Scots Poems From The Sanctuary Knocker Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Sanctuary Knocker
I've chapped at the sanctuary knocker
I've priggit tae be let in
Tho I'm nae frien nor foe tae ye
Nae sib….nae kith nor kin

Ma kintra's riven apairt bi war
Ma bairnies greet at nicht
An ye hae peace an breid tae spare
I claim alms as a richt

I hinna steepit ma hauns in bluid
Nor bombed bairns in their bed
Tho cauld's yer kintra, fey's yer wyes
It's tae yer yetts I've fled

I've chapped at the sanctuary knocker
Stranger, aneth the skin
I hae a hairt that beats like yours
Stranger, can I step in?


Easter Wids
Catkins in their foggy hoods
Fite an saft as Angels' snoods
Nod as breezes daunce alang
Girse is fair wi gowans thrang
An the incense o the trees
Aa the widlan purifees


Idioticals
Wioot wids, watter, flooers, natural ferlies
Touns an aa inbye them
Are idioticals  hotterels o soun an stramash
The Japanee caa it Wid-dookin, Shinrin-Yoku
Wauken ben wids, yer sheen
Kickin the tatterwallops o leaves
Bricht harrigals o Autumn
Lippenin tae the leerickie-laricrichie
Sweeshle o larick, rowan, birk
The skreich o a collieshangie o craws
Or keekin up at the shelts'-tails in the lift
O a saumon gloamin
The branches hung wi the perlin o dyewy moosewabs

Evenin in Yule, in the queeriesome colours o cauld
It's gledsome tae watch the burns
Breenge heigh-ma-nannie doon the bens
Scoorin panjotterls o leaves frae the puils sides
Feelin the shmoodrichs o sna
Faa saft on yer jeeled chikks


Smoke
A puff of smoke, grey fluff and feather
Bursts from a hedge
On a clumsy fledgling flight

Nature has dressed the braes around in gold
A glut of glorious daffodils

Snowdrifts beneath the tree
Are a distant memory

The clock ticks on
Round the changing face of seasons
The mirror shows late winter all year round


Cheenge is Lichtsome
Cheenge is lichtsome, whyles onchancy
Heelstergowdie, muckle an least
Aa the warld's gaun tapsalteeerie
Ozymandias, wha'll faa neist?

Stars an stripes, nae hugger-muggery
Oh, wi lauched at fey ongauns!
Like a B Movie, wi skulduggery
Showbiz, sabre-rattlin, cons

Cheenge is lichtsome, whyles onchancy
Naebody's lauchin here, this day
Thon wins o cheenge will they blaw lichtly
Ower the seas frae the U.S.A?


Between the Cemetary & MacDonalds
Tattered memories blow across the pavement
A toddler cries fat tears down chubby cheeks

Seagulls are active ingredients in this cityscape
Sirens wail by, opening wounds in the ear of day
Millions of birds have slipped through the back door of night

This street, these centuries, this city
How many winters will pass before they crumble?

Will pestilence, war, or global warming prove fatal
Before more than birds pass through the door of night?


Easter Bairnie: for Skye-Marie Anderson
The April trees are wauchts o green
New-glimmerin in the glentin sun
The rikk o barbecues soochs by
Risin ootower the flooery grun

A heron stauns abeen the Don
Far waves rin by like liquid glaiss
It makks o steen a nat'ral plinth
It's like a statue, motionless

A tyke dooks at the watter's edge
Dowp wags like a clock pendulum
Wee birdies in the hedge's mids
In hidden hoosies, threip an thrum

Students wauk coortin haun in haun
Ithers stravaig, een glued tae phones
Ye hear the crack o beer-tin taps
An early foggy bummer drones

A fisher yarks his sheenin line
Alang the current, trystin troot
A bairnie's Easter days are catched
In a prood parent's photo shoot
Treisur mair dear than that o Kings
The joy tae faimlies new life brings


The Corp in the Cooncil Meetin
Cooncil meetins, it is said
Are scunnersome an borin
As Mr Bentham could attest
Wis he asleep an snorin?

Na, na, his spirit micht hae bin
His mummy niver spakk
In fact, the perfeck cooncillor
I think they'll seek him back!


Princess Mary's Xmas tin
The Princess Mary Xmas tin
Wis vrocht wi siller for officers,
Braisse for the ordnar sodjers,
Tae be giftit on Xmas Day,1914

Ilkie tin wis peintit wi her pictur
An stapped wi a swatch o baccy,
A pack o fags in a yalla monogrammed paper,
A lichter, a Xmas caird
A photie frae the Princess hersel. Forbye,
Puckles o tinnies hid sweets, chocs, lemon sookers

Anely 400,000 wir at the Front fur Christmas
Bi then, the Deid Man's Penny
Fower inches in diameter, wis sent insteid
Tae the murnin neist o kin
A wee braisse tin, fur the shell-shocked
The blichtit, the gassed, the blin


The Tortie
Some fowk are killt bi fire an sword
Aeschylus daith indeed
Wis fey: frae oot the Heivens drappt
A tortie on his heid

Cadail, Mo Ghaoil - 'Sleep, Darling, Sleep' Regimental Pipe Tune
'Sodger, lie doon on yer wee pickle straa,
It's nae very broad, and it's nae very braa
But, sodger, it's better than naethin at aa,
Sae sleep, sodger, sleep."

Requiem for a Coo
A rocket fae the USA drappt on a Cuban coo
Alas, thon douce-like bovine breet
Deid faist, wioot a moo

The Cubans beeriet it wi state,
A maist sincere procession
A victim, politeecians said
0 imperialist aggression


In Church
Twa auld caileachs dover on their pews
The kirk is cauld, the seats as hard as steen
Their hair, like rattens' tails,
Faas oot aneth their fake fur bunnets
Their glaisses slide tae the eyn o their nebs
They are rowed like buckies
Booed ower their fooshty Bibles

Oh, the wershness o auld age
Beens like spunk-sticks
Ye could crack in a meenit
Dried up like the river beds o Afric
Drouthy fur rain.

They were born fin wee fite tykes
Glowered intae gramophones
Fin trams gaed rick-ma-tick alang the rails
The psalms are their pop tunes
Naethin tae dae bit staun in the queue
Wytin tae enter God's mansions
Up in the lift


The Wesley bone folk tradition
Fit micht ye dae tae pass the time?
Peint on a horse vertebrae of course!
A Methodist preacher raxxin his airms
Listen, or thole Damnation's curse!


Dunfermline Toun
The coach parked in Dunfermline toun
Sae passengers could dine
An ilkie floor-pot in thon caff
Sprootit a plastic vine

The tatties, hard as hinnersan
Wis granite-like an teuch
An beeriet aneth greenery
Bit they war chaip eneuch

Auld bodachs weirin basebaa caps
Wis pushin cairts like Zimmers
A heeze o European leids
Wis heard ower gairden strimmers

Wee knickums skirled like banshees
Aroon hydrangeas an heather
An Fifers ower a mug o tea
Cried, ‘My, thon's affae weather! '

An sic a rowth o geegaws there
Tae tryst cash frae the pooch
An halflins deavin faithers
(Bairns are aywis on the mooch)

Ay, bluid-reid wine wis drunken
Ower the olives an broon breid
Bit nae in unca quantities
Na, temperance ruled the heid

Ah, weel-a-wat Dunfermline
The kintra's fate's decidit
At Burger King, or Dobbie's
Britain jyned or else dividit
Ower panini, pizza, curry
Latte, watter, Chardonnay
The Fifers argy-bargy
Vote for Sturgeon or fur May?


Funeral for a Shank
There aince wis a shank amputatit
That in Mexico City wis fêted
Its funeral wis lang
An byordnar lang
Fur a shank tae be sae celebratit

Bit it didna bide lang in its lair
It vanished ae day tae thin air
Did it lowp aff itsel?
Did it drap doon a well?
Thon shank isna seen onymair!


Byron's Waddin
A jeelin win blew frae the sea
The snaa cloud gurly flew
Tae County Durham's, Seaham haa
A waddin pairty drew
This twa days intae Januar
The year, echteen fifteen
The bride, Sir Milbanke's dother
A virgin, fair an clean

Young Annabella stude unveiled
Snod in a muslin dress
Her een war glentin, bricht an blue
Her bridegroom tae impress

The groom, fite-face an curly powed
The lad o her desirin
Cam hirplin, gammy-fittit in,
George Gordon, sixth Lord Byron

At his command, the bridal richts
War keepit quaet an quick
Her dowry, less than he'd hae liked
Luve, thin as caunle-rikk

The bride pit on her traivellin claes
The coach wis fussled up
Far kirk bells pealed an muskets fired
George dooned the stirrup cup

An first they cam tae Rushyford
The groom wis stern an dour
The bride sat winnerin, fearie-faced
Fit merriege held in store

At Halnaby, throw drivin drift
Baith lay at last in bed
Lord Byron, throw a nichtmare cried
‘I am in Hell! ' he said

Daybrakk wis cauld, The groom stepped oot
His mainner…jibes an sneers
Young Annabella kept inbye
Her pilla wat wi tears


Ego-Trip
Am I braa?
Am I winnerfu?
Tell me. I wint tae ken

Am I a stoater? A bobbydazzler?
Text me. Snapchat me twitter me
Naebody's takkin me on!

Ma phone hisnae pinged in five meenits
Nae ony hits?
I Facebook, therefore I am….


Toun-Soun(2)
Fitbaa supporters argy-bargyin
Teethless junkies priggin
Protestors giein it laldy
Cars birrin
Taxis tootin
Scurries skreichin fit tae burst yer lugs
Bussies hotterin
Boozers singin
Steer aa thegither an ye hae a toun


Lament From a Special Unit
Ither bairnies see the stars
Aa I see are fuckin bars

Magic mushies gart me spin
Reefers let the madness in
‘Keeps him quaet' they telly my ma
Life set me up tae watch me faa

Locked up. Keepit ooto sicht
Halflin caged in eynless night


The Mither
Washed the plates an walked the dug
Pared the tatties, raiked the aisse
Teemed the chunty…skelped the rug
Scoored the steps an buffed the braisse
Bleached the hippens, manglit sheets
Preened the linen on the line
Hoovered neuks, fed girnin geats
Beddit ilkie night at nine

Prayed tae God in kirk on Sunday
Prayed that he micht keep a place
In his mansion up in Heiven
Fin at last, she'd see his face

At the Hinnereyn, turned scunnered
Bairns grew unbelieving, up
Aa her tellins gaen fur naethin
Tears in her communion cup


An English Yowe
An English yowe is a genteel yowe
It disnae baa it beys
It weirs a coat like a judge's wig
As it minces doon the braes

Like a curly poodle escaped frae Crufts
It looks doon its neb gin ye meet it
The thing tae dae wis an English yowe
Is tae cut its thrapple an eat it


The Yett
I'm a yett.
Langsyne I micht hae bin a tree

Throw the aix-man, I tint ma reets
An the jyner jurmummled me
Wi his plane, his saw, his nails
Till I wis aa o a mixter-maxter

Noo I'm a yett
The Sizzens dinna bother me

Gin I'm feelin contermaschous
I skreich, fur I'm stiff in the jynts

I'm a kirk yett
Sae nooadays I'm anely in eese on the antrin Sabbath
A waddin, a kistin, a chirstenin
Or a programme on Sangs o Praise
Ne'er dae weels peint me whyles
Fur community service…nae pride in thon darg

In Spring fin I see the trees in the kirkyaird
Fu o leaves, an din-raisin egg-hatchin birds
I'm gled I'm a yett

Noo, ma congregation's cheenged
‘Happy-clappies' the grave-digger caas them.
Nae mair lang langamachies o sermons
The meenister's Nigerian.
I hear I'm tae be peintit baby pink


The Saltire Rap
John Knox, Darnley, Annie Lennox
Burns, Ma Broon, Macbeth, the Krankies
Bishop Elphinstone, Doon, kilt socks
Calvin, Wallace, Bruce, the Kelpies

Nichola Sturgeon, Jackie Kay
The Big Yin,007, a rowie
Tam o Shanter, Troon, the Tay
Nessie, Silkies, Greyfriar's Bobby

Irn Bru, Glen Fiddich fusky
Byron, Scott, Mars bars in batter
Gorbals, hame o mony a plisky
Embro culture, Glesga patter
Up yer kilt an doon the watter
Vikings, Romans, Picts, the lave
Scots wirds bubble up an hotter
Tattiebogles…Sawney's cave


Easter Sabbath
Daffs dwine, a deein, dowie yalla show
Wee lammies hunker bi their mithers' wymes
Gean blossoms faa as fite as Winter snaa
The breem's in bloom, the birks are elfin green
Douce bluebells nod their bonnie fairy snoods
A bigsie cockerel waukkens aa frae sleep
A cloud rowes like a steen frae Heiven's moo
The pea-the-beds are thrang in ilkie sheugh


Fur a deid Son
At the risin o the sun an its gaun doon
I mynd on ye
At the blawin o the win an the cauld o Winter
I mynd on ye
At the brierin o buds in Spring's rebirth
I mynd on ye
At the blueness o the lift an Simmer's warmth
I mynd on ye
At the reeshlin o the leaves an the brawness o Autumn
I mynd on ye
At the stertin o the year an in its eyndin
I mynd on ye
As lang as I live, ye'll live
For noo ye are a pairt o me
Fin I'm trauchelt an short o smeddum
I mynd on ye
Fin I'm sick an sair-hairtit
I mynd on ye
Fin I've teuch decisions tae makk
I mynd on ye
Fin I hae blitheness I'd yearn tae share
I mynd on ye
Fur as lang as I live, ye'll live
Fur noo ye are a pairt o me
Foriver an ay, my son


Owersett intae Scots o The Jackfruit by Ho Xuan Huong
I'm like a jackfruit on the tree.
Tae taste, ye maun plug me quick, while fresh:
the skin roch, the pulp thick, aye,
bit oh, I warn ye agin touchin -
the rich juice will poor oot stainin yer hauns

Owersett intae Scots o ‘Spring Watching Pavilion; by Ho Xuan Huong
Doucely Spring gloamin cams tae the pavilion,
Unclouded in the least bi warldly sins.
Three times the temple's bell rowes like a wave
Unsettlin the puil far lift an watter mell.
I' faith, the sea o Luve canna be teemed
An the burnie o Grace flows easy aawye.
Noo, far, far is Nirvana?
Nirvana's here, nine pairts in ten.

Scots Owersett o Weaving At Night - by Ho Xuan Huong
Licht's wick turned up, the chaumer glows fite.
The loom meeves easy aa nicht lang

As feet wirk an push aneth.
Glegly the shuttle flees in an oot,

Braid or nerra, muckle or wee, skytin in snug.
Lang or short, it glides oot smeethly.

Quines fa dae it richt, let it steep.
The claith colour winna dwine afore three hale years.


Scots Owersett o On Sharing A Husband - by Ho Xuan Huong
Be damned the weird that gars ye share a man.
Ane kinoodles aneth cotton blankets; t'ither's cauld.

Iklie noo an then, weel, mebbe or mebbe nae,
Aince or twice a month, och, it's like naethin.

Ye tyyaave tae stick tae it like a flee on rice
Bit the rice is blichtit. Ye slave like the skiffy,

Bit wioot pye. If I'd kent foo things wid be
I think I'd hae bidden alane.


Scots Owersett o Autumn Landscape by Ho Xuan Huong
Drap bi drap rain skelps the banana leaves.
Praise faiver sketched this dowie scene:

The lush, derk canopies o the wizzent trees,
The lang, lang river, slidderin smeeth an fite.

I heist ma wine glaiss, drunk wi rivers an Bens.
Ma pyoke, breathin meenlicht, stappit wi poems.

Luik, an lue aabody.
Faiver sees this landscape is bumbazed.


Scots Owersett of If You Forget Me - by Pablo Neruda
I wint ye tae ken ae thing.
Ye ken foo this is:
Gin I keek at the crystal meen, at the reid branch
O the slaw autumn at ma windae,
Gin I touch near the lowe the shadda-like aisse
Or the wrunkled corp o the log,
Aathin cairries me tae ye,
As if aathin that lives,
Guffs, licht, metals,
Wir wee boaties
That sail
Tae thon isles o yours that wyte for me.

Weel, noo, if bittie bi bittie ye stop lovin me
I'll stop lovin you bittie by bittie.
Gin o a suddenty ye forget me
Dinna luik for me,
Fur I'll already hae forgotten ye.
Gin ye think it lang an wud,
The win o banners that blaws ben ma life,
An ye decide tae leave me at the shore
O the hairt far I hae reets,
Takk tent
That on thon day, at thon oor,
I shall heist ma airms
An ma reets will set aff
Tae seek anither lan.

Bit gin ilkie day, ilkie oor,
Ye feel that yer weird lies wi me
Wi unyieldin douceness,
Gin ilkie day a flooer
Clims up tae yer lips tae seek me,
Ah ma luve, ah ma ain,
In me aa that lowe is rekinnlit,
In me naethin is stamped oot or forgotten,
Ma luve feeds on yer love, ma dearie,
And as lang as ye live it'll be in yer airms
Withoot leavin mine.