English Poems From Baa Humbug Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Wildcat/ Cat-fiadhaich
Fierce of fang, she hisses, sharp of claw
Rarer than Bengal tiger, see her creep.
She is a huntress, true to nature's law

Ancient healers from her corpse would draw
Cures for gout, and baldness, tumors deep
Relief from pain, from epileptic flaw

Palu, the Celts' cat goddess, held in awe
Clan Chattan chose her sign, courage to keep
And Pharoahs bowed beneath Bastet's soft paw.

Witch's familiar, primitives foresaw
Her dancing with the devil, black's a sweep
Soul-stealer, on death's grisly bones to gnaw.

The Scottish wildcat, melting like the thaw
Into the pinewoods, and the mountains steep
Try as you might, you'll not see her withdraw
Nor will the tiny bird perceive her leap.


Eppie Callum's Aik
Eppie Callum grew an oak
A thing of joy and wonder
That sheltered Roby Roy, outlaw bold
From redcoats, death and thunder

Its trunk has hidden royalty
Prince Charles Edward Stuart
How many oaks can boast of that?
Did Eppie Callum rue it?

The Capercailzie
Horse of the Woods, Wood Grouse, the Capercailzie
The cock has a wingspan of 60 centimeters
Weighs up to 50 kilograms

His plumage is grey, his wings are brownish
His breast is glossy green
His beak is curved and chunky,
Egg yolk yellow
His eye flashes, crimson red
Red for danger, like a bird in a China shop
In the lek season, he'll charge at anyone
Birdwatcher, cyclist, stalker, passing deer
Sent Sir David Attenborough flying
(Suspected love rival)
Belligerent, pugnacious
An avian Mohammed Ali

He sleeps in the branches of trees
In summer he snacks on grass, ants, acorns, berries
Small lizards and even snakes
In winter he dines on pine needles

Hear him gurgling, wheezing, popping
Strutting his stuff
Displaying his tail
Proud Popinjay, little emperor
Of the Caledonian forest


The Scottish Drovers
The Scottish drovers' lives held many dangers
Raiders, outlaws, mist, the rain soaked wind
By evening sleeping on the open heather
Wrapped in a plaid, dun skinned and wiry limbed

Across the broad Atlantic, emigrants
Resumed their ancient, cattle driving ways
As Texas cowboys, dust, rain, Indians, rustlers
Stampedes, short rations, Yankee-Scottish strays

Humbug
My daughter in law has an eye for quality.
At our front door, flanking a statue of Buddha
She has placed a vase of flowers of vibrancy
Silk, artificial, stunning's a poem by Neruda

Breathing in the pleasant air of morning
Enjoying the sun, myself and a bumble bee
Astonished, I watched it enter every flower head
Seeking the pollen, the source of hive-ecstasy

Not one single flower head was omitted,
It doggedly scoured the inside cups of fakes
And I thought how easy it is to be misled
Bumble bees and humans can make mistakes.

I remembered meeting an elegant, handsome man
Suave, eloquent, he gave out all the signs
The real thing, I thought. Learned to my cost
Some of the prettiest fields are laced with mines

A Puckle Plooks on the Plinth
The Plook on the Plinth is a prize
For a total affront to the eyes
It is named and it's shamed
And its plookness explained
If its ugliness no one denies

Cumbernauld, the ‘Kabul of the North'
Is described as not being of worth
"rabbit warren on stilts" people call
Cumbernauld centre's grim shopping mall

Coatbridge got itself a tower clock,
Which, folk said, was a bit of a flop
Like a ‘back of a beer mat' design
Oh for town planning wonders they pine!

‘Beirut on a bad day' was Denny
It was said, gems, it didn't have any
With a giant mouldering Battenberg cake
Of a town centre, plonked in its wake

Unto the Lord (Anon)
Unto the Lord the earth belongs
And all that it contains
Except the Kyles and Western Isles
For they are all McBraynes