sheena blackhall

Rookie - 468 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Hare's Foot: 5 Scots Poems - Poem by sheena blackhall

1.The Sough o Yule

The sough o Yule is jeelin
A braith o the mools

A yowl like nane ither,
Dowie, drumly, dreich
The nyaakit banes o Hunger
Cryin a coronach

Alang the cauld corp roads
Win, in her Cailleach’s weeds,
Wheeps snaa like packs o wolves
Oot frae forgotten wids

The communal skirl o Winter
Drives aa inbye, haudin the hairth o hame


2.Walla Kirkyaird

Aside the Deveron river
Cercled bi parks an the soochin wheech o trees
A lang, straicht wye gies access tae the kirk
East o the graves a steep drap doon tae the watter
Faas frae each dubby lair

Twa natural puils in the river
Blissed bi St Wallach langsyne
War veesited for sainin sairs

Gin yird pigs feast on the deid
Nae doot sic unca breets
Maun need their share



3.The Bruce’s Hairt

The Bruce’s hairt’s aneth a sanstane merker
In the auncient chapter hoose o a ruined Abbey
Melrose, first an last in the king’s affections

The merker stane is cuttit stoot an strang
Risin abune the grun richt stinch an bravely
Carved wi a hairt run throwe bi a Scottish saltire

It weirs the leal wirds liftit frae Barbour's poem:
'A noble hart may have nane ease. Gif freedom failye.'



4.Spurgie

Cheep cheep spurgie, stottin ben the stoor
Blythe baa o feathers, yer onythin bit dour

Cheep cheep spurgie, hardly ony left
Far are ye gaun tae? The warld wad be bereft
O muckle simple pleisur, should ye aa flee awa
Blythe baa o feathers, foo could we wave ta-ta?



5.Hurcheon

Boorich o prods, wee nut-broon bowster o preens
Wi yer pyntit snoot ye hae the auld-farrant luik
O a widlan fey. Yer wyme is happit wi fur
It is stappit wi hornygollachs, wirms an emerteens
Ye snocher an grunt like a grumphie
5,000 spines on yer back raised up complete
As Wallace’s battle schiltrons
Aa fur defence, wee feartie, jobby breet!

A craitur o the nicht,
Hauf blin, recluse, wannerin the warld alane
Ye coorie awa frae sicht
A left-ower frae a mediaeval tapestry

Boorich o prods, sib tae the shrew,
Wids, nicht an meen, blent in yer pedigree
Weel acquant wi henwives, cherms,
Rare herbs, tint wyes, the pysonous henbane


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Poem Submitted: Monday, January 6, 2014

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 7, 2014


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