North East Neuk (58 Poems In Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

1. Reflections

The timmer-heided tree,
Dis it consider the skirp o growth,
The Adam bud o its reet?
Raxxed till the complexity o a twig;
Dis it fear the, rot that hungers fur its fa?
An wid it murn, aince yearly,
The sma birds o its leaves
Wingin awa?

The watter, big wi spate
Dis it consider the sky?
That shaks it doon the antrin wave
Or in fierce heicht o simmer
Drains it dry?

Or is it anely man
Wha in his Autumn, finds that Spring
May rise tae haunt him, o a suddenty
Wha's thochts, like leaves, may turn
Frae green tae broon
Wi sic a surety
It dings him doon,
An shaks his verra bein
Tae its foun?


2. Archaeologist

Ah'm an archaeologist.
Ah open tombs. Dream dreams.
Ficherin with the jigsaw
O ma ain past,
Ah've managed tae drap it;
An illusion, in smithereens.

Ithers get the sarcophagus.
Ah get the curse.
Ony vacancies fur cave painters?


3. The Pearl

The pearl's a frozen shard o skaith,
The ovum, in the oyster reest,
A glimmerin orb o clammy daith,
Pierced canker, in a rendrin breist.

Cauld gem, the wastrel ocean's bairn
O aa the ferlies kent on earth
Seeded in anguish, sired in hairm
Oh wha wid envy sic a birth?


4. Meditation Nummer Ane fur Ian Scorgie

I drew frae the conjuror's hat
A whylie's silence.
Through the stage-door trap,
I drapt, in unencumbered solitude
Doon, in a well o' quietude
The wheels unfurl yonder
The cardboord scenery's tint
There's naethin tae dae bit ponder,
There in the inmaist cell o the mind
It's still as a lily, aathegither bare.
The cycle o Alpha an Omega's
Straucht as a die. Ye can be
An unfauldin petal
An inwardly-turnin ee
Hyne ooto the want-an-wish
A nameless, ebony fish
Dartin the depths,
O cosmic consciousness


5. Mither Tongue

Fit's a whigmaleerie?
Dinna speir at me!
Them that speirs nae questions,
Arena telt a lee!

Fit's a stammygaster?
Fegs, ye dinna ken?
Ye've as little on yer tongue's
The teeth upon a hen!

Fit's Esperanto?
Is't nae a kinna girse?
It's nae. Weel, the wint o't
Winna leave me wirse.

Fit's an oxter? Fit's a neive?
Fit did ye learn at schule?
Dam't ye'r as tongue-tack'ts
The Laird o Udney's feel!

I'm verbally impoverished?
Ochone, man, ochone,
Nae a Scot fa's wirth a groat'll
Staun an stammache thon!

Fit's linguistics onyroad?
Satty bree or brine!
Spurgies cheep, and lammies baa,
My spik's mine!


6. Joseph Gillanders

Joseph Gillanders, o a siccar race
Him, o the rovin haun, an rovin ee
O passions kept a brace.
Love o a comely queat, an a fat bawbee
An whaur his brethern culled a single bloom
Joseph Gillander's flooers filled a room.

Dislikin cuckolds horns
Men spurned him,
His posies sprooted thorns
Oh peety puir Gillanders, in his plight
Mair sinned against than sinnin.
In charity, his fauts werena his wyte
Blame Him abeen, fa first created wimmin!


7. Blin Robin

A hallyrackit billie, galluses agley
Roch-chinned; ye'd crack a spunk
Upon the stibble
(Twa days growth forby) .
A weel-worn chiel
It seemed as though
He'd seen it as dane it as
Stramashes — booze — an oxterfu o deems.
(His verra sark wis fechtin wi its seams,
An cocky wi't. A kailyaird thistle
Quick tae roose — bit quicker still, tae settle)

Yon muckle een
Glowered through ye
Scunnersomely teem.

Aince set his fummlin fingers on a reed
The deils o' dance wid dirl in yer bluid
Fu lick o Sorra's ladle —
Barred frae sicht
A blin' man, on a dreich November's nicht
Wi naething bit a chanter at his thoomb
Took on Adversity — an turned her roon.


8. Granny's Pet

His seeven lives rin oot thrice ower.
He's swack's a kittlin-breenge an bob.
As weel he micht — my gleyin glower's
A kettle, hotterin on the hob.
Aince bile, an it's a clippin cloor
Bit granny sits, as jaunty's Job.

He's short o' years, an short o sense
Bit lang in spunk, her bonnie Jo.
I wrote his tune, bit he's the sang
I'll niver ken the owercome o'.

He's raivelled threids o divilment
An she's a loom, its pattern set.
A ragin damps, bit disna dash
Cat's whiskers o' him, granny's pet.

He sups the cream as littlins will.
It's yirned milk o tcyauve fur me.
She cries 'Ye war a bairn yersel
An youth is lichtsome — let him be'.


9. Eve and Oedipus

He'd wed an enchantress — she'd turned a mishanter
His sack, niver laundered, nae thocht till his care
The bane o contention, his first love, byordnar
Her shadow cast lang ower the ill-greein pair.

His first love wis peerless — she'd looed him unstintin
Wi niver a greet, nor a girn nur a carp
His vices were virtues — she thocht him an Angel
A craitur Divine wintin anely the harp.

Tither side o the penny, the wife wis disgruntled
She'd turn up her snoot wi a wearisome grumph.
Ochon, for the chiel wha unselfish adored her
His care, an his kindness gaen ower fur a sumph!

The worm o' contention, twa roses wid wither
He haimmered the nails, an she cairried the cross
Her first love her faither — his idol, his mither.
Fa else wid see diamonds, far ithers saw dross?


10. Sugar 'n' Spice

Hid yon guid wirds been writ fur me,
“Turn ye the ither cheek”
Thole twa black een, far wan wid dee.
God wid hae made me meek.

Sugar 'n' Spice an aathing nice?
Na — bit a hill-cat's spit
An the clinkum-clunk, as He steered in spunk,
Wi sweirity, smeddum, grit.

I can unnerstaun, in Creation's plan
That there's mony's a better craitur;
Bit we cut wir claith, fin we first draw braith
An the lang and the short's wir naitur!


11. Litter o' Love

They neither winted fur claes, nur care
Nur a piece fur the playtime bell
Fowks quick tae gie, an slow tae blame
(Far there's nocht tae blacken their ain guid name)
Kennin the wye things sat at hame
Wi the throwither bairns o' Nell.

The heir till aabodys cassen cloots
Sud a baggerels brats be swell?
The dominie's semmit — the meenister's buits
Fine fur Nell, wi her squatter o geets
The guilty ghaist, in the weddin sheets
Wi her litter o love-grown-stale.

Time saftens scorn, an a gype's weel-tholed
It's lang, sin Nell hid a man
Wedded, ten times ower it wis said
Easily likit — an easier led
Bit niver in sicht o the merriege bed
Wi the gowd o grace on her haun

A pat in the passin — a penny in pooch
'Tis little her craiturs tae pleisur
For as can tell, that the mither is Nell
Bit there's naebody's sure o the faither!


12. Bitter Sweet

Ye think the sun should shine as day?
It widna please the gairdeners!
An gin the rain ding doon the hay
It fair dismays the fairmers.

The snoddest rose will job yer thoomb,
The aipple rot, an faa,
I've niver seen the pitcher yet
That didna hae its flaw.
Its jist a step, frae bonnie bride,
Tae stirkie in the staa.

Ye pu the flooer, it dwines an dees
Ye bake, the breid grows stale
There's nae the dug, bit's deaved wi fleas
There's nae a joy that's hale
An love that burned sae bricht yestreen,
The morn, is cauld as kail.


13. Sunday Service

Twa peaks o' prayer, Kate Wabster's hauns are pyntit
Her heid's held heich — bit the blessin o' God is tint
An fa'd hae thocht, as ane o the Lord's annointed
She'd tyne her sense, fur a chief she sudna wint?

The congregation's bummin a haly note.
Bit the tune Kate Wabster croons, is nae o' Grace
She's singin the wirds bi lip; they're anely rote
Fur she canna clear her throat, bit she minds his face.

The mou o' the kirk is wide, the pews are thrangin
The Sabbath fowk are scalin agin the sun
An Kate sud turn the snib on her eeseless langin
Cast oot like Lucifer, on the guilty grun
Fur Deil the thing she's heard, o' the kirk bell clangin
An ilkie hymn she sang, wis a Hoolachan.

Bit hyne an awa, the thocht o him's her salvation
Tho' the hale jing-bang o' the warld sud caa it wrang
An deep in her hairt, he's keepit, a consummation
Far the kirk an its condemnation canna gang.


14. Twa Limmers

Tantalus
War he a reed, she'd rax tae be his bow
The reeshlin, randy strae, she'd stap the manger
War he a stag, she'd be the hummel doe
An wi him, thole the brunt o ony danger

A Springtime snawdrop, derkened b' an aik
She's spukken fur langsyne-yet incomplete
His sun's her pleisur, mindin on his make
Is pure delicht, her trimmlin sap replete

Be't earthly or Divine, love's freely gien
As weel withhaud yon boundin Heilan burn
Or ban the gowd, that croons the simmer breem
Play gyte Canute, an stem the ocean's turn

Their byewyes niver jine-as nicht wi day
Her baurdy, langin, ee can anely look
She kens the futterat rives the striddled prey
Yet fain wid lay her doon, an lute it sook.

His body's fact — her passion's fancy-fed
Ay Tantalus — ye're North, an she is Sooth
His love; his lust, she canna bid nor bed
Twa certainties, within ain Hellish truth.

Jezebel
There's a quine on the brae in a blue, blue, goun
She lifts her skirts, an she shaks them wide
A flicherty May, wi her braw perfume
Her ribbons green, an her hair untied

She's niver been true, tho aften wed
A swick, a randy, a bawdy jaad
Wi her lips o dew, on a dykeside bed
She'll nae wait lang fur a lusty lad

An fit d'ye ca this Jezebel?
Fegs, fit else, but a Scots bluebell!


15. Across a Crowded Room after Botticelli's Primavera

'Yer weirin yon glekit luik, ' quo ma pal.
'Like ye've won the pools. Lettin yer thochts hing oot.
Face rearranged like a Braque.
This is the granite city. Stiff upper lip, an that.'

Weel I cudna, cud I? Wi an Oscar Kokoschka clout,
I'd faaen fur a real El Greco, lang legged, wi a Spanish pout.
An I felt like Venus, risin ooto the North Sea....
Cauld, an green, an obvious as hell.

Ma Rodin wis spukken fur. It's tirin, staunin on a shell.
Speecially yersel.
Splish, splash, splosh.
I left, wi Heironymous Bosch


15. Last Tango in Aiberdeen

'Are ye dancing? '
Torry rock, an Bon-Accordion jive.
Queen B. o the hive.
'Na. It's jist the wye I'm staunin.'

The raws o wallflooers wilted,
Batted petal-een o scunner an mascara
Fashioned tae be jilted...
Fairies frae last year's Yuletide tree
Fushtie scent, an tinsel-clartit frocks.

Seamen, catchless, trawled a petticoat herbour
Shoals o quines, sma sprats
Ruggit at anchor
Fair bait fur some
Commercial traiveller's sampler.

(Fish-net stockings, amply fu)
Goose-pimpled, lauchin, chilly, in the fridge
O a caress. (Nae Latin swain's largesse) .
In Aiberdeen, a Mither Hubbard larder.
The music stounin harder. 'Can I wauk ye hame? '
Subtle's an articulated larry
A baritone as blae as Rubislaw quarry
Gey Gordon on the haik

Pre-contraceptive-pill days
Crossed-fingers, ram-rod-will-days
'Ay. Fur a weddin cake! '
Fox-trotted intil matrimony
(An oot o it, by chance)
I still adopt the wrang stance
Aywis oot-o-step
Alane, at the last dance.


16. Nor' Sea

A rim o unhapt, drooned, unhaly, things,
The beach bubbles dereliction.
A brukken fish box floats,
Affcast frae nets.
Oot a place, oot o joint
Articles, wha've tint their anchor
Nae point
O' reference,
Bob, dithery as boats.

Even the catarrhal rain's a cur
Shakkin weet fur
Like an auld mat skelpin the win.

I mistrust the shifty element o wave.
Staunin, heich an dry's a deity,
I drap it a doon-luik
An a distance opens
Blank an wide's the haar

This limmer, lowsin her hair's
A Magdalene. A whine an wheedle
O a sea, endlessly washin her guilt
Ower the cliff-fit

The cliff is Calvin-cauld
Gulls brak frae rocks, blawn prayers.
Pebbles, fite's the breid o life,
Hard as Judas coins
Slidder aneth the faem

Cran upon cran o times,
Its mission spurned,
Nae mass conversion possible,
The sea turns wild cat
Scrats the grun in storm.


17. Gallery

Catched concepts, caged ahin glaiss.
Studies in style, pernickity or freak.
Fikey perjink, bi mammoth-monumental.
Ilkie ain unique. Sic eloquent quate!
Nae communal contention!

Flamingo-pink, a lang-legged dozy quine, dauchles, peers incisive,
A dilletante dabbler. A human statue.
Maks inspection
In lanely judgement.
Lays wirds aside, superfluous, intrusive.

Watter teems classically intae marble;
A swatch o spatial elegance, elite portal, tae a magic, visual lan

Auldest impulse o man,
Afore the quill cud scrat the lines o spik
Neuked in a dreepin cave, a hunter, daubin peint on the rikk
O blaukened waas, raxed, tae finger the kill.
Haun, sicht, an will, wed, tae maist sensual skill.

The staney lion, flankin the gallery
Teethless Tam o a tabby, an Aiberdonian Sphinx
Is better nur the predatory original —
He anely sits, an thinks.


18. Unicorn in Union Street

The bigsie cooshie doos, vauntie as cooncillors,
Strut i' the sun, atap their quarried Parthenon.
Splay-fitted dyeuks, sploosh i' the Duthie Park
In wellington-weet.

Bit I delicht in half-licht, in happit, hidden things.
I lue the haar that creeps,
Makkin a drooned Atlantis o ilk street
The haar that statues the toun
Wi islands o civic pride.

I delicht in the ocean's cauldron o deceit.
The sleekit haar,
That pads, a sounless tod, on siller feet
Frae sea till its granite lair
In an inexplicable tide....

An mair — I like sun, efter rain
Strikk fire on flinty mica, on weet sclate
Dreepin a granary doon frae the rainbow's horn
A day fin lichtenin, passin St. Nicholas spire
(Its thunner, a pealin choir)
Makks a kirk o hodden grey,
Flash, like a unicorn!


19. Intercity

Deil the skirp o burn or loch
Embankments, heich an hilly.
Dashin by, a streek o rock
Dykes an Wanderin Willie,

Sookit hard's a pandrop
Swallaed bi a tunnel
Dark's a mowdie's drainpipe
Black's a trawler's funnel;

Far's the rollin howes o hame?
Humphy as a hammock?
Naethin here bit clouds an coos
Parks as flat's a bannock!

Crammed like herrin in a creel
Shugglin like jeely
Wis't Steenhaven finggin by?
Dammit, its Kirkcaldy!

Screichin till a jeelin stop
Like a stottin baa
Far's Auld Reekie frae the North?
Forty winks awa!


20. Buik-Learnin

'A dominie, lass, is a man amang loons
Nae denyin ye that —
Bit a loon amang men.
The craiturs are aa verra weel —
Bit fit div they ken aboot calvin, or hyowin,
Or onythin' eese?
Thon oot-lyin parks, priggin sair fur the ploo
Wis mair nur eneuch fur yer ain.
Buik-learnin? ” He spat i' the fire.
'Get merriet an bairned,
Fur fit mair sud a lassie desire? '

Fin the nichts are dreich, an stark,
I've thocht on him, lang an lang
Yon auld man, happt i' the lee o the kirk
Buik learnin's the anely mead
That a mind cud wint
Bit the grun spiks aye tae the bluid
O an heirskip tint.


21. Sufi Oor-glaiss

Time is a Bedouin, reengin the lan
Cupped frae the desert, the gangrel o san
Teems, sweengin her skirts in a birlin o broon
A burnie o meenits, gaun whummlin doon

A jimp-wasted glaiss ye may cowp in yer haun
Pearl efter pearl ower an opal-fite strand.
Days are the dunes on a sea o illusion
Lazarus-lowpin frae shadda tae shape
Saracen's sandal, or Infidel's bridle
Fate is an alchemist, shakkin his cape!
23.Dawn an Gloam
Dawn steers, half-drooned in sleep, droggit wi dwaumin.
Dreams link hauns an flee, nicht-thistledown,
Blawn, bi the lip o waukfulness.
Shaddae-thochts wither awa
Like frichtit fawns.

The dawn's a greenwid. Raxxin
Alang her flanks, the widlan roses glimmer in the sheuch.
The snell win weets her broo. Aathin's new
The cairryin cries o birds, rise tull the reidenin sun.
Her in-drawn braith's the rise an drag o oceans,
The black lan meeves wi'in her wame
Ower her sma breists, the clouds weave lichtly,
The green, an pleisunt dawn.

The gloam's a cailleach, dodderin ben the mirk
A hyterin fitfa far the corbies craw, she's bare o bluid
Till Nicht, wi infinite peety, rowes her dwinin heid
In a shawl that the mowdie spun...
The gloamin's tears, are glintin hyne abeen
The glimmerin starnies, set aside the meen
As, sinkin doon, she gently jines the grun.


24. Prodigal

Kenspeckle craiturs, the fairm-dyeuk's eggs
Keepit thir ain shells
An thirsels tae thirsels.

The foremaist flew aff in a cloud o stoor
Ower steadin an meen — the darin' een.

The lave, on a tichter tether,
Sat siccar …. till, lang i' the neb,
Dooncast in feather,
The gangrel flew back,
Fur a bite tae sup and a blether.

Nae cauld kail fur him —
Bit the pick o the crap
An the mither, screichin her joy frae the midden tap.

Siccan a fuss she held wi the wanderin willie
The lave thocht, “Fit aboot us? ”

'Damn't, ' quo his brithers, 'yon bates aa fur greed! '
'Hoots! ' quo a hoolet, 'it cud be waur.
The divil micht bide fur guid! '


25. Land

Dark druids, the meenlicht corn
Wi'ts myriad een; the peeled
Blades o its leaves, fite hauns
That's linked in a queer ceremony.
Forgotton secret, lost in the
Black, black grun,
That lies, as auld as keeping,
Earth-Mither, in a restless daith
That's quate's a barn.

The corn reeshles like a sea,
Its echoes soun in ma lug,
A muckle ocean.
The rigs rin deep as bluid
Across the hill,
Langer than time,
The seekin reets o trees
Cast their dark shaddas, cross, an intertwine
Wid drink an drink their fill
O earth's munificence.
The air is thick wi seed
Bi day, the corn is biddible
Boos, tae man's will
Bit ben the nicht!
Breadth o an howlet's flurried flicht
Lan raxxes, breathes,
An is a goddess, still


26. Village Shop

There's bagfus o kinnlin, there's kebbucks o cheese
There's pirls o ingins, doonhingin in queues
Bit the chiel in command wi the dark dungarees
Wints a boorich o blethers, a nippick o news.

The customer waitin, a queer, fremmit body
May hodge at the coonter, grow crabbit an quanter
He's pyed as much heid as the tail on a cuddy
Tho hubberin sair as the groan o a chanter
As weel chum the cheenge in the hap o his trooser
He's little respeckit's the leak in a rooser.

The shopkeeper's sweir wi incomers tae scutter
Tween shelvin an shortbreid his patrons foregaither
Wi regular custom he'll blab ower the butter
Tae redd up the state o the warld, and the weather.
(Fit Francie wis daein wi Nedderton's lass
The nicht that the meenister happened tae pass.)

Syne the sklaik dribbled oot, like a wallie run dry
Fowk'll buy a wheen ferlies, an be on their wye.
'Regairds tae the faimily, ' he'll wheeple in pairten,
'I'll be roon wi yer order, on Setterday, certain.'

There's far chaiper shops, gin ye traivel oot-ower
The price o yer purchase — an uncarin glower
Nae kent, smilin face, speirin efter yer health
A bargain's a bonus — civility's wealth!



27. Leaf

Tak ae wee leaf. A' piper o thin notes
In ony back-green symphony,
Its widlan warld, thirled tae the hum o leevin.
Vibrancy o rain (surely it wad reca) aince glimmered alang its stem.
Yet, in dreichsome, deid December, fin the rime hings on the wa
Ryped o its April dream, it is onythin bit serene.
Blawn ower the snaw, it furls an furls awa
In visible antipathy.
Is twal month auld, an niver twal month young
A tapsalteerie crab, wersh, broon, an drab,
It murns, in the weety cauld, its mony sangs unsung,
Wi some abhorrence.
Kennin the tune bi hairt,
Swicked, o repeat performance.


28. The Rites o Hairst

The winter howe's a hermit. A pious note or twa,
Faas, frae the chaste fingers o a yew.
Black upon fite, convents o birks
Incant their beads o snaw in nun-like silence.

Spring's barfit instrusion's
Pan, pipin a cobra frae its den.
Hissin heids o storm!
Thin cheep o fledglin birds
Coaxin the buds tae cast their timmer cloots
Fur swack an lowpin green.
A roch, unskeely measure.
A strip-the-willow swatch o simmer pleisur.
Simmer's rhythmic throb unlocks the lan;
The corn's a rinnin ream o touselt hair
An ilkie thing maun pair, an mate, an mairry
The futterat, wi's teeth as sherp's a stob;
The bee, upon the berry.
Drunk wi sun, the barley sweys its lythesome sap
Links airms wi the scythe, an dances till the drap.


29.Deid Hawk

Twa worm-bored holes
Chunnerin maggots, pykin a daylicht path in the hunter's een

A secunt sicht, its riven waas, ant brewin
Guffs o rot as great as its lang fa
Bringer o Daith, levelled till obscenity
The hett reek o its bluid
Thudded, a burst sack. A black, sick, shudder
A reid writhin.

Busy heather bristles. Hone honin the hawk
On creepie crawlie legs
Whin whirrin wings
Bane rises ower flesh on the brae's brods
The win whussles spears at deid clachans, sair sheilins
The slaw hill, devourin its prey.


30. Phobias

Fin rattens chitter ahin the door
Drookit an clorty, sleekit forby,
Reeshlin aroon the fit o yer bed,
Far'll ye fly?

Fin the neuks are hotchin abeen yer heid,
Wi spiders deistin doon till yer ee,
Shugglin an inch abeen yer neb,
Fit'll ye dee?

Fin yer lyin there, in a gloamin dwaum,
An forkietails creep frae the holes o nicht,
Wi a hantle of hornygollachs ahin,
Will ye dee o fricht?

Gin yet like tae smore, in the wee, sma oors,
Fin something yirdy crawls on yer face,
A wabbly puddock, happit in stoor,
Will yer hairt nae race?

Sic thochts are fashious, the divilment o Auld Nick —
A fearty-breeks, I pit on the licht richt quick!


31. Jumbo

A humphy skyscraper, the jumbo
Skushles along like a lan'-locked, pensioned tar;
A showdie Titanic, trailin
His tooshtie o tail ahin, like a bargee's towe.

Grounded, yon cargo o' guffs,
Yon barnacle-boddomed, dry-docked Victory
Shuggles an eel at his prow.

His Buddha-belly-heid is laden wi lugs
Twa mainsails, walloped incessant back an fore.

Beached in the Big-Top ring,
He's a girthy whale, ashore
On the sandy, treacherous, reef, o a fite lagoon.
A sudden licht maroons him — Circus expertise!
The Tinchel is ticht as a gin!

Sic applause, as the ringmaister scuppers
The pride o the captive fleet tull reluctant knees!
Puir Methuselah jumbo, ootward frae Hindustan
(Fa micht eence hae cairriet a Brahmin,
Ganges-bound far the cobras creep)
Peers frae his pirlie een, bamboozled.
Fa the sorra cled the baboons?
An fa gied the tiger, a wheep?


32. The Corbie

He draps frae the dyke, a sweengin gibbet
Raxxin his warlock's duds. His weird, misshapen clooks
Gang wigglety-wagglety ower the girse. Untender.
A render o deid flesh, he'd pyke the een frae a new-born lamb.
He is man's shaddae; a grim mortician.

The reek of Daith in his wake, seenister as a hearse.
A screich teirs, orra, frae his throat, unmirthfu as despair.

This executioner sud hae fiers o envy, gluttony, hate
Fur he is merciless; a creepin palsy; piratical potentate.

He powks his lang, reid neb far nicer birds wad bowk.
I hish him awa. He's ae third scavanger, twa thirds a bat.
His een are blae's a heidsteen. His hairt is cauld's December.
He lues a fat corpse. He is scunnersome as a kist.
He is nichtmare, in the body o a bird.


33.The Gorblie for Ross
'Pit yer finger in the gorblie's hole, the gorblie's nae at hame
He's roon the back o the hen hoose, pykin an auld deid hen' Trad.

Ye ken, yon's a jibber o havers.
He's NIVER far ye wad suppose.
He's the sting in the dowp o the bummer.
He's the stob, in the scrat o the rose.

He's partial tae ettin wee nickums;
The anes that are nae verra nice
Sae dinna gie lip till yer mither
Or he'll gollup ye up in a trice!

He's the hyter ye get fin ye caper
He's the frog in yer throat fin ye lee
An fur powkin in neuks far ye sudna,
He'll slubber ye doon like a flee!

Sae ay wash yer lugs afore bedtime
(Fur yon's far the forkietails breed)
The gorblie'll ken gin ye dinna
He's got een at the back o his heid!

Yon's an awfy lang shaddae yer seein
Yer feart, that he's efter yer bluid?
Na fegs. Say yer prayers like a mannie
An I'll tell the gorblie, yer guid!


34.Bairn Rhyme for Morag

The owl's a hoot — his lugs cock oot
The gull's umbrella fittit.
The coo's a coat-rack on his broo
The yowie's back is knittit.

The yirdy wirm is back tae front
His twa weet snoots are bubbly
The salmon weirs a chyne-mail sark
The heron's knees are knobbly.

The Daddy-lang-legs, aa left thoombs
Is skinnymalinkie thin.
Fin centipedes tak aff their beets
Oh far div they begin?

We've aa wir faa'ts. We sudna peenge
Fur feathers fine, or borrow't.
Fin Mr. Snail gyangs roon the pail
He pits his best fit forrit!


35.Strathbogie Spring

As I gaed doon b' Huntly toun
I heard a cushie wheeple,
A hummel doo, her cutty goun
Wis hamely as her threeple.

'I anely sik a bittie corn
A sma thing, tae be speirin.
An fa wad gie a bird the scorn
Wi as the warld brierin? '

A doo is bit a tirlin-pin
A nochtie pluff o feathers,
That ony win may turn an spin
I didna heed her blethers!

Yet, hyne oot-ower Strathbogie lan
The cushie swooped an birled
A wee, wee, skirp, o sang, an virr,
Wi licht an sunshine mirled.
Abeen my dowie hums and haws,
Her pairtin warnin dirled

'The wecht o winter, on a wing,
A doo can unnerstaun.
Ye cairry winter in yer hairt —
A puir-like craitur's man! '


36.Time Lords Written late evening, Glen Muick

Twa ferlies frae a torn pooch
That fortunes winna save —
Drap man an woman — coins o chance
The derk loch claims them baith.

Aa tyauve, achievement, sweetness, fear
Gang whummlin doon the burn,
Geese-ghaists that cross a haunted muir
An niver mair return.

The puir concerns fowk wrassle wi,
Are bit a fadin flooer
Abeen the ice-the lichtenin splice
The daithless hills staun sure.

They are the overlords o Time
God-testaments in steen.
Man's meltin sna — the hills oweraa
Bide firm, till warlds be deen.


37.Patterns of Life


A bigsie chiel, o sma accoont,
Liftit his heid ae day
An frae the verra founs o ignorance, bespak
That aa aroon, stars, sun, an warld
Wis some cosmic mishanter, a celestial mistak.

Nae mishanter hauds the Seasons gaun,
Birth, growth, an daith-the hale kiboodle
Year in, year oot, ayebydan.

Birth's a cycle in itsel,
A body, sundered in the fires of Hell,
The quickenin bairn inside,
Hungry fur braith an licht
Fechts throw fitiver.

Nae pain like it, nur nae peace
Fear, swyte, an bluid,
Brings furth sair-won release.

Comes the snibbin o the door
On beatin wings, a midnicht swan,
The tyauve o life drifts oot
Takkin the laich road,
Till the siccar dawn.


38.Visitors

Car-loads o scunners on the haik,
Brigades o' Sabbath swanks,
Troosers pressed hard as tramlines
Thick-skinned, as Kaiser's tanks.

'Visitors, ' quo granny, 'Are like fish.
Kept ower lang, they stink.'
Meanin, of coorse, the crabbit, an perjink
That rin condemnin crannies through the stoor;
Cry in-by fur ae meenit — streetch it till an oor.
Yon's the kin' I'd sweep aneth the mat
Guid-sakes — fit's aa yer hurry?
Here's yer hat!


39.Strangers, tak tent

Bog slumbers deep; aince breech the skin, ye'll sink.
Wauk circumspect, we arena surface fowk,
Spreadin wir braws fur ony gangrel tink
Raxxin wir mou', tae gibber wi a gowk.

We keep a cannie clutch, o sang, an tale
(Kenspeckle eggs, distinct in tang, an hue)
The peesie-wheep's wir Norlan nightingale..
Best-loued o cries, swift minstrel o the dew.

A furrow in the bluid, yon staney lan
Yon frosty sea, that jeels the muckle furth
Lang nichts, short simmers, winter's nippy haun
Has formed an framed us, craiturs o the north.

A nod's the maist we'll gie a fit that's gyangin
Sae, gin ye'd sikk acceptance as a frien,
Then bide a whyle; the secret's in belangin.
It's sattled reets, pits blossom on the gean.


40. Responsible

The aik wis michty, Samson-strang.
The girnin Ivy crept alang
Furlin aroon lik bough an bark
Wyvin the aik a secunt sark,

She speired an socht, 'Look efter me! '
Sookin the guidness frae yon tree.
The aik, wi naethin mair tae gie
Sappit o virr, cud anely dee.

The cuckoo's bairn, in a nest
Is rale innocuous, a guest
Fa's teenie needs, explodin, hatch
An aidder, in the siblin'-patch,
O wints, that snatch, an snatch, an snatch.

The ant lay doon tae lay her eggs.
Leaf, heistit up on reivin legs
O ant-ish armies, should hae kent
Ower muckle weir, the goun is rent.

The lammie, hingin on the tree
Bled, wi responsibility.
The strang maun subsidise the weak,
The vauntie, galvanise the meek.

Ower-bigg the scales, the balance draps.
Care b'compulsion, quickly saps.
I am a strawman, nae a stable
Giein response, far I am able.


41. Seed-Cycle

Frae seed tae bud, an hinmaist, seed again
As in its prime, the blossom croons the stem
Sae, in yon flooer's yirdly span
We see the pattern o a man.

I think it is the hardest thing o aa,
Tae watch the petals, kennin they maun faa.


42. The Dall

The dall, since glen tae me
Wis jeelin as dule.
Wis't a gift, or a tool
A likeness o whit quines sud be?
Fit weird a lassie maun dree?

Fyeuchie's a wirm,
Fooshionless, blae, still-born
Wis the dall that cam tae bide;

Ice-fite wifikie
Teem as a tomb inside.

'Mama' wis its anely trick
Its robot-automaton-spik
It wis paragon-pure's John Knox.
I'd leifer hae kistit nur cuddlit it
Cauld, in its fantoosh box.

It wis a plastic wummin.
An affliction afore the een
It wis hard as a steen

Gin it hid bin a statue, I micht hae likit it
Gin it hid bin a symbol I micht hae deciphered it
Gin it hid bin an idol, I micht hae worshipped it.
Bit a mummer, a puppet
A dreid, dumb dall
God help's, I cudna abide it!


43. Puppeteer

I liked tae pu the towes.
Gar things lowp till a set threid
O fancy, as ma ain devisin.

Nae Punch and Judy styte.
Na; high-falutin stuff.
Lear, Montrose, John Knox...
Smilin as I pit them through their paces.

Fowk, nae seein the puppets keepit safe in ma wee brain box
Remarked, 'Yon bairn's clean gyte.'

Comes o.nae bein an activist.
Playing tin sodjers wi reality.
A peely wally passivist.

Chaiper nur a day at the picturs,
Ye've gotta allow.

Whyles, I winner.
Fa's pullin MY towe?


44. Heilan Games

Anither Games. It trysts them back
Like salmon up the burn —
The glen fowk, the Ben fowk, sae thick ye canna turn
Fur frienly Celtic bourichies; the faimlies intertwine
An ay the ripple throw the claik is
Auld Lang Syne.

Heid bummer in his tartan trock is Jock the gamie's loon
An in a kilt — he canna fill't — some like his grannie's goun.

Yon's Maisie Wabster! Lord, she's aged! It caas ye aff yer stot
Tae tyne a siller shullin, an boo doon tae fin' a groat.

An Attie; fu's a puggie, sowsed's a pickelt herrin creel...
Fa cried in tae weet his thrapple, ay, an wat it ower weel.

Yonder's Donald. Sic a twinklin luik
Wad gar a body blush
Fur ilkie quine he coortit, Donald turned their hairts tae smush

Fits this yer sayin tae me? Gin ye hidna wed wi Belle
Ye'd hae taen a secunt notion; ye'd hae merriet me yersel?
Awa wi ye! ye'r haverin! Yon's styte that winna sit!
It's guid tae see, wi' oot ae lee, ye hinna cheenged a bit!


45.Generation Gap for Morven

Modern bairns are additive stappit
Niacin, protein, vitamin C
Gie them brose — they winna takk it
Yoghurt, yak's-dirt Muesli

Modern bairns gie shears the go-by
Spike hair, pink's a soo's bumbee
Crimpit, coddlit, buffed bi blow dry
Granda's clippers winna dee.

Modern bairns are ayewise girnin
Wintin this, and sikkin than
'Some like ye war, ' cheeps ma mither.
Fegs, I niver thocht on thon!


46.The Granary

Seeven crouse years in Pharoah's lan
The craps grew swete an green.
Seeven coorse years in Pharoah's lan
The hairstin rigs stude teem.

Feint the reeshle o a grain
Feint the corn tae glean
Seeven green years in Pharoah's lan
Succoured the years o lean.

Far an fyew are the Maypole days
Fin the hairt o a man is cowed
Far an fyew syne, the lambtime dew
Is cherished an prized as gowd!

Syne, will the green years serve their turn
Even tho' the leaf be sere
An the mune be a siller unicorn
An the dark, be a sable meer
An ilkie morn, be a hunter's horn
Hallooin the warld tae steer.


47. Celestial Discourse

Lord,
Fyle the sermon wyes yer wecht in wirdies,
(The lave, heids-booed, sit stinch, on dottlit hurdies)
WID YE HEAR, Omnipotence, fa plenished the sea
GIN I SPEIR (presumptious tho it be)
Ae question. Wis it kind,
(Gi'en as yer pouer tae gledden the begrutten)
Tae mak ME misbegotten?

I've twa guid lugs? Odd's faith, I've fairly that
Discorde an tribble's quick tae gie them scaud.
I've twa hale hauns? Marred, anely b' the faat
O' raxxin oot fur things they canna haud.
I've twa soun een? Ay, Lord, they see ower-weel
They peel fowk tae the core — an yon's a failin.
Twa craw's nest heidlichts, blinkin ower a keel
That seeks unchancy watters, tae gyaun sailin.

Syne YE'LL threep up, 'Lost yowie, dinna stray.
Ye mauna covet things ye canna hae.' Commandments?
Dinna tells! Yon's sophistry!

Ye framed the teemless torrent o the deep
(I'm Yer creation, Maister, bane an bluid)
Ye named the pit-mirk derk, o' enless sleep
Gin I displease, ye sud hae made me guid!


48. Holy Willies

Heroes ye niver hear o
Glower, mealie-mooed an beetle-brooed
At Ne'er dae weels,
Tow-rags, flee-ups, an ither gallus chiefs
Fa mak a cheery kirk or mill o' Life,
An sweeten't wi a lassie, or a drammie
The Holy Willy's safts a buttered knife
His maxim iver wis “Tak tent, ca' cannie”

Fine dis he ken
Damnations's staa's reserved fur ither men,
The orral bree o' scunnersome humanity.

He'll keep his fingers steekit in the kirk
As ticht's a sticky burr upon a stirk
Lest Deils, like hornygollachs, heeze aroon
Ettlin tae yark the yowlin sinner doon
Tho waitin in the wings,
Assured's, his Angels goun.

Fin the tormentit screch in dark abyss
'We didna ken that Hell wid be like this! '
The wirds fa clear frae Holy Willy's mou
'Weel, gin ye didna ken,
Ye ken it noo.”
Nae langer deaved wi earthly, base desire,
The Holy Willy, stokin up the fire.


49. Sisyphus

It wis a doddle; rowin yon stane till the tap
Balancin peace o' Mind ower a towerin drap
Deistit up frae the foun.
Contrary, the stane cowped doon;
A game fur the young an swack.
Bein gallus, an gey fond o hills,
I sune heistit it back
Safe, on the richt track.

Nae ill tae shove —
Consistin in the main
O barkit shins
Fechts wi louns
Wee stobs an stouns...

Queers the wye it grew.
Neist, it wis fash wi lads.
Haein ain, or waur,
Nae haein ain.
Fash wi lear
Meanin o Life
Whit am I daein here?

Sweirer nur fiver, tae shift.
The swither o' half-road hyter
Fear o' a tummle
The same auld rummle
A muckle cairn o care
Takks aa ma smeddum tae lift
I keek back aftener nur forrit
Showders buckled wi worrit

A rollin stane gaithers nae moss
That's aa fowk ken!
Dird, dird, dirdin doon
The Sisyphus stane, again.


50. Incommunicado

I stopped tae spik wi Wattie Spence,
He wis a moosie, gaitherin corn.
His hale confab, wis pounds an pence
The nest, he'd feather-bed the morn.

I stopped tae spik wi John McBride
He cheeped incessant, like a jay
Fin he drew braith, dumfoonert, I'd
Forgotten fit I meant tae say!

I stopped tae spik wi Solomon.
He gied nae wird, bit luikit lang
Far lilies blossomed neth the sun,
Raw upon raw, a thrivin thrang.

'Fit kinna confab's yon? ' said I
'The lilies dinna news, nor speir,
They dinna puzzle, murn, nor sigh
Nor winner fit they're daein here! '

An syne I stopped, fur syne I kent
Fit incommunicado meant
We sodjer on, as best we can
As wi the lilies, sae wi man.


51. Eurydice

I am telt, Eurydice, that ghaists maun be laid.
That the heidstane maun slide on the lid o the past.
That worritin auld banes, is an unhalesome pastime
The last luik o ye, quine.
Maun be jist yon — the last.
An sae, fareweel, ye kent, ye unkent shaddae.
We maun pairt, unbeeriet stillborn wirm
O bairntiine, maidentime. I'll turn nae mair
Doon the derk maze o yestreen
Dod na, I'll bumbaze ye yet!
I'll rowp yon fattit Minotaur,
Ye haud at yer yirdy core
In the neist mart!
Yer deid, ye jaad, yer deid,
An canna sook upon ma leevin bluid.

I maun foresweir the auld, tae cultivate the new.
Bit ilkie divit o dirt
I set on yer unclean broo
Clarts ma airs face wi glaur
Eurydice, ma cross, ma bonnie monster,
Lie quate, noo.


52. Twa Ferlies

Aince, I wis gaen twa ferlies, a keepsake an a toy.
The keepsake wis a vase o sic a purity
It mirrored aathin, heicht, an depth, an licht;
Greedy fur images, it sooked them in
Tae its reflective sides
A skinnymalinkie ferlie, maist superior
At nicht, the meen fell ower its rim
An gas licht beams, pale flooers, grew up its stem

The toy wis trashy trock. A chaipskate baa.
A roch-n-tummle thing. Charmless. I let it faa.
I drap't the baa. It stottit back.
I drap't the vase. It brak.

Tak only mind, o onyman.
Gie it a thwack.
Ye've hit it. Stot, or crack.


53.The Boundless Sea for J.D. Gomersall

An ill-yokt pair is merriment an' dule
Ane's trottin trig, the tither rugs the load
Heid-doon, slaw fittit, foonert in the glaur
The tichtenin bit, gyan deep as ony goad.

Ye grip a rose fu' lang, the stem'll brak
Its perfume, be a grave-guff ower the lan'
A keekin-glaiss, wi waesome picturs in't
Dissolves an shatters; stane turned intil san'.

A mirey, dubby, tapsalteerie burn
Teirin alang a bank o' reidest thorn
Nae tinklin pull, o' tranquil blessed calm
Twar better sic a thing war niver born!

Oh, I hae bin a rose o nae perfume
Oh, I hae bin a stane dinged doon tae san'
Oh, I hae bin a burn o bitter soun
A withered laurel, cut apairt frae man.

Oh waur, full waur, nur only jyle horizon
Invidious, the chynes we forge wirsel!
I wis a prisoner o my ain devisin
Biggin a boundary, I vrocht a cell.

Yet ivery teenie bird may raxx its wing
Kennin the solace o a cloudless sky
There is a sea that welcomes ilkie wave
Yeh, even sic a brukken ane as I.


54.Crockery in Confab

A puckle affcast crockery wid news,
Jined b' Adversity, grown fell compatible,
Voicin their sair predicament, their views
Set doon their worries, cairds upon the table.

The trimmlin tea cup only hoped her hame
Wid haud a dash o dignity an grace.
(She wis a sheltered craitur, gey genteel)

The sturdy ashet, feelin ooto place
(Mair eesed wi parridge-bree than soiree sweel)
Declared fit e'er befell, she widna mind
As lang's the fowk she sattled wi, were kind.

The glaiss decanter cocked a lordly lug,
Cauld-showderin a common soor-milk jug,
An in a haughty, hubberin, hiatus,
Avowed he'd thole nae drap in social status.

A couthie open-moued communion cup
(Whaur aa the warld micht stop, tae tak a sup)
Telt stories riotous an roch,
An ill-befittin sic a holy troch;
Syne, bein censured, silenced aa complaints
He'd lipped wi deils as aften as wi. saints.

The boozy pint pot, pickled tae the brim,
Averred that Fate made little odds tae him.
As lang as he'd a dram, his drouth tae slocken
For Destiny, he didna gie a docken.


55. Twa Roads till an End

There comes a time, at the dour back end
Fin the craps are in an stored
The birds flee gyte, fur the Winter's bite's
On a lan, far the growth lies smored.

A fairmer traivels his ain bit grun —
It's siller, an wirk, an strife,
An the muirlan fen, that he trauchles ben
Is his unclaimed secunt wife.

A bairn, a man, a beast, a grain,
Grow, sherpenin fur the knife
Born alane, an beeriet alane
An whyles, ower-weel acquant wi pain
Fur aathin gien there's a somethin taen
In the kirk-or-a-mill o life.

Sae, I'll hae the gloamin onyday
Far the cloud an the dirt are mirled
An the hairse craw crawin abeen the grey
Is a voice frae anither warld.

Fur mebbe, jist mebbe, there's room fur baith
Fairmer an dreamer tae;
Him wi his hauns that reap an bind
Ithers fa gaither thochts tae mind
The yowe in the pen, and the reengin hind
Climmin the self-same brae.


56. Room fur Remembrance

Sma fire, sma-boukit fairmer.
A collie, yoamin o damp fir
Its een, twa blaik dowsed coals, lies sprauchled ahin the door.
Ootbye's an aipple tree, rypit o its fruit.

This room, aince stoot's a cosmos, is compacted till an orchard.
Aipple blossom wechts the air.
Its maister's the sole tenant. It's a hinney-jar o a room.
Hae I grown bigger, or wis't ay this sma?

Dwaumin, I explore the silences, fur bizz o bairnie's claik.
Nane's there.... Winter's at haun. It palsies the bracken.
Birks lowp, palfrey-pale. Sun's a bitter rodden.
Lauchin's dane, in the byre. The roads are teem, untrodden
Time hings fire.

I sit an sit, a bee reistin its wing in a room o essences
The clock ticks forrit. Fear; I hear it chime.
The room recedes till nocht. Anely a space in time.


57. A Gibbon on Evolution

In the monkey hoose, a gibbon, orang-ootang, an baboon,
War sociably flechin, fin a veesitor walked roon
A scientist. He claiked aboot the origins o man
On reets an evolution... foo humanity began...

'Div I unnerstaun yon aiblich his the crass temerity
Tae makk oot he's a relation? Weel, he isna sib tae me! '
Quo the gibbon, fair affrontit, as she scrattit the baboon;
'Wi half the warld starvin, he pits rockets tae the moon!
He's the ethics o a vulture, he's the mainners o a hog,
Gin ye dinna share his politics, he'll sheet ye like a dog!
His warmth is mainly nuclear... or wippit roan a pylon
He canna grow a coat; it maun be wool, or flax, or nylon
Fin a baby gibbon's girny, it gets liftit fur a sook
Far a man-bairn gets a bottle, syne, it's stappit in a neuk
An his customs matrimonial — ye really wid suppose
That insteid o roon the finger, that the ring gied through the nose! '

The gibbon paused, an cocked its tail.
The flechs began tae lowp.
The neebour apes, compassionately, picked them frae her dowp.
'As fur Darwin, an his theory, an the entire human race, '
(said the gibbon, in conclusion,)
'Faith, they're better aff in space! '