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Rosie Dee Jan 2015
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
(As stated in the title) This is not one of my poems-all credit to Robert Burns. Being half scottish, we celebrate 'Burns' Night' in my house. A night to celebrate this wonderful scottish writer. I thought i'd put this as a tribute the great writer and let you all have a wee bit o' Scottish culture haha
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.
Melissa Eleanore Jun 2014
Posing as a eager swine does not prove his masculinity.
Therefore I should not be afraid to walk the streets
featuring my butterfly physique.

Boy I will bet you,
he can sprint without a top
and the pretty little ladies turn scarlet.
But when a gal will trot
we are seen as a harlot.
We are not that different,
you and I.
Our ******* are the same.
But I apologize,
if mine are in the way.
I presume you forgot; we fed from the same thing.
But from the lack of your decency,
we become an object of insecurity
then we appear to seem weak.
 
I apologize,
if my body may be sonsie
Does not mean you can be queer towards me.
We do not holler,
or humor you as if you were nothing more than a *****.
Or think that the piece between your limbs,
is only for my bliss.

It is not just the glares, the blares, and the curiosities.
The young men of my generation are clueless
as to how to fascinate the ladies.
Hardly any words slip through my lips
When they try to shoot for the first kiss
and gab a hold at my hips,
I resist.
It is no longer love at first sight,
but many valentines.

One-night-stands...

And lonely Sams...

Everything for fun...

Everything for lust...

Until they grow up.
Realizing the importance of  a woman's streak of luck.

Now imagine a woman when she has given up finding the man of her dreams
when every single boy makes her deceived
Not knowing when it's the real thing
Making life really confusing.
Imagine a woman that has been through many heartbreaks.
Boy,
by the end of the day she will make your head ache.
So don't complain.

Men are the reasons for her many mistakes.
because he persuades.
And before she can run away
it is too late...

The sole purpose of "making love"
is to do it in privacy.
  Therefore he is a thief for only seeking
to steal her virginity.
This piece is a shout-out to the ladies that have been through heartbreak and have gotten **** from guys. For those who really weren't at fault for anything, other than being a woman. Clearly it is more of an issue today, and I cannot stand being quiet about it. It does cut off at the end because there is just so much to say in this topic, so I just wanted to write enough so my point is carried across. I hope you like it!

ⒻⓄⓁⓁⓄⓌ➷➷➷
☓IG: Asteriart
SMK Feb 2014
Black and blue the waves did role
Over the sun and under the soul
The world we live, atrocities have been seen
Death, ******, hate. Prominent they have always been

But love is the truth
Love conquers all
Believe in what you must
Be strong when you take the fall

The brave get the glory
It reaches but a few
While the others are left watching,
Sulking from their pew

I write to you on this day
Another candle, another flame
Reminding me of a fire
For which you should take the blame

Hardly for the first time
I looked upon your face
You fill me up from toe to tip
All because of your ease, your grace

Your dress is cheap
No makeup needed
But a sight to behold
You had me defeated

This elegance unknown by others
An ease in life held only by one or two
You are near perfection
For this I say thank you

These are not the reasons for my enchantment
For I knew of you I swear
I love your imperfections
And your perfections I can bare

In that moment it changes,
Life went from one to the next
Ease would turn to struggle
And life became more complex

Every moment I enjoy your fever
Your sonsie little face
Your spirit kept me up at night
The little things which make you great

Thank you for these moments
Thank you for your time
For if nothing else, in this moment
You have inspired this simple rhyme

The true friends you meet
They give you something rare
Those who can make you strong
When the world is in despair

For the failures of life
Must be noted from birth
For running will only
Make you pass over earth

And I know we were lost
Our shelf began to unscrew
But friendship lasts forever
As that of piglet and pooh

Finding the moment
That you will never forget
Takes no time to look for
If you don’t look for it

Some people feel the rain
Others just get wet
A feeling or a lifestyle
A choice to be met

What is life without it
Is it worth the final cost
Turn them onto me with mercy
For i am desolate an lost
R Dickson Jan 25
Here’s a wee yin for his birthday
The hale world’s hae’in his supper
Time for a poem or a song
And a wee whisky chaser

Enjoy Rabbie’s supper
Wi that big sonsie face
And neeps and tatties
Wi nae stomach space

Every toon in Scotland
Every pub that he’s been in
Telt some odd stories
About his kith an’ kin

Telt them in auld Scots
It’s the language that he kens
If he’s got a beer in haun
He’ll pit doon the pen

Socialising wi’ pals
Whisky, beer and song
All the things to be enjoyed
An’ that cannae be wrong

They call him the bard
But he’s just a man
Wi some great stories to tell
And as many as he can.

— The End —