Cleaning The Apostle Spoons (13 Poems In Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1. A Case o Minor Cannibalism

The Secunt Duke o Queensferry, Jeems Douglas,
Set aff tae sign his kintra’s richts awa
Leavin ahin his gyte loon, Earl Drumlanrig
Unlockit, wud, inside the faimly haa.

The Earl wis roastin somethin on a spit
Fin Jeems cam hame…the servant loon wis tint
They say a cheenge o diet dis ye gweed
Servant fur supper, wi a daud o mint


2.At the Glesga Necropolis

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toun
Upstairs an doonstairs in his nichtgoun
Rappin at the windaes, tirlin at the lock
Are aa the bairnies in their beds, it’s past echt o clock?

There are bairnies sleepin here that niver waukened up
Niver saw a simmer’s day, or got the birthin cup
Niver watched the sun rise, or gowans dauncin bricht
There are bairnies sleepin in the Lang Guid Nicht

Yet their mithers murn them, their faither’s ne’er forget
The shadda-faimly littlins ahin Life’s steekit yett
May their sleep be blithesome, wi bonnie flooerie dreams
Aa the bairnies sleepin unner Daith’s cauld steens.


3.Twenty First Century, Hello

Twenty first century, hello
Ye’ll hae yer share o gypes an breets;
For sure yer demographic flow
Will test the haud o teuchest reets
Fit tae cast aff, fit takk tae hairt
Far blurrin bouns the Future meets.
Fit leid an customs tae impairt
Fit myndins of the past’s scailed bluid,
Fit skirps tae keep o heirskip, airt
Should we be ruled bi harns an heid?
Nocht’s blaik an white, aa’s inatween
History belongs tae the lang deid
Let’s gie’t its due, a thocht, a steen
May Holocausts bide in yestreen


4. Scunnered

Hauns raxxed oot wide, as granmither wippit worsit,
The grey oo makkin a baa tae wyve new hose
Och, thon wis scunnerin

Dowpit quate in a neuk an daured tae spikk
Fin the TV fitbaa gemme tuik ower the hoose
Like a wee dictator, aathin booed tae its will
Och, thon wis scunnerin

Rugged tae the kirk for the meenister’s langamachie
He preached like a burn in spate, a rage, unstoppable
Coontin ilkie peen on the muckle windaes
Och, thon wis scunnerin

Waukin the tightrope o teachin, keepin a calm sooch
Fin Bedlam brakks oot, an yer the wee thin line
That stops the hotterel o mayhem fae bylin ower
Whyles, borin scunneration has its merits


5.Pietermaritzburg Wumman

Pairt Scots, pairt Jew, pairt Zulu, pairt Malay
Heinz 57 varieties, she eesed tae say
Kath wis a Yoga teacher in the North

Sri Aurobinda’s ashram honed her airt
On a communal fleer, fowk lay apairt
Raxxed oot like corpses, sookin in her peace
The burr o Afrikaans hinneyed her spikk
Aa us de-stressers, hashed wi bairns or wark
Thinkin oorsels hard-daen tae, foonert-like

In a rare meenit eence she spakk o her beginnins
Her bairntime in thon Afrik stoory tooun
Her mither shewed up floor bags for her claes
Drave her room doors tae sell wee hame-made cakes
Apartheid kept her doon-pit, unner thrall
Barfit an hungert, watchin oxen haul
Roch cairts wi maet an plenty wechtit
Bit nane for her, or for her neebor-kin

At twal, her schulin stoppt, ower auld tae play
Sent aff tae tcyauve in a hett factory
Ay scrapin aa her pennies in a tin
Till she’d eneuch tae pye her fare ower here
Finnin a meenister tae sponsor her.

Vrocht like the Deil tae educate hersel
Syne entered nursin, healin her bluid
Her Zulu granfaither, a witchdoctor
Baith feared an venerated in his prime

I see her yet, baith fleggit an bumbazed,
As spyled halflins frae oor weel-heeled schules
Breenged by her, sweirin, thinkin thirsels bigsie
Ower auld fur dummies, ower young tae sign on

Thon wis the culture lowp she cudna makk
A different warld, far halflins rule the reest


6.Tropical Storm, Sri Lanka

Aa nicht the Heivens trimmlit
The lift turned the colour o salmon,
Blaik an russet-reid
Rain drooked the balcony flags,
A batterin ram o watter

Flashes ryved the clouds like tissue paper
The breengin tide cam thunnerin ower the shore.

The hotel linen sypit wi ma swyte
Wrunkled unner ma restless corp
The cweelin fan set hard tae maximum
Fit gin the biggin’s washed awa tae sea like Noah’s ark?
Twa years eftir, it wis.


7.On Union Street, Aiberdeen

The mornin waukens up. A bonnie beggar
Rattles her hopefu tinnie, hyne frae Eastern Europe
An auld man hyters by on shoogly shanks,
Humfin his eerins, his breeks skirpit wi keech
A scaffie fussles, teemin a wheelie bin

Ootbye the jeweller’s shoppie, a windae washer
Hoses doon the peens, garrin them skinkle like starnies
Three Nigerians nyatter inno their mobile phones
Dressed tae the nines, fresh aff the plane frae Afrik

In the wersh sun, a ma wi a ring-pierced lip
Nyakkit belly ower the waist o her joggin suit
Plugs the mou o a squallichin bairn wi a dummy

The cabbies drum their fingers on their wheels
In the taxi rank. Thin pickins at nine am.
A skirlin siren nee-naws doon the street
Cairtin somebody aff tae A an E

The green man chirps like a chaffie
In the toun’s kirkyaird the doos an gulls stravaig
Beaks an beady een on the main chaunce


8. Jessica Ootbye

The sun opens its warmth like a yalla rose
The gairden’s thrang wi wirms, flees an spurgies
At the braefit, the traffic’s soomin by

Nae drooth, nae war, nae lack o luv nor maet
The bruise on the littlin’s airm wis accidental,
Cowpin aff her plastic horsie toy

Foo braw tae be nae yet twa, at the stert o aathin
Winnerment, laucher, greetin are passin shooers
Wirds are new in the mou, the hairt still pure
Fingers raxxin oot tae the dauncin gowans


9. Aside the Watter

Fin wae or scunneration growe in me like a mushroom
Fin I tcyauve an murn inbye the fower hoose waas
Fin ma auld banes grind in their sockets
Like the worn stanes in a quern
I gyang far watter rins, atween cweel trees

I rest ma een on the water, still as the muckle heron
I rest ma heid in the girse mangst gowans an violets
I rest ma thochts, breath in the warmth o day
Like the harebell in its simple daunce o blitheness
Peace lives inbye an oot, on scales o gowd


10.A Linguistic Maitter

A Glesga Sikh in Embro shop
Stude sellin sticks o rock
Gaed outside wi his cell phone
For a blether an a wauk

‘Come oan, Sheharazad, ’ quo he
(His patter laid on thick)
‘Jist dae ma shift an I will wash
The dishes for a wikk’

Twa academics daunderin by
Claikin o leid an race
Declarin ‘No one now speaks Scots
It’s out of time and place.’
Near caad the wee Sikh in the sheugh
Wi little thocht or grace
Quo he: ‘Some fowk jist canna see
The neb afore their face! ’


11. Glesga: Tale o a Toun

Eastwirds o Glesga bi the River Clyde
King James the 2nd gifted Glesga Green
Tae common fowk alang the watterside
That they micht wash their claes an keep them clean
Dry fishin nets, graze kye alang the braes
An takk their leisure, rest an coort an sweem

Prince Charlie camped here for a puckle days
James Watt inventit wunners waukin here
Strikers an suffragettes their voices raise
In rage an solidarity richt wersh an clear
They winted cheenge an focht for it wi zeal
The People’s Palace tells o Yesteryear
Fitba, Victoria the Empress Queen

Aa this an mair ye’ll meet on Glesga Green
George Square the hairt o this auld Scottish toun
Wis first a slaughter haugh far shelts war killt
Its namesake, George fa wore the British croun
Tint the tobacco lans. Anither fillt
The plinth, Sir walter Scott
In Glesga, Scots whyles has an Irish lilt

The Riot Act wis read fearin a plot
Bi Bolsheviks at the Black Friday rally
Baith tanks an troops sent in tae quell the lot

In modern times at Hogmanay fowk sally
Tae George Square keen tae celebrate the bells
Wi pipe or raps or airs fae Tin Pan Alley
An takk the New Year in wi dram an sang
Richt blythe an hairty like the hale jing bang


12. Wild Cat

Wild cat waukens heich on the heathery brae,
Her een growe wide as a bawd lowps doon ablowe
She is hungeret, this is her airt

She kens nae peety fur ava for birds or mice
They are her prey, the stuff that staps her wyme

Anely humans she fears, their guns, their cars
Their wyceness. She haps her cleuks fin she spies them
Nurses her hate.


13. The Faa o the Warsaw Ghetto

O aa the Jewish ghettos ower Europe
Warsaw wis the wirst. Fowk herded in
Penned up like nowt, a hauf a million sowels
In ae squar mile. A kirn o fear an din
Mony war hickelt aff in cattle-trucks
Tae coorse Treblinka, nae chaunce tae takk flicht
Whylst back in Warsaw, was war biggit heich
Tappt wi barbed wire. Armed guairds shot on sicht

Typhus, stervation, ration portions set
At fowerteen less per Jew than Germans ett
Littlins o fower year auld wad smuggle in
A puckle fooshty neeps tae full a plate

An in the sewers, the resistance hid
Ettlin tae haud their stricken tribe thegither
As tales crept back o ovens stappt wi fowk
Weemen an bairnies, brither brunt wi brither

Passover Eve the German troops poored in
Blew up the ghetto, block bi bluidy block
Near sixty thoosan killed, Jew deed an focht
In street an hame, ahin each kicked in lock

The Warsaw Ghetto, flattened tae the grun
Annihilation wis the Third Reich’s goal
Waur nor a Plague, an Earthquake or a Flood
The Evil that men dae is ill tae thole