Poetry

[Malcolm]

This is a poem by Alexander Anderson about the problems - and the

pleasures of trying to get lively children to settle down to sleep.

 

Cuddle Doon

 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi muckle faught and din.

"Oh try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues,

Your faither's comin' in."

They niver heed a word I speak,

I try tae gie a froon,

But aye I hap' them up an' cry

"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid,

He aye sleeps next the wa'

Bangs up and cries, "I want a piece!"

The rascal starts them a'.

I rin and fetch them pieces, drinks,

They stop a wee the soun',

Then draw the blankets up an' cry,

"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon."

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab

Cries oot frae neath the claes,

"Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at aince,

He's kittlin' wi' his taes."

The mischief in that Tam for tricks,

He'd bother half the toon,

But aye I hap them up an' cry,

"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

At length they hear their faither's fit

An' as he steeks the door,

They turn their faces tae the wa'

An Tam pretends tae snore.

"Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks,

As he pits aff his shoon.

"The bairnies, John, are in their beds

An' lang since cuddled doon!"

An' just afore we bed oorsel's

We look at oor wee lambs,

Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck

An Rab his airm roun' Tam's.

I lift wee Jamie up the bed

An as I straik each croon,

I whisper till my heart fills up:

"Oh, bairnies cuddle doon!"

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi' mirth that's dear tae me.

But soon the big warl's cark an' care

Will quiten doon their glee.

Yet come what will to ilka ane,

May He who rules aboon,

Aye whisper, though their pows be bald:

"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon!"

 

 

Meaning of unusual words:

muckle faught=lots of fighting

waukrife=wakeful

hap'=wrap

aye=always

bairnies=children

a piece=bread sandwich

weanies=small children

gie ower=stop

kittlin=tickling

steek=closes

shoon=shoes

straik=stroke

cark=fret

ilka=each and every

aboon=above

pows=heads

[Guest Anonymous]

I can understaand da sentiments o dat verses, fae bitter experience o tryin ta bring up ankle biters...

 

A'll add a peerie tocht o me ain ta da mix.

 

 

Peerie Bairns

 

Peerie bairns gettin ready fur bed,

Da maist distress ony hoose ever hed,

Dey tollie owre da toothpaste an even da pan,

Dir's naethin mair traan dan da offspring o man.

 

Dey race fur da stairs, wha'll be first,

Noo baith o dem's faain, wha's greetin da warst,

Cuddled an soothed an sent on dir wye,

Tucked in an lichts oot, dey'll sleep bye an bye.

 

Noo settlin doon fur a nicht at da fire,

Your hopes o paece gettin higher an higher,

Dan dir's a sprech fae da heid o da stair,

A heid or a gut or somethin is sair.

 

So you sit up aa nicht an tend ta dir pain,

Ony paeceful tochts ir right doon da drain,

Bit come da moarn whin you're worn til a crang,

Dey spang oot o bed laek naethin wis wrang.

 

So dey geng ta school, an you geng ta wark,

An you feel laek dir's lead i da tail o your sark,

Bit nichts laek yun just happen da wance,

You'll get paece da nicht, - Some Bloddy Chance.!!

 

Auld Rasmie

 

Idder hellery fae Da Auld Een at:

http://shetlopedia.com/Category:Shetland_Poetry

[Malcolm]

I'm staying home from school today.

I'd rather be in bed

pretending that I have a pain

that's pounding in my head.

 

I'll say I have a stomach ache.

I'll claim I've got the flu.

I'll shiver like I'm cold

and hold my breath until I'm blue.

 

I'll fake a cough. I'll fake a sneeze.

I'll say my throat is sore.

If necessary I can throw

a tantrum on the floor.

 

I'm sure I'll get away with it.

Of that, there's little doubt.

But, even so, I really hope

my students don't find out.

[Malcolm]

SPECIAL POEM

A row of bottles on my shelf

Caused me to analyze myself.

One yellow pill I have to pop

Goes to my heart so it won't stop.

A little white one that I take

Goes to my hands so they won't shake.

The blue ones that I use a lot

Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.

The purple pill goes to my brain

And tells me that I have no pain.

The capsules tell me not to wheeze

Or cough or choke or even sneeze.

The red ones, smallest of them all

Go to my blood so I won't fall.

The orange ones, very big and bright

Prevent my leg cramps in the night.

Such an array of brilliant pills

Helping to cure all kinds of ills.

But what I'd really like to know...........

Is what tells each one where to go!

 

There's always a lot to be thankful for if

you take time to look for it. For example

I am sitting here thinking how nice it is

that wrinkles don't hurt

[Malcolm]

I wrote this with the intention of posting it yesterday (All Hallows Eve) but I got home too late, so here it is now. I hope you like it.

 

 

Ghosties and Ghoullies

 

Trowies and Trolls

 

Tonight will come knocking

 

At your back and front doors.

 

 

 

A whoopin a wailin

 

A trickin or treatin

 

Seekin good treats

 

The kind that’s for eatin.

 

 

 

 

Ti's best that ye gie the wee rascals a treat

 

In the shape o some money

 

or nice tasty sweets

 

Lest its tatties and turnips

 

At at your door that ye seek

 

 

 

Things that are creepy

 

and go Bump in the night

 

Will ye tak a peep?

 

Or jist cower in fright.

 

 

Malcolm 2008.

[Guest Anonymous]

OK, bringing something here from the "Bogs on the Bard" thread.

 

peeriebryan suggested that it should be possible for Shetlinkers to create a poem worthy of entry to the "Bards in the Bog" competition. And that I should start it with a line which other Shetlinkers could add to.

 

peeriebryan is right, this is a very possible concept.. Darn it, I hate to agree with the management.

So the basic idea is that I will start with the first line, then other Shetlinkers can add lines which may, or may not be, included in the eventual poem.

 

In this case I have decided to concentrate on a rare event in Shetland as the basis for this poem... A perfect summer morning.

It's maybe a concept which is hard for some folk to imagine at this time of year, but there must be times when you walk out the door in the morning, and think, "This is God's country".

So let's have your thoughts, ideas, criticisms. But most importantly your lines and rhymes for this possible poem.

If we can create something nice, we'll enter it to the "Bogs on the Bard"/Bards in the Bog competition, as a compilation entry from Shetlink.

Contrary to my normal philosophy, this poem should be written in English, purely so that Jen Hadfield won't be confused.

 

Anyway, here's the first line:

 

Summer sunrise, calm and still,

[Medziotojas]

tranquil, solstice, solitude

[Guest Anonymous]

^^

Great minds think alike, as do Shetlanders, and sometimes Shetlinkers.

 

I can see that line fitting in nicely.

 

Come on Shetlinkers, let's have your lines.

 

Cheers,

Da Auld Een

[Claudias]

Summer sunrise,calm and still

glad the wife is on the pill.

Can't afford the massive bill,

for another sprog.

[Claudias]

^ ^ ^

 

I'm sorry Auld Rasmie,I seem to have effectively killed this thread. It was just a bit of fun.....honestly.

[Guest Anonymous]

Dunna worry Claudias my jewel,

Meybe I wis bein da fjool,

Tinkin dat Shetlinkers cud be writers,

Whan maist o dem ir laekly sh*ters,

A poem's a ting dat tak's a start,

Ta fin it's wye oot o da heart,

Bit a'll struggle on trow tik an tin,

Atil da hoop dat I will fin,

A twartree wirds fae here an dere,

Dat Hadfield micht tink wid be fair,

Ta hing upö a sharnhoos waa,

An gie a lauch ta een an aa.

 

Seriously. The chances of getting Shetlanders interested in poetry is about the same as getting politicians interested in being honest.

This is something which I feel quite sad about because Shetlanders in general have a natural talent for being poetic. They're just scared to let it all hang out..

[Guest Anonymous]

Da Nose Hair

 

Just a peerie black craetir,

Staandin firmly on his ain,

He’s never buddered me afore,

Ir geen me ony pain.

 

Bit fir reasons dat I canna say,

Her indoors dusna laek da geezer,

An tries ta tweak da beggar oot,

Wi fingers nails ir tweezers.

 

Why ta hell it budders her,

Da Loard alone just knows,

It’s just a peerie curly hair,

Dat grows oot o me nose.

 

http://shetlopedia.com/Auld_Rasmie

[JAStewart]

The Early Purges - Seamus Heaney:

 

I was six when I first saw kittens drown.

Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee turds',

Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

 

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din

Was soon soused. They were slung on the snout

Of the pump and the water pumped in.

 

'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.

Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced

Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

 

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung

Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains

Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

 

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back

When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows

Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

 

Still, living displaces false sentiments

And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown

I just shrug, 'Bloody pups'. It makes sense:

 

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town

Where they consider death unnatural

But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.

------------------------------------------------------------

 

Literally changed my life.

[Guest Anonymous]

When servers fail.....

 

http://shetlopedia.com/Shetlinkitis

 

[Guest Anonymous]

Da Alerm Clock

 

I dreamt da streen dat I hed geeng, tae a far far better life,

Til a place whaur dir’s nae cares ir woes, nae budder, ir nae strife,

I dreamt an auld freend met me dere, I tink Peter wis his name,

He bad me welcom tae da place, an sed “dis is dy new hame“.

 

He sed ta me, “Du’s fun dy wye, ta stand afore da Loardâ€

“Du’s hauled dy sixareen ower da beach an linned her wi a shoardâ€,

“Dy days o drawin piltocks fae da tide lumps o da roostâ€,

“Dir lang geeng, my auld frend, welcom tae God’s noostâ€.

 

So mortal tochts ahent me I set me mind ta try,

An live da life da Loard hed planned fir me up dere on high,

I sat up dere we holy choirs an listened tae dir singin,

Bit aa wye trow dis boanie dream dir cam a deidly ringin.

 

Da curse o man upö dis ert, da ting dat kills wir dreams,

Wirkin tae auld satan’s plans, ir dat’s da wye it seems,

So waakened tae da time I set, I swore an raise fae bed,

A guid swipe wi a hamer’ll see yun damned clock dead.