Scots Poems From Meenstrukk Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Meenstrukk: Pamphlet 173

Hosie's Tears
Twa luvers trysted on the brae, lang years ago on Bennachie
An swore they'd be forever true until the sea turned crammosie

A warrin Heilan army cam tae kill an spuilzie aa aroon
Hosie pit on a sodjer's claes, set aff tae fecht an ding them doon

Bit on the sair field o Harlaw he yielded tae anither's dirk
A prisoner, he wis merched awa tae Heilan lans o bog an mirk

His lassie murned fur sivven years until anither dried her een
An on their verra waddin day young Hosie he lowped in atween

Ower late, she wis a wadded wife, bit at the sicht o ane thocht deed
She turned her roon an gaed a sigh an as a corp laid doon her heid

Young Hosie didnae wyte ower lang, his noble hairt it brakk in twa
His tears still rummle throwe the girse tho in the mools he's lang awa

Sae aa true luvers mind yer vows haud true tae them throw aa the years
Takk tent o thon young lassie's wae, mind on the cause o Hosie's tears


Meenstrukk
The hill o Morven in Cromar is biggt o rock that's aa its lane
Fremmit as ony far flung star an auncient mystery-shroudit stane

Sib tae the rocks fand on the meen that owerluiks thon seely howe
Like distant cousins hynie back born in the Eirde's birth cradle lowe

Sae fin ye staun upon the tap o Morven cast yer een up heich
An watch fur merks o glamourie shared bi thon Ben an the meenlicht

I think the meen luiks kindly doon upon the lans aroon Cromar
At nicht the corn glents an sheens like spirkies frae a drappit star

Ett yer denner
Ett yer denner
Think o the warld's stervin
Think o the waste gin ye dinna
Think o the time spent makkin ye thon brae denner
Yer nae leavin the table till it's etten
Mither, dottled or nae dottled.


Lowes
Flames lowp heicher in trees and
In the USA and Australia
Hale wids gae wheech in a glisk

Flames lick the shanks o witches
Birssle their hurdies

The doucest lowe is a caunle
Wee, pouerfu, an kind.


Hameless, Asleep
As a bairn I paiddlit in the Dee
Ae Simmer's day in Ballater's Wee Dooker,
Teenage campers there, hid smashed a glaiss
I stude on shards, ran skirlin frae river

A gowfer flang his clubs, throwe buttercup
An girse, he ran an gently scooped me up
I wadnae lat the doctor near the cuts
Time healed bit left the scaurs, like fleshy ruts

Whyles, phantom stobs o pain stoun ben ma fit
Tho surely nae shards bide embedded yet
Somelike the veesion o a chiel I saw
Frae a bus windae pane, his orra den
O rubbish, cardboord sleepin aa his lane
Aneth a stoory unnerpass. A scene frae Hell
That like the ghaistly stob aneth the skin
Whyles gars me grue, his rank hame infernal

Neebors
Nigeria, Poland, China, Syria
Oor neebourhood's a cosmopolitan mell
Wi multi-residencies stapped wi students
An twa three Scots. Each hoose keeps tae itsel
Auld faschence is the towe that ties us aa
Fa's peintit, insulatit, harled their waa
Fa's lichts flash on at passerbye bi night
Tae gie the wid -be thief a nesty fricht
Fa's CCTV wi its watchful ee
Spies oot fa vandalises, far dugs pee

I envy gairdens far hydrangeas brier
An rhododendrons, aa I growe turns sere
An aabody hates the chiel fa hogs the street
Wi twa cars, vans an bikes, a motor freak

Neist door, a wee tyke barks an cocks a lug
Its pelt the texture o a yirdit rug
An like deid teeth, jist wytin tae be pued
The vacant hames o newly deid ance lued
As wikk bi wikk their lawns growe rank an strang
Intae a wilderness far weeds are thrang
An their wee gairdens, aince sae prood wi flooers
Sport pee the beds, an nettles, rubbish bouers
Aa's unca dowie, gairden yett skweejee
For Sale signs hing abune thir property
An we fa kent them, noo retired as weel
Fan will we tae, be vacancies tae fill?


The Spikkin Glen
I am the gean that briers abune the burn
I'm five years auld, the burn's been aeons rinnin

I am the glen that waukers, luvers sikk
Far stalkers cull the stags, the deer herd thinnin

I am the michty erne, the king of birds
Ma cleuks an beak are aa I need fur wirds

I am the linn that tummles tae the puil
Far angler's line gaes ower the watter spinnin

I am the win that gars the laricks showd
The wattergaw that hides ahin the cloud

I am the stanes that staun abune the heath
The ferns that wyve on ilkie brae aneth
I am the sun that faas on traivellers' heids
The hole inbye the dyke far futterats breed

I am the blueberries swete tae taste
I am the mist that furls like a ghaist

I am the caller air that cweels the peat
I am the tod's derk den, the whaup's wing beat

I am the ling, the rose, the slicht harebell
I am the kernel o yer inner sel

Tae those fa ken me, takk me tae their hairt
I haud them closely, even fin apairt

Deeside
Hae ye seen the kelpie's needle far the waters o the Dee
Splyter skinklin bi Inchmarnach far the waves are lowping free?

Hae ye wauked the nemmeless corrie in the lea o Lochnagar?
Nearhaun Crathie fur a wolf aince terrifeed the lans o Mar

Hae ye stude in cauld Glen Girnock, wi its bagpipe chanter stanes
Far the win gaes soughin eerie, throw the derk glen's singin banes

Hae ye wannert alang Greystane, bi the Twa Boar Holes o Crathie?
Or heard the laricks soughin ower the Burnie siller stappie

By Craig Nordie, Cairn-na-Cuimhne, ilkie drappit warrior's stane
Tells o chiels fa deid in battle, leavin waves tae murn alane
An at Deirdre's puil they tell, tales o Fingal's deeds himself
Far the braes rise braw an bonnie wi the purple heatherbell

Aa alang the glens o Dee there are airts o glamourie
Stag an adder, crag an scree, in its Celtic treasurie

Tod in the Toun
Fit are ye daein in a schule playgrun?
Staunin there, luikin me squar on
Cockin yer lugs fur souns o tyke or gun

The playgrun's teem, ower early fur the bairns
It's 7am, anely a fish hoose wirker steers
Ahin hoose waas, some birze an ithers rug on claes
The toun like a birrin bus, steps up its gears

Yer weirin the colours o Autumn
A livery o russet broons an creams
Blaik tooshts on the tips o yer lugs
Yer a breet o magic an dreams

Ma presence skytes aff ye
Like rain aff a holly
Yer paws grip the grun
Like a warrior, merkin his territory

Yer braw tail sweeshes ahin ye
There's nae a car tae be heard
Anely the doon flichter o a leaf
An in the teemness, nae ae human wird

An here ye are, nae huntin bit reivin
Thievin frae backies and bins
Tasties left ower frae last nicht's chippie suppers
Haddies, haggis, scampie an sausage skins

Ye leave the calligraphy o yer paws
Ower urban gairdens, like a signature
Mair sleekit, an far bonnier, than a scurrie
Eenoo, in this cauld mornin daybrakk oor

I wid hae liked tae pett, tae straik ye
Bit feared yer teeth, the bite that ye could gie
Ye turn an treetle aff upon yer traivels
Secret an winnerfu, scavengin an slee


Bairn Rhymes

Jack the Capercailzie
Jack was a capercailzie. He bedd at the Burn o Vat
He niver smiled fur he had nae friens, noo fit dae ye think o that?
He wis terrible ill natured, he snapped wioot a rizzon
All year roon he grumphed an gurred like a bear in the angry sizzon
Ae day a stag gaed waukin intae the Burn o Vat
An afore that Jack could open his beak, he tossed him up like a rat
An fin Jack cam doon he kicked him, bye far the meen gaes furlin
And noo he orbits Saturn, as a satellite aywis girnin


Yaavins
Yaavins, yaavins kittle ma skin doon ma sark far the win blaas in
Better than nettles stingin yer cuits. Gin ye wauk ben nettles weir lang buits


The Teenie Crocodile
I had a tiny crocodile that cam frae Foggyloan
It widnae share TV remotes. It always hogged the phone

I selt it tae a pop star tae plunk intae his bath
Tae fleg the paparazzi, an bite them fur a lauch


Victor Vratch
Victor Vratch is ma favourite craa,
He keeps his beak trig an his feathers are bra
I feed him on pizza, spaghetti, mince pies
He sits in the kirk in the verra front staa
He craas fin the meenister threeps oot Amen
He coonts tae a hunner, he kens aboot Zen
He gaes tae the loo fin he's wintin a jobby
An pykin oot een is his favourite hobby


The Hen frae Ecclefechan
I met a hen frae Ecclefechan, awfu gutsy, aywis peckin
As roon as a balloon she grew. Syne burst, we turned her intae stew



Granny's Tablet
Ma granny thinks tablet is toffee, I'm ettlin tae get her tae use
Her iPod… she says that technology has eyndit in blawin a fuse
She doesnae like spikkin on FaceTime. She doesnae like spikkin on Zoom
The last time she skyped, in a snorrel, she crashed the Wi-Fi in the toon.


Food
Fin I wis wee ma mither said I hid tae clear ma plate
Bit soup that hid spaghetti in't I cudnae help bit hate
Fit food dae ye like? Is't ice cream? Or chocolate, chips or cheese?
Bit ettin foods that taste sae fine we're telt gies us disease

A teenie suppie here an there is aa we get tae takk
There's even veggie muffins nooI canna stammache that

They say that we are fit we ett I like a jaiket tattie
An thon is foo, ahin ma back I hear fowk caa me fattie


Pets
Jimmy his a pet bull dug it wauks wi bandy legs
Its braith stinks like a midden an fur teeth it his twa pegs

Sophie his a cattie, a pet far beasties heeze
She skooshes it wi potions tae clear its fur o flees

Willie his a gowdfish ane o thon tropic breeds
It piddles in its tank an rises up tae ett its seeds

Mary hid a parrot. It liked tae clean its cleuks
Bit Mary hid tae gie it back.It brocht her oot in plooks


Transport
I like tae flee up in a plane an watch the clouds sail by
I look oot on a wattergaw an hear the scurries cry

I like tae traivel in a train gaun wheechin doon the line
I like the Harry Potter train I wish that it wis mine

I'd shovel coal richt doon its throat an makk its furnace bleeze
An gar the engine chooch an wheech an blaw rikk ben the trees
I like tae hurl in a car tae wids, wi picnic hampers
Tae places I could niver reach fin waukin on ma tramplers

I like tae cycle doon the braes, an see the warld flee past
An aa the rubbits rin awa. A bicycle's a blast!

I like tae drive a tractor, across the dubby grun
Aa sheeny reid an hotterin, a tractor's biggt fur fun

Hey Jock's ma cuddy, Ma cuddy lives o'er the dyke,
An' if ye kick ma cuddy, ma cuddy'll gie ye a bite.


Bodies
Ma sister Jeannie sweems like troot
She should hae bin born wi scales
I'm certain she's sib tae a kelpie
She's a fish frae her lugs tae her nails

Ma brither Tammy plays tennis
He skelps the baa ower the net
He could crack a nut unner his oxters
He'll be a warld champion yet

Ma granny Teenie dis naethin
Bit read as she sits on her dock
Fin she's beeriet her snoot in a story
She losses the time on the clock


The Tattie Bogle
I am a tattie bogle I staun oot in the park
Tae flegg the hoodie craas awa an stop their chorin wark

I am a tattie bogle wi claes aa tashed an torn
I flap ma tatterwallops tae guaird the fermer's corn

I am a tattie bogle wi a neepie fur a heid
I thole the win, the rain, the snaa, a hardy chiel indeed


Doon in the Ocean
Doon in the ocean far shark's teeth flash
The parten's nippers gae snash snash snash
The octopus wummles an the jeelyfish shakk
An watter skails aff the great whale's back

Up on the waves there are pirate ships
Toorists paiddle far the dolphin dips
Surfers skyte ben the tummlin tide
Far the buckies an the barnacles an wee boats bide

Doon by the ocean there are sanny puils
Wi mermaid's purses far the green dulse sweels
The tide gaes oot an the tide cams in
An ice cream slidders aff a wee bairn's chin