae this verra day a blythe an cantie man

The Boorak Tree
The Boorak Tree's an oorie tree
The gaitherer o sowels
It's cursed bi aa the deils an imps
In Hell's infernal bowels

Murderers, rapists, crime-steeped fowk
Aince wir tied tae its side
Their thrapples cuttit, left tae bleed
Reid sap, a deein tide

The wrunkled bark o thon blaik tree
It sooked their life-force in
Tae keep foraye their mortal sowels
In the Boorak Tree o sin


Calendar Quine
Renee's a wee reid squirrel
She's posed fur a calendar cover
She's the pin up quine fur wildlife
An romantic squirrels love her

It's an uptail shot fur Januar
Like a boa roon a swinger
In Februar she's snappit sidewise
Shawin 13 shades o ginger

In Merch she tries aerobics
Like a circus high wire lassie
In April, she's trapeze lowpin
On the nut dispenser, shakkie

In Mey, she's feelin hungert
In June she raiks fur seeds
In July she flechs her belly
In August, there's plenty feeds

In September, she's in the nettles
Wi her tail hauf up her back
In October, she rubs in Nivea
Tae keep her fingers swack

In Novemmer she's got indigestion
O far hae the Rennie's gaen?
In December, her dowp is yokey
Her piles are doon again!


Refreshing Scottish Phrases
Haste Ye Aff
Lang may yer lum blaw doon
Fit's afore ye will caa ye ower
May aa yer chukkens come hame tae roast.
Black as a mowdie's bogie
Dinnae teach yer Granny tae sook goat's teets!
Haud yer umberelly! .
It's a gey dreich meenister
Mony a mickle maks a minger!
Dinna birl yer wringer.
Yer bum's oot the laavie
Ma heid's hotchin
A nod's as guid's a wink tae a sparky's spanner
Dae ye think I cam doon the Dee on a digestive?
She's got a tongue that could slice salami
A bird in the haun is wirth ten roadkilled.
A fu' purse buys a stiff dram
A gype may earn siller bit a wise man takks it.
A penny saved widnae buy thin air.
Better keep the deil at the door than in yer bed
Feels makk feasts an wyse cheils sell them
Wytin tae fill deid men's sheen will gie ye sair feet
He that lives on hope jist etts Big Macs.
It's an ill wind that blaws frae the skip.
Ae man's meat is anither man's hairt attack.
The cure may be waur than cauld kail.
Time and tide will makk ye seasick.
Twal heilanders an a bagpipe makk a ceilidh
Fin ae door steeks, anither lats the win in
Ye canna makk a silk purse ooto a dug's bihoochie

Sax Wee Fower Line Poems
Hairst Park
Ay at the foon o ma lugs
The braids o barley fusper in the park
As throw the stooks the shadda o a bawd
Meeves like a ghaist alang the eildritch derk

Fiddler
It reests aneth her chin, her nearest frien
She coaxes jigs frae it, strathspeys an reels
Auld airs played bi a young punk quine
Studs in her neb an belly, dauncin heels

The Dwaum
Dwaumin, I see ye waukin doon the street
Sun in yer een, the violets in yer bluid
Yer airm raised up in greetin, smilin mou
An syne I wauken an I myne yer deid

The Tippeny-Puil
Dookin in the tippeny-puil, bairns lauch
Far Natur teems bronze coins ooto her purse
An swippert trooties treetle ben the waves
Wi feint the thocht o tribble, sickness, hearse

Fishin
A heuk, a wirm, a towe, a bamboo stick
I fished the burn fur troots an catched an eel
It widnae dee, it wummled, tied in knots
As blaik's a lum, a bog, the verra deil

Sang
Mavis threips in the bridal rowan
Rowan in blossom's a glisk o lace
Mavis threips tae the glen aa mornin
Bonnie sangstress o licht winged grace

Obituary fur a Legend
Buff Hardie - Scotland the What? comedy trio - died aged 89
Lat's gie thanks fur a life weel run
Close yer een an mynd on the wit
Donald, Hardie an Robertson
Championed Doric, pit cherm in it

Took the Embro Fringe bi storm
MBE, Freedom o oor toun
Won degrees frae the Varsity
Weel dane for a local loon

Famed on TV, trod the boords
O HMT, screived in the press
Cambridge grad, Dons devotee
Reared in Hilton, a council address

Friday night, at the Ashvale Chipper
Jyned the queue fur a tasty fry
Awa frae his mock hame, Auchterturra
Nae pit on, he wis Scots an wry

Lat's gie thanks fur a life weel run
Close yer een an mynd on the wit
Donald, Hardie an Robertson
Championed Doric, pit cherm in it


Owersetts o Three Poems bi Judah Al- Harizi (1170-1235)

The Lichtnin
An the lichtnin lauchs at the Clouds
Like a sojer fa rins wioot wioot growin foonert or feint

Or like a night watchie fa dovvers aff
Syne opens ae ee fur a meenit an steeks it

The Sun
Tak tent: the sun has spreid its wings
Ower the Yird tae dicht awa its derkness

Like a muckle tree, wi its reets in Heiven
An its branches raxxin doon tae the Yird

The Lute
Tak tent: the lute souns in the quine's airms
Delichtin the hairt wi its braw voice

Like a babby greetin in her mither's arms
While she sings an lauchs as he greets


Owersetts o Twa Poems: by Nathan Alterman

Meen
An auld sicht tae has its meenit o birth.
A lift wioot birdies
Fremmit an set apairt.
Facin yer windae on the meenlit nicht stauns
A toun drooned in the greets o girselowpers.

An fin ye see a road aye luikin fur a gangrel
An the meen
Is on the cypress spear,
Ye say: 'Ma God, are aa thon ferlies still oot thonner?
Micht a body fusper them a greetin? '

Frae their puils the watters luik on us.
The tree is at rest
In a fleerish o cats-an-kitlins blossoms.
Niver shall the sorra o yer muckle playthins
Be ryped frae me, O oor God.


On the Highwye
There's a tinklin in the ley an a fustlin
An the park lies gowd till gloamin.
A wheesht o green wallies,
Ma braid open airts an a highwye.

The trees risen frae the dyew
Glimmer like glaiss an metal.
I'll niver stop luikin, I'll niver stop breathin
An I'll dee an will haud gaun.