Field Days - by
Old Davie still did much farm work by hand.
/ Tae thin neeps, ye gae up an doon thae rowse.
/ Leave…
Scots
Murmansk - by
He minded dem getting torpedoed i da White Sea,
hit blew da boo clean aff.
Da Bulksheid, he held though an dey limpit inta Arcangel,
whaur shu wis lashed ta da peir, an micht still be dere yet.
Drumneachie Ferm - by
The ferm wis a peat shed, a stack o hackit kinnlin
The ferm wis reeshlin corn and a tattiebogle
The ferm wis buits lined up bi the lowe fur blaikin
The ferm wis washin skelpin in the win
Old Tongue - by
When I was eight, I was forced south. Not long after, when I opened my mouth, a strange thing happened. I lost my Scottish accent. Words fell off my tongue: eedyit, dreich, wabbit, crabbit stummer, teuchter, heidbanger, so you are, so am ur, see you, see ma ma, shut yer geggie or I’ll gie you […]
Dr Wha - by
Wha’s jist a thoctie in anither’s heid?
Wha’s Doctor Wha? Wha better kens nor s^he?
Cradle Sang - by
Fa’ owre, fa’ owre, my hinny,
/ There’s monie a weary airt;
/ And nae end to the traikin,
/ For man has a hungry hert.
/
/ What…
Here’s the Weather - by
Fae stooshie tae fankle tae bouroch tae dreck / we’re steeped in the downpour of dialect.
/ …
Breenge - by
This morning, as the 372 shoogled
/ through Carsethorn, hirpled
/ wabbit past the kirk and through
/ dreich smirr hoyed down from
/ droukit braes above,…
This Is It - by
Skint, baw ragged, poackets ful eh ma
/ fingers, cannae afford tae burn toast an
/ it’s November. Christmas is close. Av been
/ away bit…
Trespassing - by
The road was liker a burn :
/ But the trees in the glen were new in leaf,
/ Ilk bairn I met had…
The Neep-Fields By the Sea - by
Ye’d wonder foo the seasons rin
This side o’ Tweed an’ Tyne;
The hairst’s awa’; October-month
Cam in a whilie syne,
But the stooks are oot in Scotland yet
Glory - by
I canna’ see ye, lad, I canna’ see ye,
/ For a’ yon glory that’s aboot yer heid,
/ Yon…