Poems | Scottish Poetry Library

Lines On Observing A Blossom On The First Of February, 1796 - by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

{ Poem }

Sweet flower! that peeping from thy russet stem
Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange sort
This dark, frieze-coated, hoarse, teeth-chattering month
Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and gazed upon thee
With blue voluptuous eye) alas poor flower!

Listen tae the Teacher

{ Poem }

He’s five year auld, he’s aff tae school,Fairmer’s bairn, wi a pencil an a rule,His teacher scoffs when he says ‘hoose’,‘The word is “house”, you silly little goose.’He tells his Ma when he gets backHe saw a ‘mouse’ in an auld cairt track.His father laughs fae the stack-yard dyke, ‘Yon’s a “moose”, ye daft wee […]

Love’s Last Suit

{ Poem }

Love, forget me when I’m gone,When the tree is overthrown,Let its place be digg’d and sownO’er with grass ;—when that is grown,The very place shall be unknown,So court I oblivion.So I charge thee, by our love,Love, forget me when I’m gone. Love of him that lies in clayOnly maketh life forlorn—Clouding o’er the new-born dayWith […]

The Veggies’ Olympics - by Les Wheeler

{ Poem }

Runner beans are affa fit
Sproots are fine an swack

Mill o’ Tifty’s Annie - by Scottish anonymous

{ Poem }

At Mill O’ Tifty there lived a man
In the neighborhood of Fyvie
He had a bonnie dochter dear
Whose name was Bonnie Annie

A Dug, A Dug - by Billy Keys

{ Poem }

Hey, daddy, wid yi get us a dug?
A big broon alsatian? Ur a wee white pug,
Ur a skinny wee terrier ur a big fat bull.
Aw, daddy. Get us a dug. Wull ye?

Fi’baw in the Street - by Robert Garioch

{ Poem }

Shote! here’s the poliss,
the Gayfield poliss,
an thull pi’iz in the nick fir
pleyan fi’baw in the street!

The Twa Corbies - by Scottish anonymous

{ Poem }

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’other say,
‘Where sall we gang and dine to-day?’

Sarah: Fed Up - by Janet Paisley

{ Poem }

See ma mammy;
says eat yer dinner.
Gies me cabbidge.

Mrs Nae Offence - by Gregor Steele

{ Poem }

We cry her Mrs Nae Offence –
That’s whit she likes tae say

Clearing The Loft - by Norman Kreitman

{ Poem }

Dismay is waiting behind the door,where across the floor footprints like hieroglyphschronicle the history of past defeats.Dead clothes, the skin of our former selves,still tumble from broken cases, cratessplit their sides with the books, a three-legged chair,bewildered, leans in the corner where a viper’s nestof jerseys entwines a broken lamp –all the high spume and […]

Fishing With Norman MacCaig - by Norman Kreitman

{ Poem }

Each time I called for him he was perfectly ready,equipment checked and in smooth order,pared to essentials. And I, cluttered with gadgets,would clatter behind as he led the way downstairs. In the boat, as befits a sedulous angler,he was taciturn, though between essential wordshe would give that courteous, gentle smilethat was his signature, before his […]

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