Scots Poems From Neptune's Staircase Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Widdendreme (nightmare)
I dreamt the wild hunt raced alang the nicht
Skeleton riders on their baney shelts
An fearsome wis The Horde tae mortal sicht

Warlords o Norsemen, Picts, an aucient Celts
Drivin the Wins afore them, storm an hail
The skulls o victims hingin frae their belts

The Horde breenged ower the clouds, tap o a gale
Daith skirled aroon them, gart aa birdies flee
Ghaists jyne them in their eildritch Heivenly trail

Aa nicht I tossed, tholed thon cacophony
The thunnerin hooves drummed ramstam in ma lugs
Till day-brakk brocht an eyn tae thon fey spree

Abriachan Wids
The larick is gracefu, the swetest o trees
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie
Her cousin the pine rattles cones in the breeze
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie

At gloamin Abriachan wids takk their ease
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie
An saft thrum the bummers, their brithers the bees
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie

Reid squirrels gae skytin up hazel an ash
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie
Pine martens an brocks disappear in a flash
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie

There's Herb Robert, an tormentil, bird's foot trefoil
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie
An an auld coffin track, an a tint fuskey still
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie

There's tree pipits, lichens, wid warblers an wrens
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie
An aroon the swete scent o the heath in the glens
Leerichie, larichie, leerichie

The Fairy Puils, Skye
Did ye cam by the fairy puils
The fairy puils, the fairy puils
Did ye cam by the fairy puils
Tae see the fairies dauncin?

I cam by the fairy puils
The fairy puils, the fairy puils
I cam by the fairy puils
I saw the nickums prancin

Oh did ye takk them by the haun
By the haun, by the haun?
I didnae takk them by the haun
The fairies' wyes are dauntin

If I had taen them by the haun
By the haun, by the haun
If I had taen them by the haun
Ma family wid be murnin


Neptune's Staircase
Neptune, wid ye enter the staircase?
Lat locks heist ye up an awa
Biggit bi Tammas Telford,
Ye can be sure ye winna faa!

Neptune, fit dae ye think o Ben Nevis?
Saxty fower fit in the air, ye've gaen
See Loch Linnhe an its waters bonnie
The Caledonian Canal's supreme!


Midgies
A midgie bite's waur than a hornet's sting
It'll hae ye dauncin the heilan fling
They arrive in thoosans yer bluid tae sook
Yer left wi byles like a stoonin plook

Aboot oor midgies I like tae blaw
Tae fleg the toorists I craa, I craa
Bit in the heilans this year ye ken
There wisnae a midgie in howe or glen


Cauf Days
Ma cauf days didnae cause ithers offence
I'd paiddle, plyter, skim steens, splash an dook
I'd play wi dubs an dockens, makkin mince
Nae electronic ferlies. Jist a buik
Wis aa the stimulation that I nott
I'd fish fur bandies, plunkin them in jars
An nae computer fried ma growin harns
At nicht I'd feast ma een on meen an stars


Eftir Daith
I shauchle tae ma bed, coddlin ma sairs
Winnerin fan I'm gaun tae jyne the deid.
Fit peers are due tae drap in the Abyss?

I like tae think fowks' ain faith sets the compass
I like tae think I'll jyne the cosmic bree
Wi mebbe meetin whyles, tint faimily.

Classical speerits wytin bi the Styx
Auncient Egyptians waukin the Field o Reeds
Moslem believers safe in Paradise, weel planned
Christians in Heiven, snod amang the clouds
Buddhist Nirvana, Celtic Tir na nÓg
Vikings' Valhalla, Shinto's Warld o Derkness
Hindu Reincarnation, Theosophists' Simmerlan

Fin I wis five, I wis an animist
I kent that I wis sib tae burns an Bens,
Tae stags, fish, leaf an tree
An auld wife noo, I still believe thon's true
An animist turned Buddhist, patently

Eftir daith… real Hell micht anely be
The Unkent, cairried on eternally


Loch Ness Alpacas
Niver mind luikin fur Nessie
There's alpacas tae meet by Loch Ness
Ye can meet them an feed them an greet them
Thon alpacas are sure tae impress

Mercury, Jupiter, Chaos
Zodiac, Aero an Luno
Apollo, an Star, rose-grey Storm
Tae Scotlan frae far Altiplano!

On the First Day o Xmas this is fit I ett
1. A ten pun roast turkey
2. Twa brussel sproots
3. Three clootie dumplins
4. Fower byled tatties
5. Five dough baas
6. Sax buttered rowies
7. Sivven sausage rolls
8. Echt sherry trifles
9. Nine chocolate sweeties
10. Ten dauds o shortbread
11. Eleyven efter echts
12. Twal Rennie peels


Doric Owersett o I lost my identity card bi Yehuda Amichai
I tint ma identity caird.
I hae tae screive oot ma curriculum vitae
aa ower again fur mony offices, ae copy tae God
an ane tae the deil. I mind
the photie taen thirty-three years back
at a win-scoored neuk in the Negev.
Ma een wir prophets syne, bit ma body hid nae idea
fit wis happenin tae it or far it belanged.
Ye aften say, Thon is the airt,
This happened richt here, bit it's nae the airt,
ye jist think sae an live in error,
an error fas eternity is greater
than the eternity o truith.
As the years gae by, ma life keeps fullin up wi nemmes
like abandoned graveyairds
or like a daft history class
or a telephone buik in a fremmit toun.
An daith is fin somebody keeps cryin fur ye
an cryin fur ye
an ye nae langer turn roon tae see
fa it is