Winnlestrae: Cradlit, Coortit, Waddit, Kistit: (23 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Angel-Face

Angel-face, short sock, straicht cut fringe,
Oot on a veesit tae a frien on the scheme
'Gonna watch a video, eat some crisps,
Hame afore it's dark Ma, by 9.15'

Bring gings the telephone, cord like an eel,
Hett braith catches in the mooth-piece net.
Lug like a clam.Yer quine's nae weel.
Casualty calling. Are ye aa richt, pet?

Doon on the rail line stray dug's bark
Glue sniffers dauchle far it's ile-can dark
Wee quine playin wi her toys an dalls
Follaein the teenage bairns, her pals.

Voddie in a bottle o the Irn Bru,
Fizzed up, screwed up, she is stottin fu
Wee quine dauncin tae a strange new beat
Like a runawa peenie on pure mental feet

Wee quine faain like a coin gaun plop
Screich gings the ambulance come tae mop her up.
Angel face, short sock, straicht cut fringe,
Tubes in her veins like straas in a jar.
Heid fu o monsters, a doctor's syringe,
Bangs inno bruises that are black as tar.

Wee tottie lassie, blootered on the road,
Picked up an patched, like an auld torn cloot.
Played hide n' seek by the auld rail line
Thank God they fand her, or she'd be oot.


2.Junkie's Jewels

Donnie in the mornin, getting Izzy up
Makkin sure she feenishes the cocoa in her cup
Puin on her schule claes....butterin her toast
Raikin fur a sweetie, tae sooth his sister's hoast.

Izzy's peed the bed again. Izzy disnae sleep
Donnie's waukent hauf the nicht, coontin stars an sheep
Hamewirk's niver haundit in. Teacher'll ging gyte
Denner money's niver pyed. Donnie gets the wyte.

Dealer on the corner, sellin hash an smack
'Hello Mrs Flanagan. Wid ye like some crack?
Wid ye like a dooner, an upper or an e?
A ticket fae the cooncil scheme tae lan o fantasy?

Dealer's watchin Donnie. 'Here's a penny, son.'
Easy catchin customers fin confidence is won.
Needles, gear an syringes lie aside the bed
Wi Donnie's pyoke o polomints an Izzy's Mr Ted.

Ma sez she lues them, her bairnies are her treisurs
Bit mas hae needs like littlins. An mas maun hae their pleisurs
Fit's aa the steer aboot? She disnae wauk the street!
She niver lifts a haun tae them! They've aywis crisps tae eat!

It's lanely fur a littlin fin the dragon comes tae play
Fin the big fowk on the sofa dinna hear a wird ye say
She niver leaves them hame alane tho bendin aa the rules
Mas can be hame bit hyne awa, fin yer a junkie's jewels.


3.Young Toun Crazies Rule, OK?

Back o the Bingo, they aa hing oot,
Wee Mo, Pamela, Jake an Spats,
Big Plug Patterson, Ranjit, Newt,
Jinx McPhail frae the high rise flats.

Wee Mo, Pamela, Jinx an Spats,
Fower moos puffin on the ae weet fag,
Fower lums rikkin like Ganges ghatts.
'Pass roon the cancer, gie's a drag'

'Young Toun Crazies Rule, ' they craw.
Big Plug Patterson sprayed his name
Wi a tinnie o gloss on the bike shed waa,
The Jackson Pollock o Deid-End Lane.

Strongbow cider's chaiper nur ye think,
Soor an strong, bit ye maun belang,
Bauld an gallus efter ae wee drink,
Young Toun Crazies, the hale jing-bang.

Jinx haived a steen at a windae peen...
Tinkle, tinkle, the schule room glaiss
Bobbies at the door bi the licht o the meen.
Are ye his ma wi yer feart -like face? '

Ranjit's pooch hauds a bottlie o hooch,
Chored frae the grocer, Bill McGraw.
'If ye wint tae be in the Y. T. C.
Dee fit we tell ye. Oor wird's law.'

Newt is chitterin, his claes are thin.
Bides wi his gran. She's a coorse auld troot.
King o the causie, kickin at a tin,
Newt luvs Mo, bit he cannie spit it oot.

The street is cauld, and the street is teem,
Anely the tom cats strut their stuff,
Roon the dug-pished waas o the cooncil scheme,
Far the tellies growl, an the lullaby's gruff.

The video plays. Aa the doors are shut.
KIMBERLEY-ANNE YE'VE MISSED THE BUS!
YER HEID'S IN A SCHULE BUIK, SOOK-SOOK SWOT'
The pack yowl oot 'ARE YE EEN 0 US? '

Kimberley-Anne gotta giftie frae a frien...
Wrappit roon wi tin-foil. Daith in the bluid.
Kimberley-Anne she sits her leen,
Wauked wi the dragon on a short, short, lead.
Her wee dall's face is a mask o steen.
A knife in her bosie, a wirm in her heid.


4. D.N.A.
According to some sources, St Machar's Cathedral is the resting place of Scotland's national hero.

Inno the waa o St Machar's kirk
There's a bit o a hero fa held a dirk

William Wallace, if ye could gie
Yer D.N.A. fur posterity
In Holyrood fitna a steer there'd be
As the member fae Widside, RIP
Gaed clankin doon, a stinch like chiel,
sikkin the richts tae his film as weel.


5.Fitstep

Toddlin I creepit, neist I shauchled
I lowped, I breenged, fin sair, I hirpled.

A halflin I stravaiged at ease
I daunced or dauchled ben the trees
Until I hytered. Doon I fell
Near drooned in my ain wishin well

It wis a tyauve tae scrammle oot
A hauf-drooned wyver oot a spoot

I'll wish nae mair. I'll nae luik back
Fur wishin wells are deep an black

An this is foo I dinna rin
The safer throw the warld tae win.


6.An Open Letter to Mr MacNormal

Fit if my skin wis blaik as tar?
Wid ye kiss ma moo wi-oot a grue?
Fin the wee Scotch comic sez, Ae beat
Gars as blaik-skinnt fowk tap their feet'
Wid ye agree? Shift ben yer seat
If I sat aside ye? Wid ye noo?

Fit if ye passed a kicked-in shop?
If I wis a plooky halflin there
Wid ye turn me intae the nearest cop?
Nae even speir fit I'm deein there?

Gin you and masel should disagree,
It's nae ay doon tae PMT!
Fit if atween ma legs there swung,
Twa baas. Wid ye show me mair respeck?
Dae ye value a wummin's opeenion,
Fair an square, like a chiel'd expeck?

Fit if ma chooks war sookit in?
Ma face wis wrunkled? Ma hair wis thin?
Wid ye see the speerit aneth the skin,
Mr MacNormal, or are ye blin?

Fit if ye saw me nurse a bairn,
A teet in ma left haun, syringe in ma richt?
A junkie ma. Wid yer broos knit, stern?
Wid ye pit me ooto yer blameless sicht?

Fit wid ye dee, if I speired fur cheenge
As ye wauked on by on weel-heeled feet?
Wid ye teem yer pooch? Wid ye turn awa?
Fur fear oor warlds, or wir een should meet?

Mr MacNormal, fit if I rode on a cuddy's back doon Princes Street?
Heich upon real-life ecstasy wi the reid stigmata upon ma feet?

Wid ye gie me a hame in the city slums?
Community care fur the drap-oot bums?
Mr MacNormal fariver ye bide, in Rubislaw Den or in Kelvinside
Wi yer internet fur a stockin-filler,
Fariver ye bide, yer god is siller.

The Millennium Speerit is threids an thrums.
The Peer aye wyte fur the Rich Man's crumbs.


7.Ophelia

Littlin gyang forrit. There's naethin tae fear,
The widlan is Pleisur. Nocht touches ye here.
Nae bummer wad stang sic a deintie wee lass,
Ye shakk like a leaf, lassie. Rise noo, an pass.

The hey park is heich as ma heId. Foo it briers
Like an airmy o sodjers. A howefu o spears!
It's fusperin, fusperin, trystin me in
Tae be scythed tae the grun, like the roch muirlan whin.

The sea's playin, littlin. Oh dinna staun, cowed.
There's puils tae be paiddlit, there's sun shinin gowd

Its clooks claw tae claim me... the tide rages roon...
Fur a wattery grave, far the fisher fowk droon
Yer blethers are havers... rain stottin aff tin.
Fear drums in ma lug. I maun rin like the win.

Littlin climm easy. The warld's at yer feet.
Sae lichtsome the road hapt wi heather an peat!

The clouds crood aroon me. The lift's gaun tae drap
Ma hairt's a wud greyhound that Terror cud stap!

Licht yer neep lantern! Come, littlin, step oot
In the nicht far yer brithers are birlin aboot.

Canna ye see that the neep lowe's the Licht
0 the Deil as he wytes in the derk oorie nicht?

Littlin fit ails ye, tae coorie sae blate?
Ye've heat in the hairth an ye've breid on the plate.

A corbie fur howdie. Oh cauld is the crib
Fin a bairn comes unwinted, wi Sorra its sib.
A lammie sherp thorn busses circle aroon
A wirm etten dall in a clay corpse's goon


8. Low Road Hame Inspired by the painting Maternitê, by George Hitchcock.
.
She humphs a muckle wechty pack,
A littlin in her airms,
Twa dooncast een, twa trauchelt sheen,
A pathie, teem o cherms.

A weariet deem. Afore her een,
Her shadda raxxes, black.
A wee fitfa, in stirkie's staa,
The laddie at her back.

An neither spikks, fur spikk is by,
They haik the stoory road,
That aa maun wauk, frae first day-brakk,
Each, wi his different load.

Wi some auld wrang, her thochts are thrang.
Her bairn wad like tae climm
Intae her briest. Anither, reists
Far aince she bosied him.

A mither's like the risin sun,
She smiles, the bairn rins weel.
Bit fin she's wae, it soors his day,
And dowie is his dreel.

A meenit's rest wad cheer the bairn,
Fa hyters on clean-deen.
The mither seeks a langer sleep...
The wyvin girse abeen.


9. Candlemas: The Purification of the Virgin

Creepin throw the leafy fen,
Twa sma feet cam steppin ben
Humbled noo, fa aince wauked prood,
A lassie wi a back that's booed.

Nae a wechty pack tae bear,
She is loadit doon wi care
She'll nae win back fit she has gaen,
Aathing rypit, aathing taen.

Kneel doon by the burn an greet,
Quine, for here ye eesed tae meet
Wi the ane fa stole yer pride
In the bonnie gloamintide.

Aince ye cairriet a gweed name.
Watter winna wash yon stain
Frae it, nor restore tae ye,
Back, yer tint virginity.

Lassie kneelin there sae blate,
Wash awa. It's late, ower late
Tae win back fit he did pree,
Innocence and chastity.

Scoor yer skin an dicht yer face.
Clean yer claes an tie yer lace
Stockins, crooked at the seams,
Lassie, lassie, like yer dreams.


10. The Tryst inspired by Afterglow – Joseph Farquharson

Fitpreints in the gloamin, fitpreints in the sna,
Meltit bi the mornin, in the rinnin thaw.
Fitpreints in the gloamin, far hae ye gaen?
Trystin wi a laddie, far ye waurna seen?

Fitpreints in the gloamin, lichtsome, gaun awa
May the luv he promised, laist langer than the sna.


11. Chaunce Encoonters Inspired by a postcard entitled 'Chance Encounter'

Spanner in girse.
Dyeuk's weet flipper skelped on tarry road.
Biro rowin on fleer.
Daud o fluff on the held o a sheeny postbox.
Chaunce encoonters,
Like the day that Mrs O'Rourke met
Danny Grady in the mids o Killarney
Her on the wye tae the shops,
Him gaun hame fae the gowf,
An the twa o them daunced their socks aff
Till a band playin 'The Forty Shades o Green'.


12. A Social Eddy After a painting by Orchardson, 'The Marriage of Convenience'

Cauld dowp. Cauld cheer
Ithers dauncin on the fleer.
Muckle pech. Muckle sigh
Lauchin couples birlin by.
Fit's the time? Watch the clock
Fa's comin? Snochry Jock.
Are ye dauncin?
Nae wi you
Fit wye nae?
Yer ower foo.

Will she bide, or gyang hame?
Social eddy's dreich, yer lane.
Aa hersel in a neuk
Feint the suitor. Fit a sook!


13. The Young Achilles Lies Apairt fae his Armour

An ileman hame on leave fae a far kintra,
Sprauchled abeen his bed, a young Achilles.
His gymnast's wechts at reest in their iron stauns
Like seamen dowpit doon in humfy hammocks.

The black curls stuck tae his broo are weet wi swyte
His briest-been heists and draps like Vulcan's bellas.
A kittlin sniffs at the kent scent o his side.
The chaumer hauds him, gled o this brief incam.

His een hae glisked fey tribes fa eat their deid,
On vultures, riggit oot in Saturn's plumes
Fa stap their wyme on Daith's prophetic entrails.

Broth o this loon's bin spiced wi unca ferlies,
Hett continents far snakes raxx slivv'ry fangs.
His daily armour's tummelt ower the fleer
This mither's son, this young invincible,
His ileman's wage buys pouer tae cross the seas
Weemen an warssles, sweet fermented wine.
He needs nae Sibyl's wittrins. Youth is strang.


14. Ravelins

The wag at the waa like the dubby tail o a stirk,
Wheechs back an forrit a forcey kinno a fung.

Dowie, the hizzie dowped at the rikkin lum
Is pykin threids an thrums in the dreich pit mirk,
The ravelins o a merriege, gweed braid-claith,
Chittered awa in the howf bi her droothy man,
Capernuitie, hyterin skweejee hame.

The sleekit ratten's ettlin tae snap a sup
Fae the steen cauld plate that wytes fur him on the brod.
Inno the hyne awa, her derk een gley
The lowe in the hairth gyangs whizzlin doon tae aisse.


15. Echtsome Reels

Echtsome reels are gates on wheels ye open up an birl,
An mony the merriege partnership's begun wi ae quick furl.

Coortship is like a chappit door that some fowk ay keep lockit,
For gin ye eence slip back the lock, it's unca hard tae stoppit!

Some skirl like feels, they birl like eels, an some gyang heelstergowdie,
An mony's the reel that's sterted weel, has endit wi the howdie.


16. Annie's Sang

Sing aboot Tifty's Annie, coorseness, plain an bare
Ae quine's assisted passage intae a kirkyaird lair.

Sing aboot Tifty's Annie, yon's nae parlour sang,
Murder, reid in the mools, a lang unbeerit wrang.

Auld Scots lays an ballads, can richt weel express,
The bluid that turns tae ice, on the derk side o the glaiss.

Maist victims ken their killers. Faimly hames breed hairm.
A punch-bag, whiles, is the face o a cooerin wife or bairn.

Ahin closed doors some bully, somewye, losses the heid,
Kickin the hairt an sowel, frae their ain flesh an bluid.

Mebbe the soup wis cauld. Mebbe the wine wis late.
Mebbe the clock wis slaw. Wis it a dirty plate?
Sic sma domestic triggers detonate in-hoose hate.

Sing aboot Tifty's Annie... Ay, bit sing it sair.
Sing it as if ye kent her. Sing it as if ye care
That the clarty yird lies black
On a young quine's gowden hair.

Sing it derk as the raven, oorie's a flappin craa
Like the blush o a ripenin wound that blossoms ahin the waa.
Takk her pain...and feel it. Makk each note a bruise
Sing her sorras for her. J'accuse. J'accuse. J'accuse.

Sing aboot Tifty's Annie... Ay, bit sing it sair
Sing it fur as the Annies, feart o the fit on the stair.


17. Still Life with Knife

Nae fish again, quine!
Yer batter's mingin, yer patter's hingin,
An cut yon veggies oot.
Nor wid I thank ye fur a bit o fruit.
A nice wee greasy pie is main my line.
The national Scottish diet, means fry it.
A swatch o hairt disease, floatin in butter.
Afore ye decry it, try it!
Chips wi a sauce-spurt.
Some fowk dee furt!


18. Parkin Lot Nummer 44: Advocates Car Park

Parkin Lot nummer 44:
Doon the steps fae the Signet Library
Weet blaik tarmac, back o the door
Waddlit ower bi cooshies
Shitten on bi scurries
Wattered bi flurries
0 shooers.

Parkin Lot nummer 44
Blaik as Bible Brods
A bield fur boozers
Yowled ower bi Toms an tounsers
Here lieth the mortal beens
0 John Knox RIP
The VIP o mony's a history lesson
In Scottish skweels on mochie efterneens.

Parkin Lot nummer 44,
In life yer tenant
Niver brichtent the warld
Like a flicht o cockatoos
Explodin ooto a pink flamingo loch

The dreich rain piddles doon
Cairryin roon his crotch
The bree o Embro toun.

The claik o Hindi .
Rattles abeen his heid.
John Knox, fa wis alive,
Bit noo is deid.


19. Winnlestrae From Ecclesiastes 3

A time fur aa aneth the sun
The Heivens decreed it sae:
A time tae live, a time tae dee
Fur Man's but winnlestrae.

A time tae plant an seed the grun
Ahin the cuttin ploo
A time tae gaither in the crap
A time tae bend an boo

A time tae kill, a time tae heal
Tae merk an bigg a foun
A time tae greet, a time tae lauch
Afore Daith dings ye doon

A time tae grieve, a time tae daunce;
A time tae gaither steens,
A time tae lue, tae turn awa
A time tae follae dreams

A time tae lose, a time tae fin;
A time tae stert anew;
A time fur soun, a time fur quate
A time fur fause or true.

A time tae spikk, a time tae rend
A time fur bomb an gun.
A time o peace, a time tae mend
Fur aa aneth the sun.

Oh winnlestrae's mortality
Like gibbet cloots that blaw
The corbie watches frae the dyke
In time, he swallas aa.


20.Salute tae Toronto for the late Charles Middleton Ritchie, Oshawa, Ontario

Three thoosan mile frae derk Lochnagar,
Rises Toronto hyne ower the haar,
Skyscrapers towerin, bricht as the star
Steered the fill boaties frae Scotia.

Grey the Atlantic, wintry its wave,
Wirk is the prize the emigrants crave,
Wide is the ocean, cauld as the grave
Thochts that are beeriet in Scotia.

Buffalo, beaver wolf on the Ben,
These are the neebors immigrants ken,
Cedar an maple, dapplin the fen,
Far frae the laricks o Scotia.

Gloamin by Huron, brings the black bear,
Ebon as midnicht, fierce frae its lair,
Dae the lost clan, the kin that bide there
Mynd on the muirlans o Scotia?

Dowie its keenin the dirge o the whale,
Swift rins the boat wi Hope in its sail,
Hairtbrak o leavins waur nor the gale,
Blawin the flooers frae Scotia.

Bonnie the linn that faas wi a sang,
Bonnie the harebell, dauncin sae thrang,
Wages are scarce, sae mony maun gyang,
Far fur a livin frae Scotia.

Seed frae the Heilans, oceans awa,
Tho lochans freeze an lilies doonfa,
Memories are green, we mynd on ye aa,
Bluid in yer veins o Auld Scotia.

Three thoosan miles frae derk Lochnagar,
Rises Toronto hyne ower the haar,
Shoeshine on sidewauk, Mohawk in bar,
Warm is their welcome tae Scotia!


21. The Neebor For Tam & Beldie Fraser, Westlodge, Glenmuick, Ballater

My kinsman's Glenmuick neebor deed yestreen
An auncient craitur, trauchelt an clean deen
She bedd across the wye...her ain front door
A puckle helpers rinnin back an fore

They need a haun, fin auld age soors the bluid
Tho she wis spared fey tribbles o the heid
She pyed her bills, wis niver on the scraun
A widda-wummin, liked the antrin dram
Her hats were braw. Her smiles like butter, spreid.
For years she wis their neebor. Noo, she's deid.

They say the grandson's takkin it real ill
She meant a hantle mair nur jist The Will
Tae him, puir vratch. He aften eesed tae bide
Wi granny at her hoose. A place tae hide
Fae yon gran skweel fa's credo wis Excel
Wi granny, he wis safe tae be himsel.

My brither's cousin's neebor deed yestreen
They didna veesit. She wis eence a Queen
Ye dinna lowp the dyke o circumstance
An yet she brocht a thochtie o Romance
Intae Glen Muick, for she wis since a belle
The Rose o Glamis, pued for a King's lapel


22. The Send-Aff: St. Moluag's Kirk, Tarland For Isabella Green, née Middleton, born Tarland 1902, died Aboyne 2001

The snaa faas saftly ower the kirk,
Cromar, Kinaldie, Migvie
The mavis chitters on the birk
North Gellan, Tomnaverie

The Tarlan burn rins bauld an black
Glendeskry, Blelack, Drummy
Storm rings the sun at Morven's back
Kincraigie, Tillypronie

The yawnin grave is deep an weet
Coull, Melgum, Dauch, the Knockie
The cords drap doon. Fowk shakk tae see't
Corse, Corachree an Ordie.

Shelt, astronaut, new-plottit stars
The Clash, Millheid an Ruthven
Frae cradle sang ben warld wars
Barehillock an Newbiggin

A godly an a hamely life
Crossfauld an Balnagowan
Frae toddlin bairn tae canty wife
Sweetbrier's bonnie rowan.

Nae spider web o flimsy threid,
Her reets ran through the Howe
As lang's the skirts o Pressendye
Far the white snawdraps grow

Ay, Belle wis o ma faither's bluid,
An o ma faither's line
An fine she wis, and kind she wis,
As mellow hinney-wine.

Ye ken foo weel a body's liked
Bi mourners cam tae pray
For Belle, fa niver judged a frien,
The pews stude full, the day.


23. Funeral

Baldy heids like golf baas wytin the final putter.
In't it faist foo years skyte doon the gutter?
Daith isnae blate tae clear awa a generation's clutter!