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R Dickson Jan 2015
Ken a' these auld Scots words,
The wans that we've forgot,
Why are we no using them,
It's because we wernae taught,

At hame wi' mither an fathir,
Speaking all and proper,
First day at school,
Speech becomes a cropper,

All yir mates at school,
Coming oot wi' words like bowff,
Saying them in the hoose,
Yir fathir says watch yir mouth,

Rax me oor the poorie,
As ma grama said to me,
Asking her whit she meant,
Gies the milk jug fir ma tea,

Fab technology today,
Smert phones and iPad,
They missed oot wan thing,
The language o' my grandad,

Skype, that's a new word,
Sounds a bit like Scottish,
Was it tae clip you round the ear hole,
That word should be abolished,

If yir no Scottish,
Rabbie's words are a' daft,
All the words that came out o' him,
That was the man's craft,

Whit aboot these well kent lines,
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Sorry aboot that Rabbie,
Stealing that was totally misplaced,

Oot o' bed on wi' ma baffies,
Tae pit them on I need tae sit doon
Sittin' on the chair wi' ma bahookie,
Missed the chair fawing like a loon,

When yir oot daein the gowf,
And yir breeks are a' in a runkle,
Dinnae be a feart tae tac them aff,
If you've got them in a fankle,

Deekin oot the windae,
Stramash on the doon the road,
Some folk getting a doin',
Ithers getting a carry code,

Polis got there quick enough,
Must have a been a hunner,
Saw the big yin there,
He was the heid ******,

The rammy wi the radges
Was just oot side the offie,
Jings crivvens help ma boab,
Some went ben the bothy,

We're all **** Tamson's bairns,
We a' just want tae learn,
We can do it wi' the Scots,
It's a language that we yearn.
Third Eye Candy Jan 2021
Glumping in the runkle of a midge twitch
with a slinky and a serrated rainbow jackknife-
tucked into a barley-cork for daylight
at a full stop...

at Night.

some sort of contraption;
the actual
beating heart of the moon
noteworthy for gazing
at the Fugazi
of our
work

without a star to pin
to a moon’s compass
however Noon.

Trading on our whimsical affairs, we spice the McGuffin
with a pinch of twee smirk and malicious vermouth.
we gin the rigor of our spiral descent with a debauchery
to span the bloat of our delusions
combing the banks of our foggy creek beds
for applesauce
and farthings.
leaping into the shriek
of our lull.

undaunted by the stars
at the edge
of the
worst.

as we pillage
unrefined
and

unrehearsed.
She was beautiful in a way that only nature understood
walking out into the sunlight she turned sunlight into Hyde  
raven black hair that fanned, two eyes of mesquite wood
no taller then four feet guided with a partnered girl guide

Little did I know she belonged to the day camp next door
recovering from trauma she'd been matched and supervised
all I said to her was,  " your beautiful" no less,  no more,
she froze turned around and ran, all I saw was her backside

Later I was told she had been burned and scarred by an Uncle
I assumed the word beautiful was a Stanley knife to fear  
she reminded me of a meteor rock, a magnificent Runkle
that burned very brightly as she re-entered earth's atmosphere

Oh she was beautiful  in ways only nature could not misconstrue  
truth be told I sat on a bench and cried, deep inside I felt her pain
so I painted her a butterfly so she could put it on her window pane
and at the bottom I inscribed the words, "Rolla, I love you "

July 15, 2021

— The End —