In Faldy's Wood (18 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

In Faldy's Wood (18 Scots Poems)



1.The Hen an the Rain

A hen luiked ooto her pen ae day
The meat in her dish near turned tae smush
I think I’ll bide at hame, quo she
The rain dreeps doon like a hurlygush

A hen luiked ooto her pen ae day
Her feathery dowp gaed swishety swish
I winna ging oot tae scrat the yird
Aa turns tae dubs in a richt doonpish

A hen luiked ooto her pen ae day
The rain dreeped ower her fathers braw
It sypit the flooers, the reefs, the trees
Ach weel, quo she, it isnae snaw

A hen luiked ooto her pen ae day
A lochan formed like a castle moat
Ochone, quo she, it’s the warld’s eyn
As she watched her dish rise up an float


2.The Brock

The brock gaes snocherin neth the yird
Deep doon in his secret sett
He’s cantie an crouse in his clorty hoose
A breem buss for a yett

He’ll dine on a hennickie’s new laid eggs
He’ll dine on the hen hersel
For a brock maun ett if he’s nae tae dee
Gin he’s hungeret, the same’s yersel

The brock creeps oot in the starny nicht
Tae daunce bi the licht o the meen
He’s weel acquaint wi the witichin oor
The warlock o yird an breem


3.Buchan Parks

Buchan parks are teem o fowk
Gaen, the kitchie deems an baillies
Gaen, the horsemen, orra loons
Gaen the grieves an bothy billies

Bare o clatter, sang an claik
Bare o bairns an houghmagandie
Buchan parks are teem o fowk
Knicky tams an worsit ganzie

Tractors, combines, dinna fleg
Breets..beef nowt are turnin wud
Anely yowes are peaceful yet
Chawin cannie at the cwid

Dawn tae dusk the quaet parks
Niver see a human body
Buchan parks are teem o fowk
Makk a bonnie still-life study

Noo the tod cams creepin back
Hawk’s on heich wi talons ready
Buchan parks are teem o fowk
Frae New Deer up tae Auchreddie


4.The Buchan Jackdaa

I’m black an I’m braw, I’m a Buchan jackdaa
An ma reest is the tap o a lum
It’s snug an it’s warm an a pairt o its charm
Is the updraacht that flees up ma bum

Whyles I turn tae the Sooth, scan the weather for drooth
Whyles I turn tae the Wast for a nap
Syne I furl tae the East wi the win on ma briest
Fin I gie ma nest strae a bit chap

Noo it’s back tae the North (there’s a storm ower Philorth)
Fegs, it’s nicht an I’m hearin moose- squeaks
Sae I’d best sattle doon wi ma wing ower ma croon
Or the morn’ll be here in teem breeks


5. Three Scots Owersetts of Poems by John Clare

In Hilly’s Wid (In Hilly Wood)

Foo rare tae coorie cosy deep in boughs,
Upon the bowster o a faan ash tree
Slichtly I heard the ploomen at their ploos,
Bit nae an ee can fin its wye tae me.
The sunflauchts hardly steer me wi a smile,
Sae thrang the leafy armies gaither roon;
An far they dae, the breeze blaws cweel the while,
Their leafy shaddas dauncin on the grun.
Fu mony a flooer, tae, sikkin tae be seen,
Heists up its heid the happin girse atween.-
In mids o this wid’s quet, fu sweet tae be;
Far aa the stooshies, that on peace intrude,
Cams frae the girselowper, the bird an bee,
Fa’s sangs hae chairms tae sweeten solitude.


Simmer Gloamin (Summer Evening)

The fleggit puddock lowps alang the path
A moosikie that leaves its neuk at eve
Pammers wi fearie dreid aneth the girse;
My reeshlin steps awhile their joys deceive,
Till by, an syne girselowper sings mair strang,
An girselowpers in blyhesome mood still weir
The short nicht weariet wi their raspin sang.
Up frae ahin the mowdie’s hame, the hare,
Rins frae his chosen bed, an frae the bank
The yalla yeitie flichters in short fears
Frae aff its nest hapt bi the girses rank,
An draps again fin nae mair soun it hears.
Sae Natur’s human link an eynless thraa,
Prood man, ay seems the enemy o aa.


Hornygollachs (Insects)

These hingers-on upon the barley's beard,
An blythesome nippicks o muckle herd
O play-fiers, that the lauchin Simmer brings,
Mockin the sinshine on their glimmrin wings,
Foo cantie-like they creep, an run, and flee!
Nae sib are they tae hard-wirk’s drudgery,
Smeethin the rose in sheugh, by dyke, by fen
An far they flee for denner naeb’dy kens-
Thy dinna sup the dyew-draps - love the shine
O noon, fas suns may bring them gowden wine
Aa day they're playin in their Sabbath dress -
Fin nicht reposes, they can dae nae less;
Syne, tae the heather’s purple hood they flee,
An like tae princes slumber merrily,
Guairdit frae rain, an drappin dyews, an aa,
In silken beds an roomy peinted haa.
Sae blythe they spen ilk bonnie simmer-day,
Noo in the corn-parks, noo in new-mown hey.
Ane nearly fancies that sic happy things,
Wi coloured hoods an brawly burnished wings,
Are o the Sidh, in fairy biggins reared
Disguised, as if o mortal fowk afeard,
Keepin their secret ploys a mystery still,
Lest glowerin day should dae thon secrets ill.


6. Wish List for Scotland

I wish fur sky-trains like Bangkok
An eyn tae buyin eeseless trock
Despite sic wishes, ay I mynd
The future’s yet tae be designed.

As ice poles thaw an scale their bree
I wish for touns aneth the sea
As space rins oot, an hames are tyned
The future’s yet tae be designed.

We’ve reived the lan frae breet an bird
I wish fur a protective gird
A bield tae save Auld Clootie’s kind*
The future’s yet tae be designed.

Skyscrapers tae the Heivens shoot
Like Beijing, steid o sprauchlin oot
Toun plannin projecks be confined
The future’s yet tae be designed.

I wish aa rubbish wad degrade
On cassies, ferms an everglade
Litter, tae history be consigned
The future’s yet tae be designed.
An oor’s peace tae aa I’d gie
Tae meditate, or simply be
A family, hamely ties tae bind
The future’s yet tae be designed.

Aa ethnic clans should strive tae meet
In civic frienship on the street
Despite sic wishes, ay I mynd
The future’s yet tae be designed.


7. Lang John on A Deid Man’s Chest

The starnies up abune leave weel alane
I reenge the Muckle Furth in search o gowd
I skelp aff ithers’ heids wi ma swack blade
Gie ilkie bluidy corp a wattery shroud

Foo is it that ma blaik hairt lowps an stoons
At clink o siller, glisk o gems an pearls
An gars me hunt until the warld’s eyn
Aa treisur? At its touch, each finger dirls
Fa kens? Some fowk contentit, bide at hame
Bake breid, clip claith. I hae a derker goal
Ma weird’s tae sail aneth a reiver’s flag
For I hae fire an brimsteen in ma soul

Sae here I staun, the bairnie’s bogieman
Lang John, wi parrot an a cripple’s stick
Castin a shadda derk as puddock bree
Wi bling an scars, hale pirate’s rickmatick

An wis I bred tae be Auld Clootie’s fier?
Or wis’t a soorness in ma mither’s wyme?
Wis’t Chaunce or Fate, or Natur grew me coorse?
I neither ken nor care, I’m thirled tae crime!


8.Niverlan

Niverlan’s far the bladded bide,
Trapped in their youth foraye
Ower fear tae step intae the licht
In the Big Fowk’s warld ootbye

Condemned tae dwall in the hynie back
Far crocodiles snap an rear
Fit malagaroozin spyled their weird
In the mists o yesteryear?

Ower feart tae raxx oot o the cage
Is’t better the hurt they ken
Than the fear o somethin waur than coorse
In the hames o grown up men?


9.Cutty Sarks

Cutty sarks are aa the go
Cutty sarks an skirties skimpit
Cutty sarks wi aa on show
Lassies on the randan, primpit

Cutty sarks an jeely wymes
Wummlin ower a belt that’s nippit
Quines stravaig doon city streets
Far the win can teir peint strippit

Cutty sarks an hurdies creash
Hunkit inno jeans an g-string
Tattooed like a swyty tar
Ilkie finger thrang wi gowd bling

Cutty sarks an boozer’s drooth
Sinkin cocktails till they’re steamin
Niver heed yer witch’s breem
Doonin drams till they are fleein!

Cutty sarks are aa the go
Cutty sarks in ony weather
Snaa may faa an snaa may thaw
Cutty sarks are worn fitiver!


10.Cooried Doon

Whan littlins coorie doon at nicht
Tae dream o whistlebinkies
An steek their trauchelt eenies ticht
An sook their thooms an pinkies

In shaddalan, the dwaums are thrang
Wi gee-gaws bricht an skinklin
Wi pirates, coos, an skelps o ships
Wi feys throw lamplicht winkin

An whan the shaddas merch aroon
Dumb sodjers in the nicht
The littlins hunker doon like tykes
An huddle ooto sicht

Syne mornin cams, it’s time tae rise
They lowp up hudderie heidit
Bit watch them play… uneirdly fiers
Frae nicht are roon them spreidit

A bairn alane has friens unseen
Ye’re ower auld tae meet
Fur Bairnhood is the seelie time
The Warld’s at their feet!


11. The Chinese Mither’s Lullaby
A Scots Oersettin o frae the Irish poem bi Biddy Jenkinson

Pu in yer feeties, ma dearie,
sae I can kiss yer wee piggies
whylst I fauld unner a tae
an anither aneth.

I boo a wee piggie.
I boo anither wee piggie
Heh- keek at thon ill tricket wee piggie
that is aye cockin out.

Noo, noo, ma doo,
There’s wirk tae be dane here.
Yer taes like feys’ thummles,
the flooers o the foxglove.

Like a calfie that’s spancelled
or a hobble on a chucken,
there’ll be wippins o silk
on the feeties o ma dearie.

That ma dother noo skirls
like a banshee disnae maitter,
she’ll swey in the Future
like a bamboo on a winny day
or like a saugh saplin.
Sae I boo unner the muckle tae
an anither tae eftir
tae shape a fit like a lotus
aboot tae brier.

Puir Kirsty has flat feeties.
Mhairi has muckle baps.
Peggy’s are like spaads
an Nell’s like twa spinnles.

Jist bide at peace ma dearie,
whilst I tichten yer bindins.
I’m anely yer mither
daein ma verra best fur yer guid


12.French Kitty Rankine, the Witch o Abergeldie

They tuik her tae the tap o Craig Nam Ban
Its laricks an pines swyin like bairnies’ cradles
At the heicht o her beauty, a braw an skeely quine
An aa for daein her leddyship’s biddin
Fur settin a curse on the laird’s boat takkin him hame
Reward fur his perfidy wi the hoors o France

An wis’t her wyte she wis blessed wi the secunt sicht?
An wis’t her wyte she wis steeped in the Blaik Airts?
An wis’t her wyte she cud takk the form o a bawd
A futterat, a kittlin, an rin wi the coven, her derk hair
Whyles a puff o rikk or a cloud?

An at the hinnereyn, this puir French maid
Thirled tae the service o the vauntie Lady Gordon
Drew the wages o daith fur dealin wi cherms

Her banes cracked an spat in the birslin flames
Like rotten sticks, her skirls in Agony’s thraa
Jeelin the verra marra o her persecuters
Neebor fowk an fermers, jealous o this fremmit incomer
This Norman lassie wi her eildtrich wyes

Doon the centuries, on Halloween or Beltane,
Her skreichs wad flegg the deid, wad gar
The leevin pammer by like frichtit moosies


13.Lachlan

Nae bairns war born, tho they war ten years wed
Deirdre an Glen, a cantie, luvin pair
Syne they adoptit, frae the jizzen bed
Lachlan, a sonsie loon wi yalla hair

A gey ill-trickit littlin, up he grew
The aipple o his mither’s ee, her joys
War thirled tae him, tho his vertues war few
Ill tricks cheenged inno coorser kinno ploys

The polis cam tae ken his yett ower weel
Glen turned sikk an dwined afor his time
A boozing, birssin, gey carnaptious deil
Lachlan, ye micht jealouse, wis bred tae crime

His bluid-sire wis a merriet surgeon chiel
His bluid-mither a nurse, douce an genteel
Sae wis it jist his weird tae be sae gallus?
Puzzlin thon oot wad takk a Nostradamus


14. The Philosopher: tune Tramps & Hawkers
Inspired by ‘The Philosopher’, carved from a single piece of apple wood by the sculptor Sandy Petrie

The aipple tree stood at the gairden foun
Throw sun an the antrin shooer
An hauf o its fruit wis sweet tae eat
And hauf o its fruit wis soor
The mavis biggit her nestie there
The blackie sang sae braw
An the hawthorn hedge tae the east an sooth
Wis the spurgies’ thorny haa

An sic a tree tae a bairn at nicht
As it stude in the meenlicht there
Fin the winter sna blew saft an sma
Could aa her secrets share
In spring its blossom wis fitey pink
In june, neth its boughs she played
In autumn doon the aipples fell
An jeelies an tarts they made

Bit lang years eftir, a stormy nicht
Gart thon sweet tree faa doon
An on the grun in the girse an weet
It humbly laid its croon
A widsman cuttit it up for clogs
Tae gie his hairth a bleeze
Bit a sculpture chiel wi a cannie ee
Saw wirth in thon best o trees

He turned it roon an roon aboot
An wyed its timmer sark
An mony’s an oor he pondered ower
Fit lay aneth the bark
In the mids o its scentit, mossy hairt
He fand the truth he socht
An ooto a life o Licht an Derk
The Philosopher wis vrocht


15.For Dr George Philp, founder o Scotsoun

Ye’ve slippit awa tae the Lan o the Leal
Faith Geordie, ye’ll kittle them there, man
For ye’ll aye hae a ploy on the hotter or byle
Ye war niver a chiel tae be still, man!

I jelouse ye’ll be claikin wi Barbour an Burns
Wi Fergusson, Dunbar an Morgan
An garrin St Peter play reels an strathspeys
On the trump, or His Halyship’s organ

I’ve a notion ye’ll dowp on the lip o a cloud
Playin Scotsoun recordins abeen
Wi Soutar an Annand baith cockin their lugs
Fair bumbazed bi their poems o yestreen

Ye’ve slippit awa tae the Lan o the Leal
Bit ye’ve left us a heich-biggit barra
Stap-fu wi yer wylins o makars an bards
An there’s nane left amang’s wha’s yer marra!


16.The Dragon an the Rabbit

We hae a rabbit in oor hoose
She’s frienly, thrang wi toys
She twines her faither roon her thoom
Wi aa her rabbit ploys

An fin she’s raged, she steeks her een
Makks on she isna there
A nickum o a rabbitie
Wi ribbons in her hair

A Dragon’s come tae jyne her
Fa’s like an unread buik
She likes a showdie powdie
Or a bosie, an a sook

They turn the sofa inside oot
(the livin room’s the same)
It wis a hoose afore they cam
Bit noo, it’s caad a hame.


17.The Laddie caad Hector

There aince wis a laddie caad Hector
Wi a tongue biggt for sookin oot nectar
In his big furry sark, he grew wings in the park
Tho his da wis a railway inspector.


18. The Lassie caad Lucy
A lassie caad Lucy wis born
Wi a neb like a muckle brass horn
Her snot fin she sneezed
Brocht grown men tae their knees
An could flatten a park fu o corn

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