The Full Tenderness of Parting - by
In the trysting thorn’s fragrant shade
my love deflowered a harebell, crushed
plum petals between finger and thumb,
scented my hollows with adder-grey water.
Occasion: Burns Night
The Unheard Testimony of Agnes Wilson - by
Lads of the Auld Licht,
she has always lamented
nights spent serving
foul ale and stale flesh
to your fathers.
A Love Letter From One Of Robert Burns Women - by
It is late now, into the tail arms of Morpheus I fall,
our love will live on in the hearts of many;
you have been the most beautiful worship.
Robert Burns in Scottish Stanza - by
I live on, I play on the souls
Of many from where heather grows
And beyond as life does unfold
Each year I’m sung
On my birthday I rise and roll
Kiss winter sun.
The Night Robert Burns Skull Went For A Walk - by
A phrenologist, spiritualist, Victorian scientist,
surgeon & two workmen swaddled together
to exhume the body of Robert Burns
& raise him from the long dead.
A dank black stone
of the muddy underworld
coughed out his skeleton
as the lantern wobbled & ladder shook.
Address to a Haggis - by
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
/ Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
/ Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
/ …
Rabbie, Rabbie, Burning Bright - by
Fae dregs o Daft Deys debt comes hame
and we gaither in depression’s wame
aa duty-crossed –
but Burns’s birthday is a flame
set tae Defrost.
For the Centenary of The Scotch Whisky Association - by
“If freedom an whisky gang thegither”: Robert Burns
/
/ i.
/ When we sit wined and finely dined,
/ Dressed up in oor best, braw and…
A Man’s a Man for a’ That - by
Is there for honest Poverty
/ That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
/ The coward-slave, we pass him by,
/ We dare be poor for…
The Original (Selkirk) and the Alternative Grace - by
with apologies
/
/ Some hae meat and canna eat
/ And some wad eat that want it:
/ But we hae meat and we can eat,
/ And…
A Birl for Burns - by
From the start, Burns’ birl and rhythm,
/ That tongue the Ulster Scots brought wi’ them
/ And stick to still in County Antrim
/ Was…
To a Louse, On Seeing one on a Lady’s Bonnet at Church - by
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlan ferlie!
/ Your impudence protects you sairly:
/ I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
/ Owre gawze and lace;
/ Tho’…