Come an worship at the altarO thon skeelie screiver WalterTeller o hairt grippin talesSome write tadpoles, he wrote whales Marmion, Guy ManneringThe Antiquary, KenilworthWriter’s block wisnae his problemNiver had o wirds a dearth Antiques Roadshow filmed a programmeThere, at Abbotsford, Scott’s hameHere, the Lay of the Last MinstrelAdded tae Auld Wattie’s fame Big Screen moguls […]
Thi watter taen yous oan a bonnie day,north sea canny as a favourite dug,naething tae fear fae hir bark ir bite.Hir treisure laid bare fir thi takin. Did yous hae a blether afore ye slippit awa,a gaggle afore thi sea claimed yous?A remember ye as thon laddie in class,thi ane that could eyewis mak us […]
Hit wis da swans, dat’s whit it wis.Dat’s whit set da day apairt. Twa cygnets, happit in emsket,a midder, a faider. A peerie geo aa ta wirsels, whaar waves yockitsands saftly, maas cried oot abun, an da sun drappit waarmest hugsapö wir shooders, glinkin atween white cloods o oo. Bit da swans,no buddered be dat, […]
(Jamie, 2004, Hawick) That’s his kitbag lyin there.I wonder if his shirt’s folded square. I ayeways hae tae turn his collar doun –he’s got that lang and lankycuttin gress an diggin gairdens. The Airmy recruiters looked that smairt,staunin bi the Horse an the Cross. They let him feel the wecht of the gun,telt him there […]
On 21 December 1988, the longest night of the year, Pan Am Flight 103 fell on the small town of Lockerbie, killing all 259 passengers and crew, and 11 Lockerbie residents. It remains the worst terrorist attack on UK soil. The Wishin’ Gate Leuk beneath ma gravestane,through the keekie-hole when the rowan’s laden,when the summer’s […]
On Turning One Down with the Plow, in April, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flow’r, Thou’s met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem: To spare thee now is past my pow’r, Thou bonie gem. Alas! it’s no thy neibor sweet, The bonie lark, companion meet, Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet Wi’ spreck’d breast, When upward-springing, […]
It fell on a day, in the flouery month o May A’ on a merry merry mornin I met a pretty maid, an unto her said I wad fain fin yer yellow yellow yorlin O no, young man, says she, you’re a stranger to me An I am anither man’s darlin Wha haes baith sheep […]
He is a gallant Weaver.
O, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
And I was fear’d my heart wad tine,
And I gied it to the Weaver.
We made it together you and me
Planned the foundation,
Built waws and opened doors
Tae make a hoose, a hame and family
If there’s ever an honest poverty A virgin voyage on tempest sea Tae dig in pillaged dirt Graft cane tae plundered pewter Grams lashed anothers shackelled hand. A man’s a man for aw that? Well no back broke in the plantations. We understand ye didnae go Although ye might have longed it so Midnight flit […]
Twa hunner years on they still sing alang
“Fer a sheeps cloot she’ll do it and do it til morn”
But I’ll sing yer worth Meg atween aw they lines
Yer a bairn, a wumman, a Goddess divine.
I cuid fain the musk o anither man’s lust,
Tell this bastard that I’ve got a darlin
Or tak his siller and pretend, that I dae consent
Tae the stealin o my yellow yellow yorlin
