Skin Balaclavas And Bringing Up The Tail (35 Scots Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Skin Balaclavas and Bringing Up the Tail

1.THE WYE 0 THE WIRM

The win is roch, the wauks are weet,
Still I maun hae ma bite tae eat,
An humankind's as guid a fare,
As drappit bird or glaiss-eed hare.

My wummlin wye's far bluid turns cauld,
I lowse the veins o young an auld.
Last rites I gie, the grave-stoor priest,
I strip reid claith frae steen-caal briest.

Atween the lugs o scholar chiel,
Or glekit tyke, I dine fu weel,
Takk wings an flee, some like the braith
That's sookit frae the sowel, bi Daith.


2.A FLATULENCE 0 PUDDOCKS

Tiddly tiddly tartan,
Gaun ben the watter farten,
A plump o puddocks parpin,
The bubbles brakk in partin.


3.THE CASTLEGATE DOO

Cast yer een up eenoo
Frae the cassies an styew,
Tae the Tolbooth. The view
Fairly scunners a doo.

I luik doon on the foo,
Watch them hyter an spew,
Michty fit a to-do!
The St Nicholas crew,
Fechtin ower a pew,
In the kirkyaird... Croo Croo.

Aa the coortrooms are fu.
Sic a hullabaloo!
I'm awa tae the Broo,
Fur ma brakkfast the noo.
Will I fin a bit stew,
Wi a sup Irn Bru?
Heh...I'm only a doo,
Min, I hinna a clue!


4.THE BAWD

I am the bawd that breenges ben
The erne's dreams, the erne's dreams,
I am the bawd as auld's a ring
0 staunin steens, o staunin steens.

I am the bawd, I rise each Spring
Like brierin corn, like brierin corn.
I am the bawd, I daunce wi Daith
Each Simmer morn, each Simmer morn.

I am the bawd, the meen shines in
My glistenin een, my glistenin een.
My fit's the hairtbeat o the lea,
Till warlds be deen, till warlds be deen.

I am the bawd, the fusper in
The barley's beard, the barley's beard.
0 sud ye drive me frae the lan
Derk be yer weird, derk be yer weird!


5.VEESITOR'S CENTRE UNICORN

I belang tae a pourfu Trade Union,
The Alliance o Mythical Beasts.
The Executive's run bi a dragon,
An a puckle heretical priests.

I maun ludge a complaint tae ma maisters —
At a Cultural Conference on Celts
Wi a kelpie, I draftit a paper,
On the symbolic influence o shelts.

Bit they wadna allow us tae read it...
(Tae the feminists, horns are imprudent
Forby the unfortunate maitter
O the kelpie devourin a student) .

Sae I sit an I huff at the centre,
Wi ma hooves abune St Andra's flag,
As the great an the michty wauk by me,
Wi their thochts in a briefcase or bag.

I ken mair aboot Law, Science, Dogma,
Than dons, doctors, peers an the lave.
I am fully as auld as Cuchulainn,
Tho I'm chyned tae this steen, like a slave.

I wad raither bi stroked bi a vergin,
Or tryst wi Greek cuddies wi wings,
Than sit on ma dowp at the portals,
O the veesitor centre at Kings.

I strikk aff ma shackles ae midnicht,
The nicht o the Halloween star,
Wi the breets frae the Aiberdeen bestiary,
An a twa, three wud kelpies frae Mar.

We convene on the reef o the cloisters,
Fur a corporate ootin tae Greece,
Far Pegasus takks ower the caterin,
Doric wine, an a fine buttered piece.

Syne it's fareweel tae Centaurs an Furies,
In their valleys o heliotrope,
Me, fa eence wis the confier o Merlin...
Staunin guaird ower a cafe an shop!


6.THE CHANONRY

Knee heich tae a chunty, I gaed tae takk tea,
At a muckle great hoose in the auld Chanonry,
Far a heidless ghaist glowered frae unner a tree,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

The heid o the hoose, he wis stumpie an roon,
He wis reamin wi music frae bauchles tae croon,
He sat at a pianie an thumpit a tune,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

A kirkyaird fur neebor, a hantle o lums,
A historical gairden far musical crumbs,
Wauchtit ooto the windaes in threeples an thrums,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

Fin his wife steered the broth wi a clort o a speen,
He played Bartok an Chopin wi Bach in atween,
As a huddrie black collie wis chawin a been,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

Far the lave hae a rubbit, a moose or kittlin,
Thon fowk kept an otter that swam in a tin.
Its fuskers cocked oot fin a fish it stappt in,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

The museecian's lang deid, his pianie lid's steekit,
His grandson's a maestro, sae something wis keepit,
Tho the hairse drave awa wi a rowth o flooers theekit,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't.

I've veesited hooses frae Echt tae Portree,
I've sup't frae bone cheena an crackit plates tee,
Bit nane haud a spunk tae the Auld Chanonry,
An Tilly jist ower the road frae't!


7. THE BISHOP'S BELLS.

Peals frae Trinity's muckle moo,
Sonorous knell o Gabriel,
Douce Maria's Hallelu,
Ring the matins wi Raphael.

Bishop's bells in the infant toon,
Sweetened the braw new college air,
Caain physeecian, lawyer, priest,
Novice scholar an aa tae prayer.

Plainsang melled wi the derk merle's notes,
Lavender, parsley, mint and thyme,
Sweyed tae the tune frae the great bells' throats,
Violet, nettle an columbine.

Trinity, Gabriel, Raphael,
Maria, dung frae their cloudy bouer,
The heich an the michty...short's their reign,
Gaen like girse in a puff o stoor.

Ae wee bell cam hame tae reest,
Hings in its eyrie, fair bumbazed.
Gaen are the cuddies, cassies, loch,
Traffic birrs far the milk-kye grazed.

Trinity, Gabriel, Raphael's
Haly threips langsyne tuik wings,
An douce Maria...her sweet lay,
Lies foraye in the dyew o King's.


8. SWING HIGH, SWING LOW

Swing high, swing low,
Diamond mesh for human net,
Fencin aff the cooncil scheme,
The high rise hames they canna let.

Swing high, swing low,
Peint it black's a miner's pit.
Peint it tartan...makks nae odds.
Naeb'dy wints tae bide in it!

Swing high, swing low,
Wee bairn oot in nicht o jet,
Aa his lane on cooncil scheme,
Far a littlin's jist mair debt.

Swing high, swing low,
Full yer pooch wi stars, ma pet,
There's nae a siller speen fur ye,
Stars are as the gowd ye'll get


9. CULLERLIE WID

The sough frae the forest's throat's like a great Amen,
The western win on ma broo's a balmin burn,
The wid his stoppit its lugs tae the wird o men,
An hyne in a pearlin cloud, hawks raxx an turn.

Mair lear lies here than ye'll read in a scholar's buik,
In the flat, fite page o the sky, the buzzard's pen,
Is screivin a tale o daith, fur the rubbit's neuk,
Far a wechtit bummer wearily bizzes ben.

In the breist o the wid, ye micht hear a drappin preen,
The throb o a furry pulse in the mou o the grun,
Fine, tae droon life's clash in a mossy wame,
Alane wi the wheeplin birds an the piebald sun.

Pearl in the oyster, this smaa oor's hiatus,
Drappt frae the map o circumstance an time,
Here, far the doo braks breid wi the flichterin mavis,
Solitude is a waucht o communion wine.

Here, the aipple o knowledge slowly ripens.
Here, the clivver chiel gaes back tae skweel.
Here, the innermaist ee sees signs an wonders.
Here, far the wid birls roon on the Sizzen's wheel.

Foo deep, foo deep is't doon tae the forest's foun?
An echoin sang, that rises throw itsel...
Seed and saplin and sap's in the timmer smush,
Far it's feenished or sterts, nae man can tell.

Lichen, feather an web... steen, stick an reet,
Like a birdie's brood held ticht in the fir-wid's haun,
Russet and amber, deid leaves pale as wheat,
Steer in thon bouer far birks like sisters staun.

I lie like a cross ootraxxed, a nailed Barabbus,
Palms tae the lift that poors doon streams o grace.
An aa the thorns bear flooers, in the forest's glory,
An the pure clear note o the leverick fulls the place.


10. THE MEENLICHT LOCHAN

The firs are shakkin in the win,
Their taiglit reets, throw bracken, rinnin.
The birks raxx oot their cobwebbed airms,
Like darklin nets the wid's bin spinnin.

The runkled watter's widenin rings,
Chit-chitter in the caal win's wailin.
The sickle meen hings ower the puil,
A coracle, throw storm-cloud sailin.

An nicht that steeks the ee o day,
Haps doverin birdies far they swey,
In a raft goon o starns an sleep,
Fin dwaums like fish rise frae the deep
Mind's ocean....yon unfaddomed tide,
Far joys, an fears, an sorras bide.


11. BERVIE BRAES

Coos propped on two times table legs, offer their backs fur flees tae dine. The lift rests lichtly on the sea, far sunlicht's siller pennants shine.
Like midnicht in the dowie wid, the sable corbie craiks an faas.
New hairstit parks like clippit yowes, staun gowd an glistenin, sheared in raws.

The kintra's like a darned cloot, aa patched wi thrift, hemmed in aboot.
Weet sea-wins skelp the corn flat... an in their spit's the hint o satt,
Whyle in the wast, the thunner hings, a doo wi opals on its wings.


12. COTTAR HOOSE

Moosies shared the tenancy, reared a squeak o littlins in the waas,
Fuskered an faist. A streak o fleein claws,
A snake o a broon tail, skinnymalinkie thin as liquorice string.
Wins fussled in, like thin bats on the wing,
Throw rickety ill-fittin windae peens,
That lookit ower a dubby, glaury kingdom...green neeps, an sharny steens.

The hairth wis wee, a hoastin, rosit fauld,
Far kinnlers spirkt an spat in a nippit neuk,
An reid flames waged a lossin war wi cauld.

Ootbye, the rowan wagged its raggedy duds.
Or shook its neives, a runkled clutch o buds.
The stoor o park, coort, visited each day,
Unsocht, aneth the door. Driftin skirp o strae

Swypt oot, it ay returned, unwinted guest.
Black gowd is yird, a fairm toon's treisur chest!
Smugglit inbye pooches, in on a jaiket's foun,
Trampit in wi the clarty soles o beets,
Sikkin admittance...acceptance...wintin kept, an ained.
Like the misty rigs far the doonpish faas an faas,
Ay wintin claimed, an named.

Aa simmer, the cottar hoose wis wauchts o hey,
The dry, warm smell o tousled, cuttit girse.
Aa simmer, the meen wis bricht as gowden bales.
Alang the windae ledge, reid jars o jam
War magnets fur antennaed nebs o wasps.
Aa simmer, cherry-ripe as a young bride,
The rowan reeshled in its emerald braws.

Aa simmer, an agein fairmer wyed the scales.
In winter, blin drift huddled ben the dykes,
Haimmered the hoose's waas like Jesus nails,
Slid like tears doon windaes, smored the waas.

Dram in the New Year glaiss brocht little cheer,
A roup crept nearer yet, on preyin paws.
Swallas bide there noo. Their nests wi littlins reamin,
Hinneycaimb hames, tint fairm wi birdies, teemin.
Perfect, teenie feathers pave the fleer.
The kitchie cracks. Gowd dandelions brier.


13. BRAES 0 SKENE: Tune: Plooman Laddies

Fan first I cam tae the Braes o Skene,
The corn parks they stood thick an green.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

The milkin kye gaed frae park tae byre,
An Hillie's wids fed a lowpin fire.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

The bramble buss fulled the berry pan,
The chaumer bed held the orra man.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

Noo cottar bairns they hae roved awa,
An swallas bigg in the kitchie waa.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

The toon creeps oot like a swallin tide,
Haps steen an lime ower the kintraside.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.

Fin last I cam tae the Braes o Skene,
The fowk war gaen an the fermhoose teem.

Chorus:
Noo ferm rigs, they growe hooses gray,
Anither change comes wi ilkie day.


14.SUBLIMATION/ EROS AND THE MUSE

Bumbazed, we hear anither famous man
Played wi himsel aneth his desk,
Rattled his ain tin can.

He, didna tryst wee quines up Terror's lanes,
Nor preen a Voyeur's neb gainst windae panes,
Nor peddle heroin, tae pyson halflins' veins.

His public darg... wis't spylt bi yon pursuit?
I dinna ken.
If Burns hid sublimated as his groin's dictates,
Poems wad hae poored in torrents frae his pen.

Salvador Dali aften eesed tae craw,
He'd come afore his canvas. Claimed that he
Wis blessed wi supra-creativity
A topic wirthy o a PhD.
Except maist fowk wad lee...includin me.

Sae fit's perversion? Queen, tricked oot as tart?
A German peinter chiel, oot tae impress
Ejaculated in a public gallery,
Caain this 'Seed Bed' an 'Performance Art'.
A thochtie avant-guard, I maun confess,
Fin Eros lies doon cauldly wi the Muse,
Tae prove Libido's Inspiration's fuse.
(I've niver seen a cuddy in suspenders
I've niver seen a puddock in a basque
For sado-masochism, bondage, flashin's
The kick-start in humanity's hip-flask)

Flesh turned tae wird, the sexual made sublime's
The oil in the lamp that gars it shine.


15.SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY, GLESGA (An Extract)

The khaki Kelvin's reamin fu,
Wi thawin frost an dubs the noo.
Twid freeze a bear in an igloo,
In Glesga, on this luvers' day.

Blue doos flee up the Heivenly stair,
As free as odes bi Baudelaire,
Their feathery oxters beat the air,
0 Glesga, on this luvers' day.

Twa magpies coortin in the park,
Flee aff, at gallus collie's bark.
A beech tree chitters in her sark,
In Glesga, on this luvers' day.

Watter is dreepin doon ma lug,
Yet here I staun, hairt-strings tae rug,
Tae gie St Valentine a plug,
In Glesga on this luvers' day.

A biker tattooed wi graffiti,
His pectorals say 'I lue Rosie'
Stauns wi a quine fa sooks a sweetie,
As sangs are sung, this luvers' day.

An as the while a Japanee,
Made paper birds fur us tae flee,
The things that ither cultures dee,
Tae shaw they care, this luvers' day!

A lassie in a navy jaiket,
The hale performance filmed an tapit,
The Internet maun nae be swickit,
Doon-load yer lust, this luvers' day!

Ach weel...fowk didna boo, nur sweir.
Twa luvers, wooin on a cheer,
War that engrossed they didna hear
Ma barderie, on this luvers' day.


16. THE AENEID: VI: THE VEESIT TAE THE UNDERWARLD

Frae this neuk, sterts the road tae Acheron,
Yonner in dubs an glaur seethes the Abyss.
It teems its orra clart in Cocytus,
Far stauns the dreided Charon at yon crossin,
An ugsome tyke in yirdy, raggie cloots,
Fite hair an touslie beard faa ower his chin.
Een, spirkin flame, a roch cape ower his back,
He rowes the boatie, thon grim shores atween,
Ferries sowls ower in thon dreich coracle,
Tho he be auld an teuch, he is Divine,
A god, an as a god, is evergreen.

Here aa the hasty sowls race tae the bank,
Mithers an warriors,
Strang men rank on rank,
Loons, unwed quines, sons, premature cremated,
Sic shortened lives, brute meat, fur Daith created,
As mony's Autumn leaves, grown dreich an broon,
That in first frost turn sere an flichter doon.
Like sea birds gaithered restless bi the stran,
Fin cauld gars them seek oot a hetter lan,
The sowls stude priggin tae be ferried ower,
Raxxed oot their airms, in langin fur yon shore.

Bit Charon wis a choosy carl, an sae
Wad anely takk a puckle ilkie day.
Dumfounert bi the steer, Aeneas speired `
Here on the bank, sae mony crooded in!
Fit dae they sikk? Oh say, fit it is their weird?
Foo are some ferried ower, some left ahin?

A auncient priestess telt him, naething laith
`Ye see the peels o Cocytus, the Styx
Thon bog bi fa's dreid pouer Gods bind an aith,
An daurna brakk it. Here, unbeeriet mix
Wi sowels fa's mortal beens are kistit richt.
Peer vratches, they maun bide a hunner year,
Flitterin aboot the bank, these shaddas steer,
Until a place is fand, there's nae remeid.
They mauna cross the river o the Deid.

17. FEY FERLIES

Ye hinna tint yer magic, aik, lochan, larick, been,
Tho ships hae conquered oceans, tho man has wauked the meen.
For, as the heich bullrashes are reeted in the glaur
Ye are the warld's elders, oh lichtlie that, fa daur.

The lochan kythes wi kelpies, the silkie breists the tide
The Beltane dyew's bin bairned. Hett Simmer's in its side.
An ilkie leaf is lowpin wi centuries o green
Wi ferlies fu o winnerment, the wyceness o the steen

The cauld that broons the bracken, the rain that briers the wheat,
Hae aulder wyes o kennin..The wud, the fey, the weet.

Step saftly ben the barley. Wauk cannie bi the corn.
Leave Natur as ye fin it, fur craiturs yet unborn.
Sae fin Daith's neive comes chappin an wi the mools ye mel!
The wirm will greet ye kindly, a traiveller like itsel.


18. DUTHIE PARK

Dipple-dapple watter, bumbees bizzin,
Mey-buds brierin in the daff-day sizzen,
Catkins ripplin like dreadlocks, doon.
Three dyeuks fleein far the waves slide roon.
Hingin-luggit spaniels, pert wee pugs,
Twa swans showdin like a pair o tugs,
Wee Willie Wagtail wigglin his dowp,
Midgies jiggin far the spurgies lowp.
Buds pop leaves like candy in the pan,
Skreich! There's a plap-fit seagull on the scraun.

Winkers, stinkers, love-seek cheaters,
Buggies fu o squallachers an ice cream eaters,
Waddlers, pechers, dossin on the gress,
Grazin throw the tit-bits in the Sunday Press,

Cheep-cheepin blackies, rochle-rochle doos,
Lang-nebbit craas that ye anely see in zoos,
Black toon leopards in their ceevic dress,
Ring-pierced lassies, tryin tae impress,
Stirlins reestin on a lang park fence,
Stucca dinosaurs, in puils o pence.

Pensioners dauchlin, terrapins splashin,
Bumbazed loons watchin goldfish flashin,
Beech tree shakks in her timmer sark,
Haudin up the Heivens is gey hard wark!

Cyclists cycle, cricketers crack,
A wee roon baa wi a lang hard bat.
Heinz 99 varieties o fowk,
Far the haikus slumber an the cactii powk.
Glesga, Embro, Aiberdonian,
Aa brocht thegither bi a blink o sun.
Toddlers hodgin, babblin, greetin,
Auld wives lauchin in a mithers' meetin.

Cacklers, quackers, sky-bound wingers,
Birds are airy-fairy webbed humdingers,
Breengers, barkers, dugs are larkers,
Lowpin intae bum-freeze watter, starkers.
Dyeuks dive, cockin up their dowps tae Heiven,
Coortin couples practise first-aid breathin,
Deep throated howl o the fitbaa players,
The stamp o the CD music swayers.

Smirkers, shirkers, loiterers an lags,
Joggers, hoggers, wifies humphin bags,
Littlins, halflins, growin up or doon,
Aa lue the park in their grey steen toon
Wi the river, its neebor, the great broon Dee,
Wallopin its wye tae the slap-beach sea.


19. JUSTICE NEUK: THE CASTLEGATE, ABERDEEN

Up the steep brae frae herbor's snowy gulls,
Solicitors flap by like hoodie craas,
Past biggins moored like three great, granite hulls,
Toon Cooncil, Sheriff Coort, dour Tolbooth waas.

The auncient merket cross, squats green as dulse,
A unicorn rears twa hooves frae its croon,
A steen's throw frae the steerie burgh's pulse,
As if it socht tae flee the mapamoun.

Ceres luiks doon on stoorie traffic jams,
By-passin bank, howf, bookie, chaip-john shops,
Fowk nip inbye fur pints or swift hett drams,
Or race green men tae wyte in glaiss bus-stops,
Near the Toon's Hoose, far ceevic scrolls are keepit,
An public seats, far drooths sit, hudderie-heidit.

Here, Byron coorted quines. Here, dignatories
Newsed, while Grey friars coonted their Hail Maries
Here, rikk o burnin witches jyned wi fish,
Sea yoams, the fyachie guff o dryin pish
Frae flechy craiturs in a Tolbooth cell,
Wytin fur sentencin bi Buik an Bell.

The Maiden, Aiberdeen' s ain femme fatale
Launched mony a sowl intae Damnation's faul.
Here, Aiberdonians cheered an clapped an gowped,
As at a raip's eyn some puir divil lowped.

The Tolbooth's closed, its sentence passed langsyne.
A bygaen age o manacle an chyne,
O birsslit witch, scauld's bridle, nerra slit
O windae, far a jyled man micht sit
Anely his thochts allowed tae wanner free.
Thinkin on foo he tint his liberty.

A lion hunkers doon abune a shield,
Far Scottish justice bides in thorny bield,
Here, ne'er dae weels an lassies o ill fame,
Hing roon the Sheriff Coort, their secunt hame,
Sweir, sook their haun-rowed fags an hodge aboot,
Clype aboot far some limmer's stashed his loot.

At chap o twa, the great doors swing ajee,
Admit the coort an the justiciary.
In the High Coort, twa bobbies, handcuffed, staun
On either side o catched-reid-haundit-man,
In his best suit, ill-suited tae impress
A jury. Murder's best in a plain dress.

Computers click an whirr aside a mace,
Tradition pitten on a modern face,
Fite bow-tie an cravat, grey wig, black goun
Gie pleas in his defence afore the Croun.
The murderer gets ten year. Oot in five.
Unlike his victim, gled tae be alive.
His bidie-in turns fiter than the snaa
Fin sentenced, tae the cells he's led awa.
Aneth saft lowe o lamps in braisse an glaiss
The scales o justice balance, mair or less.

Debt, damages, divorce an custody
Fit can the guilty ain afford tae gie?
Fine or probation served fur thievery
Files wechtit doon wi lees an misery
Files fulled wi buggery an muggery
An twenty different kins o doon-toon thuggery
An aa discussed on carpets o rich burgandy
Aneth the coats o airms ower a steen balcony.
Solicitors, in horny-gollach blaik
Black-winged, staun deep in argyment an claik. `
No fixed abode', wi drugs his lane defence,
Is fand a billet at the toon's expense.
Gaes `ower the watter' fur incarceration,
Is wheeched awa fur speedy transportation.

King Dragon reigns...an ile-induced pollution
His price is heich: ryped hames an prostitution
A trail o connached lives, abused abusers
Fixed fix, far there's nae winners. Anely losers.


20. GLOBAL HOGMANAY

Midnicht the Linesman, wytes tae blaw the fussle.
Acorns, aidders, cuddies an alligators,
Chinchillas, oranges, puddocks,
Technocrats, French fry waiters,
Aa revv up fur the aff,
Wi polismen, plebs an debs,
Lions, wifies in leotards,
Amoebas, squirrels an doos,
An a hale clanjamfrie o speeritual bodies
Jynin the hullabaloo,
Frae Mecca, the Vatican, Embro an Katmandu.
They're as queuein up at the New Year frontier
Cairryin cairryoots o usquebaugh, jubilation,
Misgieins, a pucklie doots, a tide o traivellers braid as the Mississippi
(Assets an ambiguities stashed in the gear
0 potentates, prelates, the antrin MSP steppin inno the fire New Year
Merlin, the Wizard o Oz, an Nostradamus
John Knox, a richt soor-puss
War langsyne left ahin wi the Angles, Jutes an Saxons in history's bin
Countesses drap aff the map like redundant jewels,
As muckle eese in the space age as fossil fuels.

The warld birls like a peerie.
Firecrackers deefen the lug,
In pairtyin pandemonium.
Like watter gaun doon the plug,
Aabody takks the plunge
Intae the New Year frigidarium.*


21. THE TUNE THAT LOWPED AFF 0 THE FIDDLE TUNE: THE RAKES 0 KILDARE

Cape Breton an Orkney an Norway an aa
There wis fiddlers frae aawye at Elphinstane haa
The portraits war jiggin near affo the waa
Like hens on an Irishman's griddle
There wis Jan-Petter Blom, Carl MacKenzie an Ling
Wi Feintuch an Murray baith bendin a string
Liz Docherty's fiddlin it fairly tuik wing
Aa pairt o the Elphinstane idyll.

Fin Fraser an Anderson stepped on the stage
Each scholar an luver an skiffie an sage
Took their een frae the table or affo the page
Fin they heard their bra airs on the fiddle
Ae tune lowpit aff o its, rosity bow
Made students cry hooch an professor cry wow
It kinnelt a thrill that set Kings in a lowe
It made even the unicorn diddle.

Scott Skinner he heard it far Angels takk flicht
An yarked it an played it wi smeddum an micht
Neil Gow tuik his bow an he gaed it a dicht
Fur the tune that lowped affo the fiddle.
Neist time that thon bonnie wee tune it wis seen
The seagulls war dauncin tilt ower the Green
It's been tae Balmoral an booed tae the queen
The tune that lowped aff o the fiddle
Its met Swedish poiskis an Scottish strathspeys
Wi fowk frae the Faroes, gaen missin fur days
It likit the fey Appalachian ways
The tune that lowped aff o the fiddle

It pairtied at Sivell's it ceilidhed at Kings
Wi whisky an lager it swackened its strings
It's step-daunced at Marischal, it's daunced Heilan flings
The tune that lowped aff o the fiddle

They tell me it's coortin a slow air frae Mar
They've played a duet in a Castlegate bar
It's gotten an agent sae it'll gyang far
The tune that lowped aff o the fiddle

It's buskit it's boozed an it's gaen on the spree
It's lined up engagements far ower the North Sea
Ye ken tell yer acquaintance ye heard it frae me
The tune that lowped aff o the fiddle.


22. ANGEL-FACE

Angel-face, short sock, straicht cut fringe,
Oot on a veesit tae a frien on the scheme
`Gonna watch a video, eat some crisps,
Hame afore it's dark Ma, by 9.15'

Bring gings the telephone, cord like an eel,
Hett braith catches in the mooth-piece net.
Lug like a clam. Yer quine's nae weel.
Casualty calling. Are ye as richt, pet?

Doon on the rail line stray dugs bark
Glue sniffers dauchle far it's ile-can dark
Wee quine playin wi her toys an dalls
Follaein the teenage bairns, her pals.

Voddie in a bottle o the Irn Bru,
Fizzed up, screwed up, she is stottin fu
Wee quine dauncin tae a strange new beat
Like a runawa peenie on pure mental feet

Wee quine faain like a coin gaun plop
Screich gings the ambulance come tae mop her up
Angel face, short sock, straicht cut fringe,
Tubes in her veins like straas in a jar.
Heid fu o monsters, a doctor's syringe,
Bangs inno bruises that are black as tar.

Wee tottie lassie, blootered on the road,
Picked up an patched, like an auld torn cloot
Played hide n' seek by the auld rail line
Thank God they fand her, or she'd be oot.


23. SIMMER BI GARLOGIE

The wandrin willies waucht in the win,
The burnie's merrily tinklin,
The great green sycamores nod an news,
Ower waves far the sun is skinklin.

Garlogie neuk's far the harbell hings,
An the hett taeds parp an sprauchle,
An the nettle sweys wi her firey stings,
An the swack-tailed bandies dauchle.

A cricket's yatterin deep in the girse
Far the crummlin rasps are bidin,
An the clover hides like a wee shy bride,
Far the lang-legged coos are wydin.

The daisies open their hauns like stars,
The preen-ee'd blackie sings,
An ower the glug o the reedy glaur,
Flap a muir-moch's skirps o wings.

The dyke o steens that the saft moss hugs
It catches a peesie's skirlin,
In its shaddowy cracks like lang black lugs
Far an eident spider's birlin.

An trysted oot bi the smilin sun
Swack littlins lauch an race,
Men pu their berries an dell their grun
Neth Simmer's sonsie face.

There's nae a steer frae Garlogie's muir
Tae the dam, in its cweel green arbour,
Jist a lift sae blue ye cud near sweem throw
Aa the wye tae Heiven's herbour.


24. THE ROSEBUD TUNE: THE DUCHESS TREE, by Scott Skinner,

In a rashy den, doon a flooery glen, a rosebud raised her heid,
As a blackie's sang, wheepled loud an lang,
Stringin notes ower the fusperin reed.
Fortune smiled on her, sair beguilin her,
Gentle bud o the white brier seed
Till the tender flooer, in her maiden booer, her hairt it wis tint indeed.

His sable briest tae her velvet reest, he wad press like a drap o dew
As the bud uncurled, ilkie leaf unfurled,
Fur she thocht that his luv wis true.
Foo he haunted her, fair enchanted her, an tae him her thochts war thirled.
Wi his glancin een, an his sang sae keen,
He brocht Heaven tae her ain wee warld.

Nae anither bird, wi its tinklin wird, could draw oot her rich perfume,
An her thorns sae strang, should hae saved frae wrang,
She wad sheath fin she heard his tune.
Foo he played wi her, fair enslavin her, as aroon her lair he flew
Till the rosebud sweet, fell in luv ower deep,
Wi the bird o the midnicht hue.

Bit anither booer, an anither flooer, catched the blackbird's wanton een
She micht prigg an plead, bit he tuik nae heed, tae anither airt he's gaen.
As he soared awa, wi his sang sae braw, tae the wide, wide, mapamoun
Fur an oor wi him, this flooeriy gem, wad hae laid her young life doon.

0 a sang in Spring, it should pleisur bring, fin it hauds a luv refrain.
Bit fin luv's bin stown, like a rose hauf blawn,
Then the tune brings nocht bit pain
The rosebud fair, in her thorny lair, ceased tae bloom fin luv wis past
Wi a hairt o snaw, see her petals faa, in the bitterness o Winter's blast.


25.SEA GOD

A God o the sea's amang us.
Dinna ye see the sheen
0 faddoms o dulse an siller cod
In the glent o his wintry een?

A God o the sea's amang us.
His wirds hae the storm's wheep
An the skelp o the satt-tailed herrin
Fished up frae the glaiss-green deep.

A God o the sea's amang us.
His hair is derk's a shag.
Frae the belt o his ice-cauld middle
A wheen fouled anchors drag.

A God o the sea's amang us.
His thunner an lichtenin rage,
Can skail wi the blast o wasterie
A skipper's hard-won wage

A God o the sea's amang us.
D'ye feel the warld showd
Like the deck o a tiltin trawler
As he wauks throwe the teemin crowd?

The glitterin tide turns bonnie
As a train o skirlin gulls,
Herald their mister's comin
Wings white as drooned men's skulls.

The clouds lower blae an gurly
Fin he leaves his partan's berth
An raiks wi his icey fingers
The vertebrae o earth.

He caas tae crocanation wi the pouer o his wattery cleuk
Aa nerra thochts an nippit, in their shilpit, shargeret neuk
Takk tent fin he draws near ye, wersh, wersh wi spindrift years
For the sea god's nets are wechty, wi shattered hairts an tears


26. FUSSLIN JOCK Inspired by An Idyll: a painting by Giovanni Segatini.

Fussle fussle Jocky, an I'll gie ye a flooer
Fit guid is a sic a giftie? Twid wither in an oor!

Fussle fussle Jocky, an I'll gie ye ma sheen.
Fit guid is sic a giftie? They're bauchled an they're dane!

Fussle fussle Jocky an I'll gie ye a kiss.
Cauld kail hett again, for yer a wanton Miss.

Fussle fussle Jocky I'll rowe ye in ma plaid
Feech, an that ye winna. Ower mony there ye've laid.


27. FOO MONY HOOLETS?

Foo mony hoolets hoot roon aboot the hoose?
There is hungeret Horace Hoolet on the look oot fur a moose
There is genteel Harry Hoolet suppen denner wi a speen
There is sossy Hackit Hoolet wi his platie fooshty green
There is sleekit Hamish Hoolet wi a doocot fur a nest
There is sleisterie Hetty Hoolet wi her pudden doon her vest
There is Hooligan the Hoolet luikin fur some glaiss tae smash
There is Hannibal the Hoolet, could be daein wi a wash
There is skinny Helen Hoolet, there is Hetty big an broon
There's a hoolet caad Horatio fa aye hings upside doon
Foo mony hoolets hoot roon aboot the hoose?
As mony as the bubbles in a tin o orange juice!


28. TOUN JUNCTION Toun Junction was written as part of a joint project with the artist Irene Leake.

A boorich o birdies, blaik an birlin, heezin an furlin.
A skyte o skurries slidderin doon the win.
A breenge o shoppers hashin ower the road.
A bleeze o boozers hyterin doon the brae.
A chaw o chuddies stukken doon like bannocks.
A craik o corbies wallopin ower the howfs.
A skid o schule quines swingin pyokes o buiks.
A doonpish dribblin doon the cassies croon.
A bauchle o auldies shauchlin ower the crossin.
A birr o larries hotterin on the tarmac.
A skitter o stirlins jinkin like confetti.
A wheech o ambulances stappt wi skaith.
A dauchle o wardens keekin inno cars.
A puckle o office quines on teeterin sheen.
A bleep o mobiles clapt tae meevin lugs.
A sniff o mongrels peein ower wheelies.
Bumfus o buggies bumpin ower branders.
A shoogle o artics dirdin ower lowse chukkies.
A wacht o cushies bobbin ower the cassies.
A stooshie o spurgies chitterin on the lums.
A shargaret tree its branches showdie powdin.
A dunt o drillers rivin up the road.
A reeshle o papers. Get yer Dailies here!
A splat o dug keech splytered on a steen.
A stride o loons wi gallus sark tails flappin.
A hoaster hackin oot a glob o glut.
A beggar in a doorwye priggs fur siller.
A pirn-taed wifie humfin hame her eerins.
A van wi ledders jinkin roon a neuk.
A trawl o taxies slinkin doon back wynds.
A cowkin quinie cowpin ower a cash pynt.
A twa-fauld bodach, neb near tae the grun.
The provost's limo poorin through the toon.
A skoosh o watter skytin frae a dub.
A trail o tabbies trampit in the glaur.


29. THE HERRIN FLEET Inspired by The Herring Fleet leaving the Dee, Aberdeen, painted by David Farquharson.

Far are ye gaun, min?
Fishin, fishin.
Fit are ye efter?
Herrin, herrin.
Fit are ye thinkin?
Wishin, wishin
Oor nets will rise fu fin they're pued frae the ocean.


30. GHOST STORY HEARD AT A BUS STOP

My ma jist canna sleep if that cat's oot.
Fit cat? Ye hinna got a cat.
Ye hinna seen the cat. It isna real.
Ma took a feelie fin she saw the brute.
Fit happened? Dis it scrat this feerie cat?
Oh no, the divil's far ower fly fur that!
It's jist a shadda...creeps sae quaetly
Ma bides awake tae see fit it'll dae
Weel tell me then. Dis it sproot wings an flee?
Na na. It's jist a shadda. It's nae real.
That makks it war ye see, because ye feel...
it could dae onythin, a shadda lowse like that.
I dinna unnerstaun... Ye hinna got a cat...
Bit we've a shadda creepin roon the mat!


31. ICONS 0 SCOTLAND

I'm a furry Loch Ness Monster,
Frae Bangladesh tae Brighton
I'm up for sale by road, sea, rail,
I'm a mail order item.

My name is Bonnie Prince Charlie,
I'm the tap o a shortbreid tin
I weir ma wig cause ma hair fell oot
Wi drinkin ower much gin.

I'm the auld wife tenors sing o,
In Granny's Heilan hame
Wi a pail an an ootside lavvie
An nae twa socks the same.

I'm the Burns ye hear fin the haggis
Is piped in on the plate
The poem afore the ceilidh
Fin the neeps growe cauld on the plate

I'm a clockwirk Heilan dauncer,
In a musical box I bide,
I'm made in Japan by a Geisha's haun
An exported warld-wide

I'm the reel frae a Hollywid movie
In technicolour clartit
Mel Gibson's William Wallace
Is nae fur the faint hertit

Oh we are the Scottish icons
Fur exiled hairt-strings ruggin
They liked us sae weel, like rottens' flees
They lowped on a boatie an they crossed the seas
Wi their gear an their siller an their gran degrees
Oh we are the Scottish icons
That keep the brain-drain gluggin.


32. WINTER, CRAIGENDARROCH, DEESIDE (extracts)

Win fuspers cranreuch, wersh an cauld,
Auld Winter's tale that's yearly tauld.
Feetikins treetlin ben the sna, show far a bawd has crept awa
Stervin an thin on hirplin feet, on his last wardly road, puir breet.
Fite sky an warld mell. Blin smore has opened cauldrife Januar's door
And hairse an rochlin throw the trees
Grey feathered crooin cooshies wheeze.

The snaaflakes tapsalteerie droon in Dee, as Yule comes tummlin doon.
Sma trimmlin birdies freeze on boughs
An bairns' chikks are twa reid lowes
Tho mochles, toories, scarfs enfauld
They're scant remeid far wids are bauld.
Ben roosty bracken, storms blaa, on ilkie steen's a hap o sna
Like Scots-Guaird busbies on parade, far ilkie icicle's a blade,
As keen as won at Waterloo, sherpened wi frost, wid cut ye through.
The willow's twined bi ghaistly grey
Far kirkyaird cloots o mist hing wae.
An ilkie birk frae neck tae nape has pitten on an ermine cape.
The river's pots an puils o ice is grippit sair bi Winter's vice
Yowes trimmle, chaa the frostit neep
Reid robin's far ower cauld tae threep.
Mists like the thin airms o a priest
Raxx up far clouds in heiven reest
Lang skeins o haar twine roon the Bens
The sky draps doon tae stalk the Glens
The warld's braith is frozen rikk, far wagtail's dowp's an ee-blink flick.
The bubbles in the Dee stare up, weird kelpies glower frae ilkie cup
Grey een, grown cloudy-fire an blin, teet at the aik tree's runkled skin

Here, muckle wechty clouds o oo teem oot their trock like miller's styew Nae hens, wi chuckens in their train, far has the pouer o Simmer gaen?
That fullt the sheugh wi flooer an bee gart ilkie burn daunce merrily? Winter's the Chiel fa's Lord ower aa, ower parliament an cooncil haa
His grip's tyrannical an strang..think, gin ye ruled the hale year lang!


33. THE VRICHTS 0 KING'S: MEDIAEVAL MAKKARS

Carved oot bi mediaeval maister-vrichts,
The years hae turned the timmer angels blaik.
Tho carpeted in crammosie, fleer-boords
0 auncient aik-brods, at a fitfaa, craik.
Whyle thon same chiels fa biggt the chapel waa
Measurt an chappt, Buonarotti's mallet
Hacked his Pieta frae a merble block.
Rich peint ran weet, on Leonardo's palette.
The founder-bishop lies aneth a slab
0 Belgian merble. Here, he's beddit doon,
Wi chunnerin wirm, fa won approval's seal
The Papal Bull, tae heist the college croon.
Alive, his lugs war full't wi scholar claik,
The mummlit incantation o the mass.
The Angelus, that summoned loons tae prayer.
The sweesh o gouns as students jyned a class.
A mason's monument, the waas raise up.
The vaulted reef hauds ghaists o Latin spikk.
A glazier's Solomon meets Sheba's Queen,
Lang efter incense brunt its haly rikk.
Auncient an modern wirkmens' darg is snorled.
Like shiftin sans, they mell, the deid, the quick.
Tae sit in sic a staa, tae straik yon wids,
Tae strip awa veneer o centuries,
Touch the Kabbala tree o time itsel,
Howked in an age o guilds an mysteries.
Tae sit in sic a staa, far shaddas hing,
Is tae inhabit history's muckle wame,
Wi burgesses in ermine-tippit hoods.
Aa, aa maun daunce in Dissolution's flame.
Far denim-hurdied students read, vrichts plane.
Professors news, as gairdeners howk the yird.
Far masons' haimmers dunt a risin dyke,
Theses maun still be screived, an vivas heard.
The waas o past an present here are thin.
The bus that birrs alang the stoory street,
Traivels a road aince lepers shauchled ben.
Ower lang-gaen muirlan, picnic-pairties eat.
Far roaders dreel, roosed drivers revv an bleep,
Sang schules an minstrels threipit ballads sweet.
Far larries thunner by on tarry wheels,
Aince, Margaret Tudor wauked on gowden feet.


34. JOHN BARLEYCORN TUNE: JOHN ANDERSON MY JOE

John Barleycorn my joe, John, fin we war first aquaint,
Ye war sae entertainin ma siller sune wis spent.
Ye tuik me tae a tavern as queer as it wis braw
Far Bacchus filled a bumper at the Dionysia.

John Barleycorn my joe, John, life's storm we've faced thegither
An there is nae denyin ye kittle up a blether,
Bit oh, yer clour is sair, John, its dunt is hard tae tyne,
I'll takk fur beau, a sweet Bordeaux an set his mou tae mine.

John Barleycorn my joe, John, ye've at the ingle sat,
Ye've kept me up till mornin, wi Willie, Neil an Pat,
We'd sing tae meen an starnies we'd serenade the dawn,
Syne thole the efterstangs o grue, an aa because o John.

John Barleycorn my joe, John, noo oor affair's on ice,
Yell sit wi ony randy fa cares tae pye the price,
Wi Jock or Rab or Jeannie, ye'll lie doon like a lamb,
Yer onybody's fur a maik, a bang-the-coggie dram.

John Barleycorn my joe, John, I'd hae ye as a guest,
Bit niver as a lodger sae dinna pack yer vest.
An ae nicht stand is dandy...jist mynd, afore ye go,
Caa tee the door on your wye oot, John Barleycorn ma joe.


35. ST MACHAR'S CATHEDRAL TUNE: PERSONANT HODIE

Fleurs de lys, boar and star, shields o Keith, Hay and Mar,
Banners reid, drooked wi war, by Dunbar's designin,
Kirk wi Europe jynin,
Heed thon heraldry, aa maun boo the knee,
Fit brings life tae the glaur's ower deep fur devinin.

Here the Don, wyved aroon, Pictish plaid, Bishop's goun,
Machar's spad laid the foun, o this sanctuary,
Celtic missionary,
Roon its widlan boun, grew the infant toon,
Seaton's lan, in the plan o a visionary.

Machar kirk, Sabbath day, voices jyne, priest and lay,
Hymn an psalm reverently, mell in adoration, thochts upon Salvation,
Man is stoor, stoor, stoor, short's his oor, oor, oor,
Sma his pouer, nocht is sure, bit Daith's domination.

Sun poors in, through the glaiss, dragon's flames turn tae aisse,
Caunle-sheen catches braisse, Licht o Lichts revealin,
tribulations healin,
Granite steen an slate, cross an alterplate,
Bigged tae bless, aa express, faith ayont concealin.

See the sky, mark it weel, Warld o air, Fisher's creel,
Breid an wine, aa reveal, inner signs an meanins, body's bit the gleanins,
Hear the wee winged bird, cheep its wheeplin wird,
Ane in aa, spurgie sma, Haly Spirit breathin.

Anely flesh fills the grave, faith can sain, faith can save.
Rowe the steen frae the cave, see redemption shinin,
see the derkness dwinin.
Peals o hells ring clear, ower the city's steer,
Toun an goon, bless this loon, grace an peace combinin.

Doon the lang aisles o steen, ghaists o lang-vanished sheen,
Barhour's pen, Dunbar's dream, Elphinstane's oration.
Each new generation,
Seeks this auncient place, each succeedin race,
Seeks the answers ahin Warlds an their creation.

Don an Dee, Denburn wee, seek the great glimmerin sea
Ilkie sma tribut'ry fur its source is vearnin,
like a salmon spawnin
Sae like boats we moor, fur life's short, roch oor
Anchors brakk, tapsails shakk tae the Deep returnin