Win-Blawn (Poems In Scots)

The Hairst
Plastic potties, tubs an trays
Yoghurt cartons, cans o juice
Cardboord, paper, bottlies, tins
Rowed up ferlies on the lowse

Chittered letters, pyokes an lids
Ribbons, tinnies frae a bevvy
Soss o aipple rinds an pips
Haunwash bottles, phone buiks wechty

Buiks an aerosols an sauce
Save the planet is the aim
Magazine an catalogue
Reuse, recycle an reclaim


The Tenants
There's breets that bide in a body's hame,
Forkietail, slater an moose
Emerteen, flech, moch, ratten an wirm
The tenants that bide in yer hoose

They chitter an chaa they piddle an keech
Ower cashmere cotton an linen
Thon hornygollachs are breets tae fleg
A mini breets' Armageddon

Gin ye wir a Jain ye'd sikk them in
Tae share her maet wi aa
Bit Mr Ratten a step ower far
He's nae tae be tholed ava


Tragic Form
Hae ye seen Ken Currie's peintin o a skate?
The dowiest moo in the warld,
Doonturnin, deid.

Ae meenit sweemin ben the sea,
The neist, catched in a picture o Aybydan wae
Post Mortem state

Le Coureur: The Runner.
Plap, plap, plap
The soun o the rinner's trainers
Skelpin alang the howe
Pechin, alane an shilpit
Hochs like knottit towe

Plap, plap plap
The rinner's semmit is sypin
Frae the tip o his snoot tae his taes
The swat faas dreepin

Plap plap plap
Like a chiel on a wirkhoose wheel
The rinner is thin's a straa
Blawn ben a lanesome dreel

Plap plap plap
Tho ilkie jynt is stoonin
Fit is he rinnin fur?
Fun o a kind. Inhuman.


The Anely Solution
Wee bairn dowped in a baby cairrier
Strapped in wi a safetyharness
Alane on the fleer itsel

Is it asleep?
Is it deid?
Far is the mither? The faither?

It has the reenge o a bomb
Tae rive a faimily apairt

Foo's it bin left it's lane?
Somebody'll hae tae pye!

Will ye wauk on by? Ignore it?
Wid ye becam pairt o the problem
Gin ye decidit tae haud it?



Ghaist-Spikk
Fit dae ye dae in the eftirlife
Ma darlin son, ma lammie?
I keep nicht-watch wi the ghaistie-fowk
That's fit I dae, ma mammy

Fa dae ye tryst wi in the derk
Ma darlin son, ma lammie?
I tryst wi the deid fowk bi the kirk
They're ma friens noo, ma mammy

Fan micht I jyne ye in the mools
Ma darlin son, ma lammie?
Fin ye've larned the wirth o human jewels
Fin ye've larned their wirth, ma mammy

Can ye forgie me ma mistaks
Ma darlin son, ma lammie?
It's your mistaks caused ma hertbrakks
Ower late wi her tears, ma mammy


Paedo
He stude ootbye the schule
Breeks at hauf mast
Giein it laldy

The bairns watched bumbazed
The daddies chased him
Stottit his heid aff the grun

The polis arrived an oor eftir
Spylin the fun


The Mechanic
Scrappy the mechanic,
Luiked like a deevilick frae Hades

As a bairn, I thocht he bedd
In thon pit aneth the intimmers o hurtit buses

Ile dreeped ower his lugs
Straikit his hale physog like a twa legged panda

Whyles he fussled in his yirdit overalls
Maister o the wrench, the sowder iron
His een aye glowerin up at weers an plugs.

He wis swack as a futterat, gleg as a hoolet.
His wireless blooterin oot some Fifties tune
As ither buses birred aff stappt wi fowk
Tae Ben an lanely clachan

It maun hae taen is wife a month o Sabbaths
Tae scoor an dicht the ile frae Scrappy's skin

I passed him in the street aince, didna ken him
A cheil wi glentin een an rosy chikks


Desperate Dan at the Holyrood Gairden Pairty
At the Holyrood Gairden Pairty
(I'm a National Treisur ye ken)
I'd rather hae coo pies than canapes
I'm a cultural icon mangst men

Ma muscles are better nor Pope Eye
Ma chest hair could thatch Bennachie
I beat Batman an Shrek intae bitticks
Superhero frae Bonnie Dundee


The Day Las Vegas Flittit tae Aiberdeen
Croupiers wir mugged bi scurries insteid o scorpions
Hostesses in fish net hose
Crooded into Casualty wi pneumonia

Ower in Americay
Aiberdonians swapped wintry clyes fur semmits
Their dugs poo birssled intae heat-baked crummles
Nae need tae scoop the poop


Whuppity Stoory as Mither
Whuppity Stoory's bin spied in Mamas & Papas
Buyin babby claes fur a new-born littlin

Adoption agencies wisnae sympathetic because:
She wis three hunner year auld
She wis a puir role model
She wis a caird-cairryin pagan
She keepit puddocks in the kitchie
She cudnae answer the questions on British ceetizenship
(Bar aa the info aboot Jamie Saxth)

The fertility gadgie widnae treat her because:
Her ovaries wir crined as hizzlenuts
Her wyme wis a howked-oot Halloween neep
Her titties wis dry as the Kalahari desert
It wid be like sawin seeds in a teem chunty

Bit she kent hersel she'd be a braw mither
Better than thon girnin gype wi the seek grumphie
Sae easy tricked intae giein the bairn awa

Whuppity story dreamt that herself an the laddie
Wid flee tae Disneywarld on her breem
She'd makk him the warlock o aa warlocks
It's nae as if thon gype, his mither
Wid iver jeloose her name…

by Sheena Blackhall

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