Scots Poems From The Dall Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Artist's Model
She wis nae bobbydazzler
Twa moles on her breist
Her lugs stappit wi wax
A tattoo o barbed weer on her airm

She wis nae angel, either
A wee stint in jyle,
(petty theft o tights frae Primark)
In a hameless centre ae winter
Fin work wis scarce
(aabody peintin lanscapes)

Few thochts rattled roon her harns
She wid sattle like a coo in a park
Nae meevin, a statue on a cheer
Deef tae the scrattin o pastels
Aroon her, she'd be dowped in a dwaum
Stock-still, nae bonnie, a hudderie heid
The perfeck artist's model
Sae quaet she cud be deid


Morven Jamie
When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,
An climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below;
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks, where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you? ...Lord Byron

Oh Morven Hill's a bonnie hill
Weel lued aroon Cromar
It's steep an boggy, heather clad
A Cairngorm star

Its reets are in the Rashy Burn
Balhennie and Roar Hill
The Groddie Burn, the Coinlach Burn
Far whaups an peesies trill

An there, langsyne, a cateran bedd
His name wis Morven Jamie
McGregor on his mither's side
He reived the kye frae mony

McRobbie wis a smaa holder
Fa grazed his breets roon Migvie
He trailed the hoofprints o tint kye
Straicht up tae Morven Jamie

The leein vratch denied it aa
McRobbie socht the laird
The Earl o Abyne richt faist
A writ on Jamie served

An outlaw noo, he fled the place
McRobbie's ferm he burned
An tuik tae reivin kye frae droves
An honest dealins scorned

An whyles at Deskryside he bedd
Weel hidden bi his brithers
Noo Morven Jamie stole the breets
Frae Strathdon's meenister

The Strathdon cheils they swore tae catch
This limmer o a reiver
Bit Jamie he jinked clean awa
An won the city's herbor

Tae India he sailed awa
He sclimmed fair Fortune's stairs
An fin he deid a letter cam
Tae Tarland tae his heirs

Ochone! Its hyne frae Cromar's braes
Tae Asian touns an wyes
The heirs hid neither funds nur friens
Tae claim thon siller prize


King Robert the Bruce
He spakk Scots, Gaelic, Latin and French.
He studied the lives o past princes
He wis kent as a gleg seannachie
Telt tales aboot Hannibal's victories

His rival wis Balliol's nephew,
Lord of Badenoch, John III Comyn,
In the Greyfriars chapel, Dumfries,
There Robert confronted an stabbed him

Syne Robert thegither wi ithers
Planned tae heid an uprisin gainst England
The Pope banned him fur Comyn's killin
He escaped tae a cave on Rathlin

Legend tells foo a wyver inspired him
Tae gae back an engage wi the fray
He raise up an strapped on his armour
An set aff on his prood palfrey

Eftir years o warssle an fechtin
Robert Bruce declared himsel king
Isabella the coontess o Buchan
At Scone crooned him sovereign

A warrior at Bannockburn,
Sir Henry de Bohun bi name
Charged on King Robert wi lowered lance
By the king's battleaxe he wis slain

Bruce defeated King Edward's army
A 13 year truce wis agreed
At Arbroath a declaration wis signed
Scots screived they'd focht tae be freed

The Treaty o Corbeil established
Scotland's Auld Alliance wi France
The Pope agreed that Scots monarchs
Could be crooned, lat Scots fortunes advance

His physician, Maino de Maineri,
Criticized him fur devourin eels
Drawn frae dubby an pysonous watters
That fool orra ills micht conceal

He's linked bi some wi the Knichts Templar
He gied them support an protection
An lat them hide relics in Rosslyn
Hidden safe frae aa reivers' detection

On the eve o his 55th birthday
Robert Bruce deed o leprosy
7000 puns o caunle wax brunt
At his funeral. Sic piety!

His corp wis interred in Dunfermline
His hairt placed inbye a cask
Worn roon the neck o James Douglas,
Tae the Haly Lan, a speecial task

Tae jyne in the crusades wi Douglas
Bit James wis killed fechtin in Spain
‘Lead on Brave Hairt an I'll follae'
He threw the cask heich, an wis slain

It wis saved an returned tae Scotland
In Melrose Abbey it lies
The Brave Hairt o Scotland's hero
Unner the free open skies


Winnin the Lottery
There'll be nae mair double cream
Poored ower hame grown rasps
Frae the ferm kitchie gairden

There'll be nae mair chukken broth
Served in a fite bowl
An a joog wi wild violets on the brod

There'll be nae mair buttered scones
In a basket wi a flask o tea
Fur the hairsters in the park

There'll be nae mair fite linen sheets
Wallopin on the line
In the simmer win

There'll be nae mair
Takkin a littlin tae see
A new born calfie in the byre

There'll be nae mair
Skitterin crumbs fur a mither birdie
Wi a nest o five blue eggs

If there wis a lottery prize
Fur bein a perfeck mither
She'd be the prize
Aabody winted tae win

Childless, she mithered
Her hennies, her calfies
An ilkie wee stray ootlin
That hytered her wey


Cyber-Games
Aabody's nebs in their smert phones
Naebody spikks tae their bairns
The anely soun's chingin o ring tones

Fit's real an fits nae is kerfuffled
Online ye can be fit ye like
Truith an fiction are aften jermummled

Is't a scammer that's sikkin tae swick ye?
Ca-cannie, an hae a wee think
If yer auld it's ower easy tae trick ye

We survived afore twitter an tweetin
A simpler an gleg generation
An imoji that sees a frien smilin
Is it true or a hallucination?


Owersetts frae Sappho

Glimmerin-Thochtit daithless Aphrodite
Glimmerin-Thochtit daithless Aphrodite, I prig ye, Zeus's dother, wyver o snares,
Dinna brakk ma hairt wi pouerfu
Pain, goddess,
Bit cam noo, gin iver afore
Ye heard ma vyce, hyne aff, an lippened,
An left yer faither's gowden hoose,
An cam,
Yokin yer chariot. Bonnie the faist
Spurgies that brocht ye ower blaik yird
A flichterin o wings throw mid-air
Doon the lift.
They cam. An ye, haly ane,
Smilin wi daithless face, speirin
Fit noo, while I suffer: foo noo
I cry oot tae ye, again:
Fit noo I wint abune aa in ma
Wud hairt. ‘Fa noo, shall I persuad
Tae admit ye again tae her luve,
Sappho, fa wrangs ye noo?
Gin she rins noo she'll follae later,
Gin she refuses gifties she'll gie them.
Gin she luves nae, noo, she'll sune
Lue agin her will.'
Cam tae me noo, syne, free me
Frae sair sorra an win me
Aa ma hairt langs tae win. Ye,
Be ma frien.


Cam tae me here frae Crete
Cam tae me here frae Crete,
Tae this haly temple, far
Yer bonnie aipple grove stauns,
An yer altars rikk
Wi incense.
An aneth the aipple branches, cauld
Caller watter souns, aathin shaddaed
Bi roses, an sleep that faas frae
Bricht shakkin leaves.
An a park fur shelts briers
Wi the flooers o spring, an wins
Are rinnin here like hinney:
Cam tae me here,
Here, Cyprian, doucely takkin
Nectar in gowden cups
Melled wi a festive blytheness,
An pooer.


Puckles say horsemen, puckles say fechters
Puckles say horsemen, puckles say fechters
Puckles say a fleet o ships is the bonniest
Veesion in this derk warld, bit I say it's
Fit ye lue.
It's easy tae makk this clear tae aabody
Since Helen, she fa oot sheened
Aa ithers in bonnieness, left
A fine man,
An heidit fur Troy
Wioot a thocht fur
Her dother, her leal parents…Led astray…
An I recaa Anaktoria, fas douce step
Or thon flichter o licht on her face,
I'd raither see than Lydian chariots
Or the airmed ranks o the hoplites.


Luve shuik ma hairt
Luve shuik ma hairt
Like the win on the Ben
Tribblin the aik-trees.


Quines, ye lang fur the perfumed flooered
Quines, ye lang fur the perfumed flooered
Muses' braw gifties, fur the clear tunefu lyre:
Bit noo auld age has grippit ma saft corp,
Noo ma hair is fite, an nae langer derk.
Ma hairt's wechty, ma shanks winna support me,
That aince wir faist as fawns, in the daunce.
I aften murn fur ma state; fit can I dae?
Bein human, there's nae wye nae tae growe auld.
Rosy-airmed Day-brakk, they say, luve-smittit,
Aince cairried Tithonus aff tae the warld's eyn
Braw an young he wis syne, yet at the hinnereyn
Grey age catched thon spouse o an aybydan wife.