"deid" poems - Hello Poetry

An ither Burns night, Has finally come alang, If you've got an invite, You'll hae to sing a song, You'll soon be reciting poems, Wi a whisky in one hand, A haggis in the ither, You'll be feeling mighty grand, Daein wan o Rabbies, Or wan you've writ yersel, Gie it public airing, You'll hae us in a spell, Once the night's ower, Poems spinning round yer heid, Burns night is for aw body, It's a pity that he's deid.

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Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC

raymond-dickson

An ither Burns night

An ither Burns night, Has finally come alang, If you've got an invite, You'll hae to sing a song, You'll soon be reciting poems, Wi a whisky in one hand, A haggis in the ither, You'll be feeling mighty grand, Daein wan o Rabbies, Or wan you've writ yersel, Gie it public airing, You'll hae us in a spell, Once the night's ower, Poems spinning round yer heid, Burns night is for aw body, It's a pity that he's deid.

16

Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill. -Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot. But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww, must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat, d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge? -Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times and finally the gadge yells back to ays, -Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter, me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation, which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree. I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but, eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me, when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh? -That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled, thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher withoot gi'ing her a guid ride. Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee **** called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall. -Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays, takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin. Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon, Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond, ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen, 'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot, but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww, heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse 'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** ******* 'n her ***** was on display under her skirt. Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh? -Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot, but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid, ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww, but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin, 'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA, those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken. So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre, but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants, ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'. And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse, so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ****** 'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis. Eh?

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Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC

edna-sweetlove

Hillspoatin'

Ah wuz lookin oot o' mah winder and ah saw this lad wi' a barry wee lassie gaun' up the hill. -Wair the **** d'ye think you're gaun tae? ah yells oot. But the daft ***** didnae answer at aww, must've been oot o' thir ****** heids wi' E's or summat, d'ye ken what ah'm tellin' ye,ye daft radge? -Wair ye're ******* going? ah yells a couple mair times and finally the gadge yells back to ays, -Up the ******* hill tae fetch a pail o' ******* watter, me Ma's hud her fuckin' taps turned oaf by the fuckin' Corporation, which is a ******* pain in the erse ah had ter agree. I realised ah knew the wee **** Jack but, eh wuz an auld classmate of ays and eh's hung oot wi' ma brar n me, when we wuz bairns oan the Scheme,eh? -That's a bonny wee lassie ye've goat wi' ye, there Jack, ah yelled, thinking ah'd nae kick her oot o' mah scratcher withoot gi'ing her a guid ride. Ah huvtae sey ah recognised hir as a wee **** called Jill from the Scheme, a right tidy wee ride in mah opinion wi' a guid little ***** on hir, as ah recall. -Mind ye're own fuckin' business, the **** yells back at ays, takin' the pail in yin hand and the hoor's wee hand in the other yin. Ah can tell ye ah totally pished meself wi' laughter when the pair o' they wide ***** fell doon, Jack breakin' his fuckin' croon n the groond, ah'm sure he nivver meant it tae happen, 'n eh mustae squashed his ******* bawws as eh fell doon n aww from the wey he screamed oot, but the wee lassie cam tumbling doon the ****** hill n aww, heid n **** oor her fuckin' erse 'n ah could see she wasnae wearin' any ****** ******* 'n her ***** was on display under her skirt. Ah wouldnae expect anything else from a wee hoor,eh? -Dinnae worry, ah'll com and help ye, ah called oot, but when ah goat thir, both o them wis deid, ah thoat o' gittin mah hole wi' the deid lassie n aww, but you shouldnae dae that, it's no respectful tae wimmin, 'n eywis, the polis might trace me through the DNA, those ***** are clivvir 'n aw, ye ken. So ah contented mesel' wi' rummidging through the poakits o' the lad's jaykit tae see if eh hud ehs payment from the Joab Centre, but the daft **** mustae spent it aww on a boatil or two o Grants, ah ken ah'd hae done the same mahsel'. And there wasnae a penny in the lassie's purse, so ah thoat ah'd jus' **** oaf doon the ****** 'n ask some **** tae call the hoaspital and the ****** polis. Eh?

47

Poor Wee Hare Poor wee Hare at the side of the road deid on the side wi yon dirt ye should be lain on a bed o flooers as ye faded so awfy hurt A car must have hit yer span yer roon his lichts did blin ye gaze ye didnae even see yon doom cut doon frae ye free running days

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Apr 14, 2011

Apr 14, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC

jeremy-wyatt

Poor Wee Hare

Poor Wee Hare Poor wee Hare at the side of the road deid on the side wi yon dirt ye should be lain on a bed o flooers as ye faded so awfy hurt A car must have hit yer span yer roon his lichts did blin ye gaze ye didnae even see yon doom cut doon frae ye free running days

9

So aye We wir watchin that David Attenborough or tryin tae - fower weans tearin up the joint, an she's like, See if youse dinny shut it...! an aw that, ken - You no gonny tell thum? So ah'm like, "Aye. Wheesht, youse." But it wis amazin, like. These fish. Years oot at sea. Tiny wee at first, dodgin sharks an jellyfish an aw sorts, awa oot, miles fae land. (*God! Youse! Take it up the stair! Tell thum, you!* "Aye, boys. Listen tae yir ma.") Then wan day, like they get the urge, ken? Got tae go. An in they come, surgin fae the sea, these sleek, silver bullets fat wi feedin. (I'll no tell yis again!) Nothin, an ah mean nothing is gonny stop them. Waterfalls? Nae bother. Just pure hungry fir the lassies, ken? The boy Attenborough sais they dinny even eat! (*That's it! Ah tellt ye! Here you! Take some responsibility, wull ye?* "Eh? Oh, aye. Away tae yir rooms, boys - yir ma tellt ye.") These pure ***** divils will loup up sheer cliffs, baws burstin, bi the look ay it. Poetry in motion, ken? Like, ah dinny ken, pure water brought tae life, an that. Jist pure savage. An then, haw - they find the lassies! An it's jist, like, 'splurge'! Done the deed. Gemme ower, job done, deid. An there's this shot. Ripplin shallows, just fill ay the twitchin bodies. Craws an bears an that, queuin up fir the bonanza. Jist, like, totally spent. An she's aw, *Here, is that no terrible? Pair buggers! Eifter aw that!* An ah'm like, "Aye." But see inside, ah'm thinkin, "Lucky, lucky ********

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Mar 14, 2016

Mar 14, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC

alan-mcclure

Salmon

So aye We wir watchin that David Attenborough or tryin tae - fower weans tearin up the joint, an she's like, See if youse dinny shut it...! an aw that, ken - You no gonny tell thum? So ah'm like, "Aye. Wheesht, youse." But it wis amazin, like. These fish. Years oot at sea. Tiny wee at first, dodgin sharks an jellyfish an aw sorts, awa oot, miles fae land. (*God! Youse! Take it up the stair! Tell thum, you!* "Aye, boys. Listen tae yir ma.") Then wan day, like they get the urge, ken? Got tae go. An in they come, surgin fae the sea, these sleek, silver bullets fat wi feedin. (I'll no tell yis again!) Nothin, an ah mean nothing is gonny stop them. Waterfalls? Nae bother. Just pure hungry fir the lassies, ken? The boy Attenborough sais they dinny even eat! (*That's it! Ah tellt ye! Here you! Take some responsibility, wull ye?* "Eh? Oh, aye. Away tae yir rooms, boys - yir ma tellt ye.") These pure ***** divils will loup up sheer cliffs, baws burstin, bi the look ay it. Poetry in motion, ken? Like, ah dinny ken, pure water brought tae life, an that. Jist pure savage. An then, haw - they find the lassies! An it's jist, like, 'splurge'! Done the deed. Gemme ower, job done, deid. An there's this shot. Ripplin shallows, just fill ay the twitchin bodies. Craws an bears an that, queuin up fir the bonanza. Jist, like, totally spent. An she's aw, *Here, is that no terrible? Pair buggers! Eifter aw that!* An ah'm like, "Aye." But see inside, ah'm thinkin, "Lucky, lucky ********

76

Eh like playin fitba wee meh Dad, It's so funny and a wee bit sad 'Cause when eh beat him he gets mad. Eh like playin fitba wee meh wee lassie, She plays fitba like Shirley Bassey, Meh Dad canny tackle, he's so mince. He devs in and taks awa meh pins. Meh lassie heiders the ba wee the back o her heid, Like a fish oot o water Just before it's deid.

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Jul 31, 2014

Jul 31, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC

blzbozo

Fitba Crazy

Eh like playin fitba wee meh Dad, It's so funny and a wee bit sad 'Cause when eh beat him he gets mad. Eh like playin fitba wee meh wee lassie, She plays fitba like Shirley Bassey, Meh Dad canny tackle, he's so mince. He devs in and taks awa meh pins. Meh lassie heiders the ba wee the back o her heid, Like a fish oot o water Just before it's deid.

10

Th' sound o' th' bagpipes howfur it stirs th' soul tae battle oan ah wis tellt by mah faither that whin th' Germans sawed a lone **** comin' up th' beach blawin his pipes thay didnae fire thinking mibbie he wis a bawherr touched in th' heid 'n' let him be as ither soldiers aroond him lay wee or lay deid moved back 'n' forth by th' sea ah mind hearing a lone piper speil in Auld Reekie by Waverly Station dressed in kilt 'n' stowed oot regalia closed een 'n' ah thought o' th' lone **** comin' up that beach blawin awa' 'n' aye blows th'day.

0

Jan 28, 2021

Jan 28, 2021 at 4:48 AM UTC

TerryCollett

Bagpipes and Auld Reekie.

Th' sound o' th' bagpipes howfur it stirs th' soul tae battle oan ah wis tellt by mah faither that whin th' Germans sawed a lone **** comin' up th' beach blawin his pipes thay didnae fire thinking mibbie he wis a bawherr touched in th' heid 'n' let him be as ither soldiers aroond him lay wee or lay deid moved back 'n' forth by th' sea ah mind hearing a lone piper speil in Auld Reekie by Waverly Station dressed in kilt 'n' stowed oot regalia closed een 'n' ah thought o' th' lone **** comin' up that beach blawin awa' 'n' aye blows th'day.

32

Everyain has his ur 'er critics, whether they write a poem ur a book, jink in public, tak' a swatch at sweet dames in th' **** say something rude, ur climb tay high ur fall too law. E'en saints hae their critics, either fur being too guid ur nae as guid as people thooght they waur or better than fowk thooght they ooght tae be. A' fowk has his ur 'er critics, e'en God almighty has his critics, either coz he exists ain diz tay wee tay late ur doesn’t exist an' diz nothin' at aw. A' fowk has his ur 'er **** critics, even those fa ur deid hae their critics, either coz they lived tay lang an' did tay little ur did nae bide long enoogh an' did tay much tay soon. A' fowk has his or her critics, an' when they don’t, they don’t matter anymair.

0

Oct 14, 2020

Oct 14, 2020 at 1:41 PM UTC

TerryCollett

Critics & Co.

Everyain has his ur 'er critics, whether they write a poem ur a book, jink in public, tak' a swatch at sweet dames in th' **** say something rude, ur climb tay high ur fall too law. E'en saints hae their critics, either fur being too guid ur nae as guid as people thooght they waur or better than fowk thooght they ooght tae be. A' fowk has his ur 'er critics, e'en God almighty has his critics, either coz he exists ain diz tay wee tay late ur doesn’t exist an' diz nothin' at aw. A' fowk has his ur 'er **** critics, even those fa ur deid hae their critics, either coz they lived tay lang an' did tay little ur did nae bide long enoogh an' did tay much tay soon. A' fowk has his or her critics, an' when they don’t, they don’t matter anymair.

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