Unwinted (Scots Poemset Al) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Otter
There aince wis a nippy wee otter
Fin ettin its tea made a sottar
Fin it's ainers cried ‘Orra'
It keeched on the flora
An weed like a mink in the watter

Female Menstruation
Shark week-Aunt Flo's visiting- Granny's doon frae the hills
Period- Lady business- The Curse….lie down & take some pills

Les Anglais ont debarqué- Checking out the Red RoofInn
On the Rag- Red Badge of Courage(all down to original sin)

Mother Nature's gift- The Red Baron
Jam rag time- Girl flu-leak week- blood plug- tampon

Riding the Crimson Pony - Red wedding
Crimson tide- Moon time- all names for blood letting

The Chat Show Host spikks tae the Proverbial Corbie
Foo are ye sae partial tae ettin een?
Tykes bark as they are bred

Are ye nae sorry tae slay a lammie?
Daith speirs nae awkward questions

Yer aye the first tae feed aff ony roadkill…
There's naethin got frae delay
Bit dirt an lang nails

Ye've nae close friens I jelouse
Friens are like fiddle strings
They maunna be screwed ower ticht

Yer voice is verra roch
Gin ye've gall in yer mou,
Ye canna spit hinney

Dis etten orrals an intimmers nae scunner ye?
The proodest nettle growes on a midden

Thank ye maister corbie, fur allowin this veesit
I hope I hinna kept ye frae yer busy schedule
Veesitors are like fish..kept ower lang they stink


Wee the Bed (Dandelion)
Wee the bed, wee the bed, fa luiks best?
An orchid or rose sae fair?
Hinneysuckle, a treelip o ivy
Wi scent in their creamy hair?

Wee the bed, binna disjaskit
Yer sonsie an strang in the reet
An ye'll nae cowp ower in a simmer shouer
Or dwine in the simmer heat

Wee the bed, wee the bed, bairnies' frien
Wi yer clock they lue tae blaw
Fa daur gie ye the name o weed
Wi yer gowden face sae braw?


The Coo that Lowped ower the Meen
A wee Heilan coo wi a langin fur fame
Tae cairry the honour o Scotlan afar
Flew up intae space in a faist rocket plane
The first coo in history this plisky tae daur

It's noo in the fack files wi ither space breets
Fruit flees, an puggies, an fortytwa mice
Twa rattens, a French cat, a mappie, a fish
A wheen hornygollachs, aa fired in a trice

Alang wi some puddocks, a tortie as weel,
A scorpion, a husky frae Russia sae cauld
And noo tae tap aa, there's oor ain Heilan coo
Wha's like us? Nae mony. We're brave an we're bauld!


Girls
What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what little girls are made of

What are little girls made for?
What are little girls made for?
Periods, childbirth, menopause
That's what little girls are made for

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Original sin & mother's gin
That's what little girls are made of

What are little girls made for?
What are little girls made for?
The glass ceiling, cooking, cleaning
PMT and child rearing
That's what little girls are made for


Here lies a tree
it used to be
so cool, shady

by some decree
it was cut down
no bough to see
it's now a stump
a vacancy
Alas poor tree
Now RIP

Michael Marra (17 February 1952 - 23 October 2012)
Tune: I'm a good looking widow/ My Home (pipe tune)

Michael Marra wis kent as the the Bard of Dundee,
He performed in arts centres, folk clubs an TV
Brocht up in the district o bonnie Lochlee
Weel lued as a singer an screiver

Assparkie, an baker, an builder he vrocht
In theatre, whyles, radio, far talent wis socht
The son o a prenter an a teacher, self taucht
He left schule at 15 this braw screiver

In Lunnon he met in wi Dougie McLean,
The band wis caad Hen's Teeth, a catchie like name
Wi his brither in Skeets Boliver, chasin fame
Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver

Wi Thunnerbird Records twa singles he made
Streethoose Door wis a stoater, bi mony twis played
As wis Moonlicht in Jeopardy, gran serenade
Frae the Bard o Dundee, the braw screiver

Did ye catch him in Perth in the Demon Barber?
Did ye watch his Nan Garland, an opera o virr
He duetted wi Polwart an Eddi Reader
Dundee's favourite skeelie sang screiver

Twa Scottish orchestras, played wi himsel
Concerto Caledonia fell unner his spell
Wi Mr McFall's Chamber he performed as weel
That mervellous sangster an screiver

He acted an screived the show Fragrant Delicht
Wi the poet Liz Lochhead, it hit the nail richt
In Washington DC, an Australia each nicht
That it ran, sae weel vrocht bi thon screiver

He penned operettas, wirked wi Dance company
(‘Love an Pocket Money' Frank McConnell's Plant B)
St Catherine's Day played bi Dundee Repertory
Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver

In Washington DC,he'dhis fingerprentstaen
In ae sang, Marra screived aboot ither faats gien
Fin Shirley McKie wis blamed, stude in her sheen
Ay wirkin fur richt, Dundee's screiver

His sang "Chyne up the Swings" prayed that littlins could play
Ay, even on Sunday, Wee Free's Sabbath day
"Happed in Mist" a deserter, shot for fleein the fray
Wis peetied richt sair bi thon screiver

His sang "Hermless"ye'll hear roon an ingle or bar
His bairns hae the gene, an his fame's traivelled far
A hummle, a couthie, a talented star
Michael Marra, Dundee's weel lued screiver


Newt
There wis a newt gaed traivellin
A trip tae Troon- she'd try it
Until a heron snapped her up
Tae supplement his diet


Heather
Up amang the heather
At the back o Bennachie
A bumbee stang me
Weel abune the knee

I wish I'd climmed up Morven
Or Mortlich near the Dee
An worn a pair o leggins
Tae prevent catastrophe


Huntly Street.
The media banner said it all
Nun,59, raped and slain in a cathedral by junkie altar boy

Sister Josie, bespectacled, grey haired, kind
Worked at the Society of the Sacred Heart

She shared an office at the city's cathedral
With the priest who found her body one sunny day in May

The caretaker met a strange young man
In a corridor in the pastoral centre.
He wore a silver stud in his left nostril
An earring in his left ear.
His hair was cropped to the skull.
He spoke with a Liverpool accent.

The Father saw him scrambling over a wall.
Bare-chested, covered in blood.

The priest and the caretaker found her in the office.
Sister Josie, half-naked, lying on her back,
Her arms outspread, as though she'd been crucified.

Her rapist had beat her, stamped on her.
Half strangled her, severed her ear with scissors,
Bit and stabbed and sexually assaulted her.
Sixty separate injuries in all, including
Eight broken ribs and a fractured spine
He was sent to Carstairs without limit of time

Near the street corner in the flats
A homeless man murdered a teenage girl
Hacked her to pieces, hid the parts in a cupboard
With two accomplices. Later, he danced,
Filmed gloating over the murder

A relative moved in across the passageway, thrilled
To have his own keys, a furnished flat
A new life. A fresh start. A cause for celebration

I hadn't the heart to tell him
The yellow and black banner banning entry over the passage
Signalled the council operatives, like busy wasps
Deep cleaning away the remains of the young girl's life

So when from a bus window, I saw a young man face down
On that street, I swithered.
Should I disembark, stand by him, phone the police?

People flowed round him like an urban river
Bypassing a rock.

But I had somewhere to go, to work,
And anyway, it was none of my business

Still it's a niggle, like a stone in the shoe.
What would you do?