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There was a young person of Ayr,
Whose head was remarkably square:
On the top, in fine weather,
She wore a gold feather;
Which dazzled the people of Ayr.
A Tale

“Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.”
                              —Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak’ the gate;
While we sit bousing at the *****,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o’Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi’ the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon;
Or catched wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drowned himself amang the *****;
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he tak’s the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The De’il had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak’ us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He ******* the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the Dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a ****,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted;
Five scimitars, wi’ ****** crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name *** be unlawfu’.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The Piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,
I *** hae gi’en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags *** spean a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie:
‘There was ae winsome ***** and waulie’,
That night enlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
*** ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotched and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the ****,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,
Remember Tam o’Shanter’s mare.
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).
How well I know this force
that draws fast upon my brain
wages all the energies there retained
Till surging fills each life filled cell
to the roaring torment
and blessed state.

Beyond the horizon
It gathers upon the breath of those Gods
Thor riding the triumphant clouds
bellows into the night's air his charge
Of thickened, dense filled pockets of space
Edgeing upon the fringe of life.

I stand *****, arms out stretched
Like an ancient shaman invoking his god
gathering within my lungs this breath of charged air
and vibrating it out,  I call the gales drifting winds
To sweep and engulf this soul of mine
Into the depths of that tormented breeze.

Hear O ancient one's my haunting cry
That steps out from the Soul and dreams of mine
Awaken again that sacred form and bliss
of natures wrath and constant kiss
To journey but the essence of life.

Thor roars in distant rumbles that gathers
pleads and romps the air and valleys
hammer flung, the metal strikes
and splinters it's flashing rods to earth
Castrating the nights air to its engulfed state.

The winds rush and cross the Firths great stance
Arran haunted to the raging sky
Lightning strikes amongst her giant peaks
Goat fell rages but to the demented storm
Like blasts from battles deep.

The seas roar the triumphant entry
Of the Viking God yet but once again
Upon theses ancient fields of time and place
charging upon the gales ravenous winds and tossed tides
The lordship of Thor upon the planes of Ayr.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
JISKI DHUN PAR DUNIA NAACHE ,DIL AISA EK TARA HAI
JO HUMKO BHI PYARA HAI AYR JO TUMKO BHI PYARA HAI
JHUM RAHI HAI SAARI DUNIA JABKI HUMARO GEETO PAR
TAB KAHTI ** PYAR HUA HAI  KYA EHSHAN TUMHARA HAI

JO  DHARTI SE MABAR JODE USKA NAAM MUHABBAT HAI
JO SEESHE SE PATTHAR TODE USKA NAAM MUHABBAT HAI
KTARA*2 SAGAR TAK ** JATI HAI HAR UMR MAGAR
BAHATA DARAIA WAPAS MODE USKA NAAM MUHABBAT HAI

PANAHO ME JO AAYA ** TO USPE WAR KYA KARNA ?
JO DIL HARA HUA ** USPE FIR ADHIKAR KYA KARNA ?
MUHABBAT KA MAZA TO DUBANE  KI KASHMKASH ME HAI
JAB ** MALUM GAHRAI TO DARIA PAAR KYA KARNA

BASTI BASTI GHOR UDASI  PARVAT PARVAT KHALIPAN
MAN HIRA BEMOL BIK GAYA GHIS GHIS REETA TAN CHANDAN
IS DHARTI SE US AMBAR TAK DO HI CHEEJ GAJAB KI HAI
EK TO TERA BHOLAPAN HAI EK MERA DEEWANAPAN

TUMHARE PAAS HU LEKIN JO DURI HAI SAMAJHTA HU
TUMHARE BIN MERI HASTI ADHURI MAI  SAMAJHTA HU
BAHUT BIKHARA BAHUT TUTA THAPEDE SAH NAHI PAYA
HAWAO KE ISHARO PAR MAGAR MAI BAH NAHI PAYA
ADHURA ANSUNA HI RAH GAYA YU PYAR KA KISSA
KABHITUM SUN NAHI PAYI KABHI MAI KAH NAHI PAYA...

WRITTEN BY  : SHASHANK KUMAR DWIVEDI
                                          1993shashank@gmail.com (FACEBOOK)
Ston Poet Dec 2015
(***** I'm dreaming2),..***** I'm believing,.. I'm chasing hope & faith mane..I'm chasing my dreams, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..***** I'm believing,***** I'm dreaming (Yeah2)..(***** I'm dreaming2)
Dreaming..***** I'm believing, ***** I'm dreaming.. Dreaming..I'm (having hope & faith2)..***** I'm believing.., (I'm having hope & faith2)..***** I'm dreaming, ***** I'm believing, (I'm having hope & faith2)..Yeah..(***** I'm dreaming2)..***** I'm believing, Im (dreaming2)..I'm chasing hope mane,..(I'm chasing my goals & aspirations2)//***** I'm dreaming, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..Aye..(I'm dreaming3)..dreaming, ***** I'm believing , I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations3)..(***** I'm dreaming, my ***** I'm believing2)..(I'm chasing hope & faith 2)..mane,

I ain't chasing after fame, I ain't chasing none of these hos either,..(***** I'm dreaming
2)..***** I'm believing,..I'm dreaming, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations3)..*****, I'm believing, ***** I'm dreaming, ***** (I'm believing2)..(Im dreaming3)..dreaming..,aye..I'm chasing, (my goals & aspirations3)..
Goals & Aspirations.. Aye

That's what I'm chasing after like a hungry cheetah, I never been a cheater, ***** Imma believer, a true believer, a King Yeah..Aye, I'm chasing my goals & aspirations, &( I'm speeding2) like,**** the laws I'm going past the speed limit, **** a stop sign, no braking, I'm in drive *****, Its so hard being patient, but I'm tryna be Aye, no time waiting  , no time waisting, none of my days  being wasted..Im so wavey..Aye, Yeah I'm getting so faded, so wasted, Lord please forgive me even , tho I smoke alot of **** on a regular basis, that's (my medication2)..& I need it, it helps me from going (crazy2)..,I ain't never had **** partner, I come from nothing, I ain't had alot of money at a point of time in my life , I was so broke my *****, all I ever had was my goals , dreams, & aspirations, Yeah I was dreaming, & believing, I was chasing after hope & faith.., not after no females mane,Aye..
Nobody can't tell me nothing paparazzi better stay away from my face, aye I ain't on that Kanye West **** I ain't selling my soul for a happy meal *****, In happy all ready, God owns me, So I'm investing in my own worth homie, Yeah..I'm building my on corporation..Aye man..

(***** I'm dreaming
2),..***** I'm believing,.. I'm chasing hope & faith mane..I'm chasing my dreams, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..***** I'm believing,***** I'm dreaming (Yeah2)..(***** I'm dreaming2)
Dreaming..
I ain't chasing after fame, I ain't chasing none of these hos either,..(***** I'm dreaming
2)..***** I'm believing,..I'm dreaming, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations3)..*****
Uhh,Yeah

/This is (only for the Real
3)..if you don't know well then now you know *****/3,..
Aye, if you don't know *****, then pull a chair up & listen, Turn this **** up & listen, Blaze one up, (& listen
2), pay attention..This is (Only For The Real2)..Aye
I'm teaching ****** lessons like a teacher *****, I didn't have to go to college to teach *****, but that doesn't mean I can't teach you *****, I was blessed wit this gift from God, thank you so much Heavenly Father, thank you so much Jesus Christ, Ayo we all can learn something from each other, we all sisters & brothers word, Uhh..
Let's come together, let's stand up to this curropted government system, rise up & destroy them..Uhh, Aye I usta be all alone man, so lonely stuck in my room writing hits all day, I been a big factor my *****, man I always been the man, Yeah..Uhh, I ain't conceited either my *****, I'm just saying I'm confident,.. (Yeah *****
2)..
I just been (chasing my dreams & aspirations2)..I write (masterpieces2) Pablo Picasso type of ****, if you don't know well now you know this is (Only For The Real2)..Aye,..

/Im chasing my goals & aspirations
2..(my goals & aspirations2)/2

(Aye, we all on3..)..now..we all on..now
(Aye, we all on
3..)..now..we all on..now

/Aye it doesn't matter what anybody gotta say about ya, forget a doubter let them hate man, if you dream it see it in yo mind, & believe it, then you can achieve it/2
**** right..my *****
if you dream it see it in yo mind, & believe it, then you can achieve it..for real dawg..Ayr


You can become anything that you want my ***** for real dawg, gotta push yo self, uplift yo self if nobody else will, chase after hope & faith, chase (your goals *2), chase (your dreams
2) & your aspirations, don't ever stop *****, Cuhz, (anything you put your mind too you can achieve it,2) Yeah mane, you can..Uhh

/***** I'm dreaming, I'm chasing hope & faith, I'm chasing my goals & aspirations/
3
(Goals & aspirations*3)..aye
Now you have freely given me leave to love,
                What will you doe?
        Shall I your mirth, or passion move,
                When I begin to wooe;
Will you torment, or scorn, or love me too?

Each petty beauty can disdain, and I,
                Spight of your hate,
        Without your leave can see, and dye,
                Dispence a nobler Fate,
Tis easie to destroy, you may create.

Then give me leave to love, and love me too
                Not with designe
        To rayse, as Loves curst Rebels doe,
                When puling Poets whine,
Fame to their beauty, from their blubbr’d eyn.

Grief is a puddle, and reflects not clear
                Your beauties rayes;
        Joyes are pure streames, your eyes appear
                Sullen in sadder layes,
In cheerfull numbers they shine bright with prayse.

Which shall not mention, to express you fayr,
                Wounds, flames, and darts,
        Storms in your brow, nets in your hair,
                Suborning all your parts,
Or to betray, or torture captive hearts.

I’le make your eyes like morning Suns appear,
                As mild, and fair;
        Your brow as Crystal smooth, and clear,
                And your dishevell’d hayr
Shall flow like a calm Region of the Ayr.

Rich Nature’s store, (which is the Poet’s Treasure)
                I’le spend, to dress
        Your beauties, if your mine of Pleasure
                In equall thankfulness
You but unlock, so we each other bless.
Hence vain deluding joyes,
  The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
  Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
  And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
  As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams,
Or likest hovering dreams
  The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.
But hail thou Goddes, sage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human sight;
And therfore to our weaker view,
Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnons sister might beseem,
Or that Starr’d Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-hair’d Vesta long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturns raign,
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida’s inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.
Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And sable stole of Cipres Lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Com, but keep thy wonted state,
With eev’n step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thy self to Marble, till
With a sad Leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring,
Ay round about Joves Altar sing.
And adde to these retirèd Leasure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hist along,
‘Less Philomel will daign a Song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,
Gently o’re th’accustom’d Oke;
Sweet Bird that shunn’st the noise of folly,
Most musicall, most melancholy!
Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy eeven-Song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven Green.
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding neer her highest noon,
Like one that had bin led astray
Through the Heav’ns wide pathles way;
And oft, as if her head she bow’d,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu sound,
Over som wide-water’d shoar,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the Ayr will not permit,
Som still removèd place will fit,
Where glowing Embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the Cricket on the hearth,
Or the Belmans drousie charm,
To bless the dores from nightly harm:
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,
Be seen in som high lonely Towr,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those DÆmons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With Planet, or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter’d Pall com sweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennoblèd hath the Buskind stage.
  But, O sad ******, that thy power
Might raise MusÆus from his bower
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew Iron tears down Pluto’s cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own’d the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass,
On which the Tartar King did ride;
And if ought els, great Bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant then meets the ear.
Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appeer,
Not trickt and frounc’t as she was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef’t in a comly Cloud,
While rocking Winds are Piping loud,
Or usher’d with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling Leaves,
With minute drops from off the Eaves.
And when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddes bring
To archèd walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves,
Of Pine, or monumental Oake,
Where the rude Ax with heavèd stroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow’d haunt.
There in close covert by som Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day’s garish eie,
While the Bee with Honied thie,
That at her flowry work doth sing,
And the Waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather’d Sleep;
And let som strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his Wings in Airy stream,
Of lively portrature display’d,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, sweet musick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by som spirit to mortals good,
Or th’unseen Genius of the Wood.
  But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious Cloysters pale,
And love the high embowèd Roof,
With antick Pillars massy proof,
And storied Windows richly dight,
Casting a dimm religious light.
There let the pealing ***** blow,
To the full voic’d Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems cleer,
As may with sweetnes, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into extasies,
And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peacefull hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every Star that Heav’n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To somthing like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
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
I

Ere-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth,
Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring,
And joyous news of heav’nly Infants birth,
My muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
In Wintry solstice like the shortn’d light
Soon swallow’d up in dark and long out-living night.

II

For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
And set my Harpe to notes of saddest wo,
Which on our dearest Lord did sease er’e long,
Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse then so,
Which he for us did freely undergo.
Most perfect Heroe, try’d in heaviest plight
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight.

III

He sov’ran Priest stooping his regall head
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes,
Poor fleshly Tabernacle entered,
His starry front low-rooft beneath the skies;
O what a Mask was there, what a disguise!
Yet more; the stroke of death he must abide,
Then lies him meekly down fast by his Brethrens side.

IV

These latter scenes confine my roving vers,
To this Horizon is my Phoebus bound,
His Godlike acts, and his temptations fierce,
And former sufferings other where are found;
Loud o’re the rest Cremona’s Trump doth sound;
Me softer airs befit, and softer strings
Of Lute, or Viol still, more apt for mournful things.

V

Befriend me night best Patroness of grief,
Over the Pole thy thickest mantle throw,
And work my flatterd fancy to belief,
That Heav’n and Earth are colour’d with my wo;
My sorrows are too dark for day to know:
The leaves should all be black wheron I write,
And letters where my tears have washt a wannish white.

VI

See see the Chariot, and those rushing wheels,
That whirl’d the Prophet up at Chebar flood,
My spirit som transporting Cherub feels,
To bear me where the Towers of Salem stood,
Once glorious Towers, now sunk in guiltles blood;
There doth my soul in holy vision sit
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatick fit.

VII

Mine eye hath found that sad Sepulchral rock
That was the Casket of Heav’ns richest store,
And here though grief my feeble hands up-lock,
Yet on the softned Quarry would I score
My plaining vers as lively as before;
For sure so well instructed are my tears,
They would fitly fall in order’d Characters.

VIII

I thence hurried on viewles wing,
Take up a weeping on the Mountains wilde,
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring
Would soon unboosom all their Echoes milde,
And I (for grief is easily beguild)
Might think th’infection of my sorrows bound,
Had got a race of mourners on som pregnant cloud.

Note: This subject the Author finding to be above the yeers he had,
when he wrote it, and nothing satisfi’d with what was begun,
left it unfinish’d.
K G Mar 2016
AYR
Northern California, much like Laura with marijuana
There tears are like bones, evil like the home to Pandora
Darker than my aura, darker than my aura
My eyes shed tears and there begins the horror
Music in spheres, and billions of chords in honor
Cry Sebastian Feb 2010
Ayr ye scurvy turnpike,
turn yer eyes from me!
The beauty of yer blizzard blue
tears me flannel heart.

Ye bake me mind into applesauce
that hotly drools on down,
me stomache is dissolvin-
all me courage ye have drowned.

Ayre ye wretched rogue of lies,
no one could be so fair.
Must be an imagination demon
with soft an tender hair.

When yer tongue tangs sharply on me lips
me life is drained and dying.
shut that song of love ye sing
that sets me soul a flyin.

Ayre ye **** banshee
Don't never let me go,
Grip me with yer slender claws
so closely we can gro.

This world can't stop yer fire
were gonna burn it down,
with nights of satin passion
were gonna paint the town.

Ayre me ***** of wonders,
ye know I keep ye dear.
I thank ye for yer nightmares
that ye give me every year.
R Forrest Feb 2014
(Jenny's Granny's house. Ayr.)

Where seasonal root veg soup
Warmly journeyed our throats
Granny Jean, skin translucent as glass,
Sheer, showing tendril veins beneath
Crinkled cliff-edge lips at Jenny's budding womanhood
She knew hers lay as barren
As insignificant as the pale Mojave borderlands.

Brazen-cheeked dolls and pastel bears
Audienced my transition from slip to sundress
Back in the lucid haze of the pensioner's kitchen
Where dust particles hived like antique film grain
Sat Jenny; painted lips like crisp apple skin
Freckled cheeks hollowing atop
Her milkshake's flimsy plastic straw

Raspy, bubbly ***** filled
The kitchen; appliances groped
By the pious smite of the sun
The kind of light they say never to walk towards
Then, a weathered cough and the stiff moan of a rocking chair
Just to jest fate
Was none of our business yet; I was taken by the hand

We pass many exhibits
On the austere lilac fridge:
"Mr. & Mrs Richard D. Barclay, wed on 11th of Oct 1961"
And crayoned from her own hand, aged 10; "Me and Granny B"
A waxy glyph on lemon sugar-paper not always in memoriam
But among the moth-wing wallpaper lilies
For now

Dust dunes like mattress ghosts
Collect in mushroom clouds above Jenny's sudden weight
While I feed myself to the mirror
My frock, flesh, hair all seep
Into the totalitarian whiteness of our room
And I am happy if this is my course through life
I know I'm no one

I try on, as I shake goodbye,
Jean's hands; fire-crafted leather baseball gloves
They do not fit just yet but
When my hands no longer sheen in the virtuous sun
When I feel citrus hand soap grate into each wrinkled chasm
I promise you, gran, I will remember
Even the Mojave desert will see rainfall.
COCO Nov 2015
This time I had realised
I am falling
Deepest from my heart
Loving you

Unconditional love
Only for you
To spend my lifetime with

Hear my confession
Trust me
All for you

Wishing you are mine
Until my last breath

May the Al-Mighty would grant my wishes.
AYR.
KIERAN1369 Sep 2017
I got involved in a fight at Cradley Heath
Resulted in losing my two front teeth
Then another fight and a loss of my left eye
Got into a argument on the high street at Ross - on-Wye

A bus accident followed and I lost both feet
I was running for a bus at Birmingham New Street
After this it was the time I lost my hair
It happened in Scotland I think it was in Ayr

My next body part to lose was my dear old *****
Caused by a jealous Welsh husband at Caerphilly
I was talking too much in the town of Louth
Yep you've guessed it I lost my lips and mouth

Please don't pity me I still have my heart and brain
Actually that's a lie as today I got hit by a train
The day just got worse ....
"Tam o' Shanter" is a narrative poem written by the Scottish poet Robert Burns in 1790, while living in Dumfries. First published in 1791, at 228 (or 224) lines it is one of Burns' longer poems, and employs a mixture of Scots and English.

The poem describes the habits of Tam (a Scots nickname for Thomas), a farmer who often gets drunk with his friends in a public house in the Scottish town of Ayr, and his thoughtless ways, specifically towards his wife, who waits at home for him. At the conclusion of one such late-night revel, after a market day, Tam rides home on his horse Meg while a storm is brewing. On the way he sees the local haunted church lit up, with witches and warlocks dancing and the Devil playing the bagpipes. He is still drunk, still upon his horse, just on the edge of the light, watching, amazed to see the place bedecked with many gruesome things such as gibbet irons and knives that had been used to commit murders. The music intensifies as the witches are dancing and, upon seeing one particularly wanton witch in a short dress, Tam loses his reason and shouts, 'Weel done, cutty-sark!' ("cutty-sark": short shirt). Immediately, the lights go out, the music and dancing stop, and many of the creatures lunge after Tam, with the witches leading. Tam spurs Meg to turn and flee and drives the horse on towards the River Doon as the creatures dare not cross a running stream. The creatures give chase and the witches come so close to catching Tam and Meg that they pull Meg's tail off just as she reaches the Brig o' Doon.

— The End —