Scots Archives - Scottish Poetry Library

Gie’s yer Haun - by Don Paterson

{ Poem }

Merkin time in the reel thegither / ye’ll be cantin the sang wi me

Yon Hairy Stick - by Jo Gilbert

{ Poem }

Tak great delight in watchin him itch / recht uncomfy wae sic self-honesty, / He disnae see fit we dae:

The Snaws o Yestreen - by David Bleiman

{ Poem }

Mais où sont les neiges d’antan? (François Villon) Snaw, snaw, haud awa,affa dyke an affa wa,whaur are the snaws o lang afore? Lang syne in Fair-a-Fa’twa craws sat on a wa,haein a clish-clash, haein a jaw,the day was blashie, rowstie rawan washed awa the muckle snaw. Snaw, snaw, haud awa,affa dyke an affa wa,whaur are […]

Autumn IX - by Sheena Blackhall

{ Poem }

The daith o leaves is roon the neuk
It peints them yalla, reid an broon
An doon they’ll drap like faain rain
In waesome Autumn’s dowie croon

Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead - by Sheena Blackhall

{ Poem }

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 […]

A fine day - by Maxine Rose Munro

{ Poem }

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, […]

Bawd bi the Dee - by Sheena Blackhall

{ Poem }

Sing like a linty - by Hamish MacDonald

{ Poem }

For these are the ones
Wha stand on the sidelines
Like hunters wi guns.

Afore a Nicht Oot - by Paul Malgrati

{ Poem }

luvebites o efternoons
wither unner tweed;

Nichts o the Lívin Deid - by Thomas Clark

{ Poem }

Kirkyaird, nicht – the hoastin yird
Astir aneath a smit-smuir shrood

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 […]

The Veggies’ Olympics - by Les Wheeler

{ Poem }

Runner beans are affa fit
Sproots are fine an swack

1 2 3 … 12