Suitcase Of Dreams (Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Edinburgh/Auld Reekie
Embro: hame o Bovril an digestive biscuits
Hame o the fey, the feisty an the famous
An angel plays the bagpipes in St Giles
Abune the the stinch, the snod, the ignoramus

The streets peel aff alang the Royal mile
Like herrin banes, the stanes aneth the flesh
Haud glamouries enthrallin aa the thrang
Catchin the towrists in their tartan mesh

This bield o genius gied the warld sic nemmes
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir Wattie Scott
J.K.Rowling, R.L.Stevenson
Vettriano, Garioch, poet and polyglot
Simpson, Smollett, Rankine, mony mair
Hae wauked ootbye the hoose o Lady Stair

Chloroform pairties hostit bi Dr Simpson
Far denner guests wir gaen a fey-like treat
A tumblerfu o ether tae sniff up
Tae knock them oot eftir they'd ett their meat

Here Charles Darwin trained tae be a medic
Till he tuik scunner at the sicht o bluid
Here Fergusson the bard, a skeely birkie
Fell doon an dang the wits frae his fair heid

Fit o the Royal mile, oor parliament
A Bovril biggin, splittin fowks' opinion
Stauns ower the wye far Rizzio the scribe
Clung tae his queen, maist foully stabbed an deein

Mony's the Earl & Chieftain wauked thon streets
Tae face the block, or brave the gibbet's end
Here langsyne excrement beglaured the stanes
The flooers o Embro, frae close an pend

An sic fey craiturs, admired hereabouts
Wojtek the Polish bear frae Embro Zoo
Nils the Norwegian penguin, dignitary
An Greyfriar's Bobby, up fur public view

The Caledonian Hotel drew famous guests
Charles Chaplin, Marlene Dietrich, a gitzy crew
Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn, Richard Burton
Liz Taylor, Connery, tae name a few

Step intae Crichton's Close gin poems ye like
The Scottish Poetry Librar is stap fu
Wi rowth o wirds frae aa the warld aroon
Frae bards lang deid tae readins bi the new

This toun sees fowk step in, an some step oot
The Warld's End Howf, wis far twa young quines wir seen
Murdered bi Angus Sinclair thon same nicht
Wi nae brave guairdian frien tae intervene

The hame o Mary, Scotland's bonnie Queen
Embro's a bield o Culture, love, romaunce
An aince in Holyrood, her nobles roon
This queen o hairts led barons in the daunce


The Hairdessser, the Cooncillor, the Coven
Sheree wis mistress o the blue rinse style
Wad tae a cooncilor, Tod Blaik, a hinger -on
Wi cherm he gript her clients in his haun
Kirk fowk, they wir stinch Presbyterian

She permed an cut an tamed their hudderie heids
The guid an godlie o the hoosin scheme
She wis a hermless woman, kind an douce
Acted confessor, kent her clients' dreams

An aa the while, her man, the sleekit Tod
Wid fleece the guid an godly o their trust
His skill wis fraud, the council wis his lamb
He sheared the toun o siller, gey near bust

They keepit in wi heid anes roon aboot
Wir socht tae bide ae wikkeyn wi a frien
Fa'd turned a wrackit kirk intae a hoose
An architectural bobby dazzlin scheme


Wi heatin neth the fleer, an sunken lichts
Wi a mod cons, wi bidets, a Jacuzzi
Far mony's the deal wis dane, wrang side o richt
There, antrin days the host wid takk his floozy

Siller impresses, Sheree wis bumbazed
An Tod wis sookin up as wis his style
The wheels o intrigue turn in mony wyes
An Tod wis oozin cherm, thon cogs tae ile.

This auld, recycled kirk stude in a clachan
Logie o Netherpliskies wis its nemme
Lang hynie back it wis a Pagan neuk
Weel kent fur devilish ongauns o ill fame

Noo fermers, ilemen, retired fowk bedd there
Incomers frae the Sooth drawn bi the lures
O auncient bens an couthie kintra howes
Awa frae traffic, muggins, back street hoors

Sheree an Tod snapped up a gutsy meal
Wi brandy, efter echts, nae expense shriven
Gaed aff tae bed tae say their nichtly prayers
Safe kennin they hid saved a place in heaven

Bit fin the meen wis heich abune the spire
An starnies glimmered in the pitmirk nicht
A hoolet hootit, human skreichs an lauchs
An oorie music grippit them wi fricht

Logie o Netherpliskies is the Deil's
Their host ower brakkfest, telt them the neist day
An ilkie nicht the local clachan meets
Tae birzze nyakkit, an throwe the wids tae play

The coven, they wir telt, wir incamers
Wud Wayne, a biker, frae the Yorkshire dales
An Creashie Meg frae Wirrel on the Sea
Wi her man Fred, a butcher up frae Wales

Wee aiblich Dean, a maister in IT
An Nancy Fudd, a botanist frae Surrey

Her brither Frankie, herbalist o note
A homeopathist, caad Elsie Murray

Sheree an Tod baith packit up an left
Wir feart o bein tarred bi sic contagion
Tho Tod hid mony pliskies o his ain
His frauds an his skulduggeries wir legion

Inbye twa months, the scales o justice tipped
Todd wis fand oot, disgraced an clappt in jyle
Betimes, the coven frolicked as afore
Haudin their Pagan rites an ploys fine style


The Dentist
Three cheers are sittin teem
My teeth wi plaque are clartit
Bit I canna be seen
Appyntments hinna startit

Three cheers are sittin teem
Tartar has spyled ma mou
Nae dentist can I book
O Covid, curse on you!

Three cheers are sittin teem
Foo mony teeth are rotten?
Well hae nae teeth ava
Fause teeth we'll aa hae gotten


Kenna aged Three
Bi the time she wis three,
She'd larned aboot brushes an peintin
She'd larned aboot poppies an leddybirds
She could haud a pencil an draw a cercle fur mither

Bi the time she wis five
She'd braidened her view of the warld
She cud chap the heid aff her eggie
She cud howk in the nursery pot an plant a seedlin

She kent naethin aboot sharks
Barr fit she read in stories
Naethin nesty tho….Fear wid cam later
Eftir she's steppit farrer ben Time's roadie


Daith
Ma faither's great great kinswumman
Lived tae a hunner an twa, deein suddenly
Face doon in her soup bowl o broth

An aunt wis unplugged frae dialysis
Droonin in her ain corruptin fluids

An uncle, a back seat passenger
Concertina-ed intae a tree
The driver, drunk, hid stoppit baith their clocks

Maistly strokes an comas cairry us aff
Hairts missin a beat an stoppin aathegither

I'd like tae dee suddenly
Face doon in a jaiket tattie wi tuna an cheese
Tomatae an fresh green lettuce on the side


Games
Ane twa three a leerie, I spied Bella Peerie
Sittin on her bumbaleerie, ettin jeely babies

Stot stot the baa, stot it up agin the waa
Birl aroon an dinna faa, stot stot stot the baa

Skippin, leap frog, tig an tag
Hop Scotch, haunstauns, conkers, Jacks
Eetle ottle black bottle
Sports days, lowpin roon in sacks
Bairns eenoo hae different toys
Different times hae different ploys
Nooadays, it's aa remote
Drones an Game boys, gets their vote



Scots Owersett o Barbara bi Jacques Prévert
Mind, Barbara it wis ongaun rain on Brest thon day,
An ye wauked smilin, blythesome, braw,
Drookit unner the rain.
Mind, Barbara it wis ongaun rain on Brest thon day
An I ran intae ye in Siam Street,
Ye wir smilin, an I smiled as weel.
Mynd Barbara ye fa I didnae ken,
Ye fa didnae ken me,
Mynd, mynd thon day still
Dinna forget, a cheil hid fand a bield on a porch
An he cried yer nemme Barbara,
An ye ran tae him unner the rain
Smilin, blythesome, drookit,
An ye threw yersel in his airms.
Mynd thon Barbara an dinna be roozed gin I spikk familiarly,
I spikk familiarly tae aabody I lee
Even gin I've seen them anely aince,
I spikk familiarly tae aa fa are in luve
Even gin I dinna ken them,
Mynd Barbara dinna forget thon gweed an blythe rain
On yer blythe face on thon blythe toun,
Thon rain upon the sea,
Upon the wappons, upon the Ushant boatie.
Och! Barbara fit daftness is war,
Fit's becam o ye unner this iron rain
O flame an steel an bluid?
An he fa held ye in his airms as a luver
Is he deid an gane or is he still leevin?
Och! Barbara, it rained aa day on Brest this day
As it wis rainin afore,
Bit it isnae the same onymair, an aathin is wracked,
It's a rain o murnin, terrible an dreich,
Nur is it still a storm o iron an steel an bluid,
Bit jist clouds that dee like dugs,
Dugs that dwine in the doonpish droonin Brest,
An float awa tae rot a lang wey aff,
A lang, lang wey frae Brest
O thon there's naethin left.


Scots Owersett o Faimily Life bi Jacques Prévert,
The mither wyves
The son gaes aff tae the war
She fins this rael natural, the mither
An the faither?
Fit dis the faither dae?
He his his darg
His wife wyves
His son gaes aff tae the war
He his his darg
He fins this rael natural, the faither
An the son
An the son
Fit dis the son fin?
He fins aathegither naethin, the son
The son: his mither dis her wyvin,
His faither has his darg
An he has the war
Fin the war is ower
He'll jybe his faither's darg
The war gaes on
The mither gaes on wyvin
The faither gaes on wi his darg
The son is killed
He disnae gae on
The faither an mither veesit the kirkyaird
They fin this natural
The faither an the mither
Life gaes on
A life o wyvin, war, darg
Darg, war, wyvin, war
Darg, darg, darg
Life wi the kirkyaird


A Scots Owersett of the poem The Dunce/The Gype bi Jacques Prévert
The Gype
He sez na wi his heid
Bit he sez aye wi his hairt
He sez aye tae fit he lues
He sez na tae the dominie
He stauns
He's back-speired
An aa the problems are pit tae him
O a suddenty lauchter grips him
An he dichts awa
Aa the wirds an nummers
Nemmes an dates
Sentences an traps
An spite o the dominie's threats
Tae the aff-takkin cries o wee prodigies
Wi chalk o ilkie colour
On the blackboord o ill chaunce
He draws the face o blytheness

I Hide ma Sorra in the Derkest Place
I hide ma sorra in the derkest place
A brock's sett, auncient, deep inbye the yird
Fur sorra has a wersh an waesome face
It's like a knife that strikks wioot a wird

I hide ma sorra in the peat bog's glaur
Inbye a brukken clock run ooto time
Or neth a corbie's nest o twistit twigs
Or in the mools, mangst ugsome wirms' slime

I hide ma sorra far nae een can see
The foun o an auld roosty cauldron's lees
The heichest crannie in a Heilan crag
The deepest ship wrack in the coorsest sea

I hide ma sorra in the derkest place
A brock's sett, auncient, deep inbye the yird
Fur sorra has a wersh an waesome face
It's like a knife that strikks wioot a wird

Things I didna Bring tae a Simmer' Day
I didna bring the Queen o Sheba's girdle
I didna bring Harpo Marx's funny hat
I didna bring the mummy o a bog-chiel
I didna bring a wee tinnie o waes
I didna bring a maypole ringed wi skulls
I didna bring a Zulu's sprootin neb- hair
I didna bring a jam pot quaetly plottin
I didna bring an orchard breirin hairts
I didna bring a thong studdit wi comets
I didna bring a merle wi alopecia
I didna bring a tartan droonin whale
I didna bring Yuletide in a pink tea cosy
I didna bring ten widwasps an a clarsach.


Bull Bling
Fin Zeus wis anely nine months auld
The vet pit in his nasal ring
Twis vrocht o sheeny, burnished braiss
The ultimate in a bull's bling

This Hereford wis a wechty breet
Jist ae wrang meeve, he'd trample ye
In the show yaird they held him ticht
Tae block the risk o tragedy

His hooves wir trimmed tae luik his best
His horns an hooves wi iled tae sheen
His tail brushed oot aa fluffy saft
His fit spots washed an luikin clean.

His winter coat wis clipped an snod
His hair wis blaw-dry eftir washed
Hid lugs wir groomed…nae hairy growth
He wis a star…nocht should be hashed

His towes wir biled an bleached as weel
Naethin wis spared, or wis bypassed
An sae it wis that Zeus the bull
Won the prize ribbon, first in class


City Lichts Seen Frae the Wids
The wids at nicht hae mony een oot-luikin
The gleg-eed cat, the hoolet, swivel heidit
The brock an tod, wi instincks faist an sherp
The wyver wi her moosewabs skeelie threidit

The wids are seelent bar the sweesh o leaves
The whirr o wings. The hurcheon shauchlin ben…
The widlan breets keek oot ower darksome parks
Tae the toun lichts, the fremmit hames o men

The wyes o humans arenae Nature's wyes
The city niver sleeps, is aywis thrang
An humans seek some unca things fur fun
Drugs, drink an crime, an much that's coorse or wrang

The hoolets dinnae stert wars wi their kind
The brocks destroy nae setts jist fur a lauch
Nae tod wid snap the life frae ither tods
They watch the city lichts, gled they're hyne aff

Halloween Shindig
A snake etts its ain tail
At the pumpkin luvers' pairty
Three jumbos cam stampin
Each trunk swung like a flail

A turtle wi teeth cam champin
A knife cut aff a dally's airm
The affair is luikin bluidy

A muckle tarantula streetched its shanks
Bit thon's anither story
Halloween's an eldritch scene

Halloween beins deid an alive
Tryst fur a reel,
Or a jitterbug an a jive


Pledge bi a Desperate Suitor
I could be yer sunsheen on a cloudy day
I could be the plaister on yer blistered tae
I could be the straaberry on yer trifle tap
I could be the bacon on yer flooery bap
I could be the letter on yer cattie's tray
I could be the perfume on yer deodorant spray
I could be the sprinkles on yer Mr Whippy
I could be yer toorie fin the weather's nippy
I could be yer teethpaste minty in yer mou
I could be yer map if ye gae tae Embro zoo
I could be yer keekin glaiss or yer favourite mug
I could be the pendle hingin frae the lug