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Ek het die siek gewoonte om oog op te slaan
en die nagprag te aanskou met digters-oog
wat 'n ster van elke mens wil maak
en elkeen wil bekoor, maar
selfs al span ek al my mag in
is daar een ster hoog verhewe...

Daar sit die ster op 'n tuinstoel troon ,
oe betowerer deur die vuur
andag gestrek deur die ganse heelal
- orals behalwe hier,

waar ek soos 'n straatbrak honger kyk,
aan die voete van 'n ster
*** almal bietjie aandag eis
*** almal van jou kry
maar ek soos 'n een aand wonder
uitteer aan jou droewe stilswy

My slapelose nagte
maak my van die drome vry
want in realiteit, al kyk ek vir die sterre,
kyk hulle soms verby.
Apon tha roll O' tha pagan's dream
As it leaps an' boun's apon tha mental stream
Flowing doon intae tha cordons o' solitaire
Near tha brigs O' tha banks O' Bonnie Ayr.

Tha whispering Hazel catches huld tha tune
Echoing tha mysteries a' tha wae tae Troon
As a glimmer O' lichtning crosses tha Sky
He, tha ancient an' grand Wizard stoans apon Carrick high.

Configurations an' transformations by god
Far ayond tha concepts o' tha blunnering sod
Catch hold Lad tha spirit as it flees past ye
Heading oot taewards Arran across tha sea.

Does no tha Seagull scream tae enchant tha ******
an' the win' blaws like some evil melody played by a Demon
An' dinnie wait tae lang tae grasp tha chain
O' life's faithful given, tha Barley, Wheat an' Grain.

But come see tha Mither apon her Earth filled seat
As tae tha wonnerous farmer She bows tae Greet
That apon tha Seasons O' echoed fate they may come tae restore
Tha True religion O' this land, O' this flaming shore.

Nue listen an' be quite till pass a' hoors break
an' bin' ye thagither tha dreams an' thouchts that ye take
an' cast it a' apon tha Fires O' Beltanes torch
Tae watch as tha flames reach higher an' higher, tha heevens tae scorch.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
One Christmas Eve in Stranraer
I found mahsel' ****** in a bar
Wi' a fat Dumfries ****;
Ach, 'twas easy tae score,
Once I tell't her I'd kipped wi' her Ma.

I spent Christmas morn in Prestwick
Wi' a girl whose lips were aye thick
(not the ones on her face
but in t'other place).
Their hugeness fair crushed ma braw ****.

That night near auld Newton Stewart
Wi' a lass who declined aye tae do it,
I used all mah' charm
And twisted her arm,
But the smell in her breeks made me rue it.

On Boxing Day evening in Ayr,
I met a girl who had a huge pair
Of bonnie fat ****;
They thrilled me tae bits
Before I explored her "doon there".

Galloway lassies are corkers
And Girvan girls are laud squawkers;
But for suckin o' the ****
Tak' yersel' tae Cumnock,
If ye dinnae mind fat spotty porkers.

You're no wondering doubt, in this poem,
Why no lassies have met a fell doom
(so I'll mention the death
of poor ugly Beth
Who got squashed in a ******* in Troon).
Daan  Apr 2019
Feiten
Daan Apr 2019
Er zijn één miljoen mieren
per persoon. Zo veel
vloeiende dieren
bestaande, voor zo'n
helft, uit water.
Toch zit uitgerekend
het uilskuiken later
in het parlement ten troon.
Artikel 13 met natte vingers

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