Figurehead (11 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1.Birdsang

I wauk tae a neuk o the wids,
Bird sang is thrang
An the notes that lift the blossom
Pu sorra's stang

Aa day my feathery neebors
Flee on the wing
Stappin their littlins' beaks,
An still they sing.

The meen in her siller sheen
She steeks their trill
Nicht draws a velvet plaid
Ower twig an bill

Deep in ma human hairt
Their tune still rings
Like a blessed bell that's struck
An singin, swings

I dinna begrudge their rest
Ilk bird, on its timmer reest
Bit lang fur the dawn tae wyle
The sang frae each tawny briest


2.The Whale in the Ocean

Hae ye heard aboot the hostages held bi pirates?
Scraped aff their boat like cheese frae a plooman's bap?
The pirates set their compass for foreign siller
Greed is a raxxed wyme an widenin een.

Meanwhile, the gallus whale
Gaps its muckle mawe
An sooks on the waves' teats.

Whyles, the yird shakks
There's a quake, the grun opens
Swallas fowk an hooses without a thocht

Is the shark as coorse as it's peintit?
It fuels the steely motor o its sides
Wi banes, bluid, onythin chaw-able
Niver a please or thank-ee, jist a rift.

An fit aboot yer average pettit poodle?
Foo lang dae ye think ye'd laist
Deid, in yer ain locked hoose
The doors an windaes steeked
An the puir breet there
Wi naethin tae ett bit buiks.....


3.The Sharger o Fadlvdyke

The sharger bides in a rickle o stanes
At the back o the tattie shed
Her kittlins teet, wi their een like preens
Frae the foun oa nettle bed

The ferm-fowk are happit snod
Atween Faldie's linen sheets
Neth a weel-lined reef, bi the Grace o God
Warm-clad frae neb tae queats

The sharger's wyme is rummlin sair
As she pads on feral paas
Her shanks are lean an her pelt's threidbare
An it's hunger sharpens her jaas

The ferm-fowk hae dined on fish
Roast beef an curried rice
On mango fruits frae a crystal dish
Diced ham an cucumber slice

The wild cat's supper is gey hard won
A rabbit, or eggs frae the doos
For she maun eat tae full each teat
Wi milk fur her littlins' moos.

The ferm-fowk lie dwaumin quaet
Their thrapples slockent wi wine
The cattle drinks frae Auchreddie Burn
Or a troch far the starnies shine

It's nae fur her the saucer o cream
The hairth, twa threids an a thrum
Her fit is thirled tae a different airt
Tae the dunt o an aulder drum

Sib tae the futterat in Faldie's wid
A hunter frae hynyie-back
The sharger's shadda mells wi the nicht
On the moose an the rattens' track


4.Speirin

Some fowk are aywis speirin.
Fits the biggest mistak ye've made?
Fit dae ye think o MacDiarmid
Or the price o tea in Cheena?
Far dae ye see yersel in ten years time?

I mak nae repon.
I pynt tae the burn.
The burnt rins forrit.
The burn rins forrit.
It dis fit a burn dis

It canna cheenge its coorse
Gin ye dinna like weet feet
Dinna wyde in the watter.


5.Lvke Wake for my Faither

Could I hae dressed ye at the last
Green growe the birks o Dee
Ye'd hae bin clad in honest tweed
The rochlin wave rins free

In yer richt haun, a heather sprig
Frae lanely Bheinn a Bhuird
An in yer left, a larick twig
Three month in sna-bree smored

I wad hae bathed ye like a bairn
Wi muckle wae an care
Pit on yer back a linen sark
As fite's the mountain hare

Ye wad hae bedd till beerial
A guest, in yer ain hame
I wad hae guairded ye three nichts
As stinch as ony stane

An tho the mortal banes o ye
Wi yird are happit weel
Yer marra haunts the Builg Loch
Tween Crathie an Gairnshiel


6.Davie Dae-Aathing

Davie-Dae Aathin, far hae ye been?
Yer smeddum is winted tae save Aiberdeen

The skurries are skreichin ower beach an ower toun
They fecht for the orrals o faist-food haived doon

There's chuddy on cassies, there's halflins on drugs
There's underpass muggers...Oh, preen back yer lugs

Davie Dae-Aathin, we're needin yer help.
The tounsfowk are dowie, moral's taen a skelp

Fin the beggin bowl's rattled roon Holyrood's pend
It's nae Aiberdeen that gets siller tae spend

Davie-Dae Aathin, we're prood o oor toun
Bigg us oor bypass tae pump its bluid roon
An while yer aboot it...see ilkie teem shop
Could ye convert it tae new hoosin stock?


7.Corbie
There is said to be an old belief that if the corbies leave their roosting place in the trees of Union Terrace Gardens, Aberdeen will be plagued by a curse.

Corbie Haugh, Corbie Haugh,
Gin aa the corbies flee awa
Kelly's cat's surely faa,
An dule an was beset us aa!


8.Foo's Yer Doos?

Foo's yer doos?
Ay peckin.
Far ye gaun?
Tae Ecclefeccan
Fit tae dae there?
Need ye speir!
Tae wish them as
A Gweed New Year!


9.Storyteller in Embro: The Daft Days

The public gairdens war skinklin like Trowie's gee-gaws.
I wis there fur
The tellin o tales, tales risin frae the snaas
0 makkie-on, hale touns o ice
That melt in the warm lug o listenin bairns
Pittin frost-flaucht in their een

I dowpit doon in the muckle Shaman's cheer
At the Netherbow, like Odin, slivverin
Inoo his beard, aboot tae fleg
The gargoyles fur a fee.

Ootbye, Embro chittered,
A muckle aik coontin its auncient rings,
Wechtit doon wi spurgies an skitter-pot doos.

There wis the antrin storyteller yonner,
Winnerin gin props or puppets, the dirl
0 a moothie wad gee-up the hale proceedins.

Eftirhan, on the derkened cassies,
Teemed o the tales o ma trade
I wis twa holes on a penny fussle
The warld gaun wheechin throwe me.

At Waverely, fower gallus halflins
Strutted an skirled, thinkin thirsels a saga
A bosyin Japanee couple spak Haiku love-spik.
A Polish gangrel ettled tae sell the Big Issue,
An epic naebody wintit, (nae titties nor TV sklaik) .

The bladder-wrack clouds o gloamin
War pit-mirk blaik, the buses thrang wi fowk.
I retraced ma shauchlin fitprents, ontae the train
A wummin, nae the full shillin, speired
Are ye a violinist? ' Her chikks war kiln-crackit,
Like they'd bin wheeped bi nettles.
Her moo wis thin's a razor-shell, gummy an blae

Rattlin ower the Forth, the Brig shanks sunk in the waves
I glisked the shags' een glimmer in the nicht

On sic a nicht, an uncle crawled on his wyme
On his hurtit wyme, lang miles tae save his brithers
Ma grandsire keepit vigil at his bedside,
Sang him safe frae the killin-clutch o the car,
Music bein the medicine oor fowk thrive on
Twa brithers, their tale skaled oot like bladdit ile.


10.Hymn to Migvie: Tune: By Cool Siloam's Shady Rill

Inbye this ancient Migvie Kirk
The Past an Present jyne
Far Pictish, Ogham, Celtic Prayer
Are links in history's chyne

Wi the Welsh hound-lord Kentigern
Roon Morven's stormy glen
St Finan plantit Christian seeds
In thochts o Druid men

Frae Seely Howe an Pressendye
Frae ferms on Deskry-side
Frae Melgum, Pronie, Corachree
Stepped mony's a buskit bride

Bide quaet, an ye micht hear it still
A littlin's christenin greet
The wechty sigh, as cairriet by
A kist, on grievin feet.

Sae let us consecrate this haa
Tae Future, Peace, an Calm
Far lammies bleat an peesies cheep
As sweet as ony psalm


11.A poem, freely owersett in Scots from Ovid's xiv Elegy: To his Coy Mistress, who contrary to his counsel, dyed her hair with noxious compositions and has nearly become bald.

Did I nae tell ye, Dinna dye yer hair?
An noo ye hinna ony hair tae dye!
I warned ye weel...ye turned yer heid aside
0 wash awa...there's naethin left tae dry!

A peety yer sae thrawn. It wis unmatched
Fell tae yer knees like silk abune yer sark
Twis neither blaik nor gowd, a mix o baith
Braw as the cedar fin ye strip its bark

Sae saft, sae soople, it tuik mony styles
Nae rugs nor toozles on the caimb's doonpress
Yer servant lassie niver earned a skelp
Nor preen-prick, fin she brushed thon sable tress

Whyles o a morning, on yer purple bed
Yer hair scaled ower the sheets, a bonnie sicht
Like ony Bacchanal on the green girse
Fair fooneret wi the tuilzies o the nicht

Syne did yer saft hair please...ye glekit quine
Until I saw ye torture it wi iron
I bad ye nae tae scorch yer hapless locks
Did ye takk tent? Na faith, ye niver learn.

Gaen are the tresses ony God micht praise
That nyaakit Dione micht hae held hersel
Wi dreepin hauns, uprisin frae the faem
Twis yer ain wyte. Ye caused the wreck yersel.

Sae dinna glower inbye thon keekin glaiss
Ye gype, as if yer warld wis turned tae stoor
An murn the hair that aince adored yer croon
It wis yersel fa connached yer coiffure