I must awa and sorrowful be,
I must awa and take leave of thee.
My bonnie wee lass who holds me so near,
I'll soon return to ye, my Bonnie, my dear.
I must awa to Culloden to be sure,
to battle the sassenach or we'll be nay more.
I must awa with musket and bow,
I must awa, awa from me home.
Oh aye, I do ken what awaits me there.
Oh aye, I do ken I'll miss ye rua hair.
With tartan and plaid they'll ken the Mackree
I must awa, mo rún, to fight for thee.
~ In the voice of: Angus Michael James Mackree
The battle of Culloden, 16th April 1746
When yins ye lou are taken awa ,
forever gang intae eternity,
ne,er will ye see them agin,
as eternity is far frae hame.
aye maybes yell see them float by,
in a clear day o sky,
ye can talk tae them when ist yer wont,
but ne,er will ye gain a reply or song,
the kirk it says yell get tae heaven,
where ere yon maybe hidden in cloods,
beyond yer sicht an hid frae hubble ,
an its freends o similar clout.
Oh me freends Eternity is an awfy lang time,
weel beyond oor een an sicht o mine,
aye this life is unfair tae cause sic pain an despair,
tae brek oor herts in a thoosand dauds,
must be workings o hertless gauds.
sae gaither in yer airms yer kith an kin,
tae ignore them aa wid be a sin.
Lou them dearly beyond compare,
dinae mak their hert sair.
Tae hae them leave withoot yer blessing,
wid be tae lose them fur ever mair.
Mak yer peace wi them at war,
offer understauning nae matter
how faur ye hae to travel.
APM 25/01/2024
Stuck in the darkness filled in the night
Clouds in the skies but you can't see it
Sounds and moaning and groans
All through the air
Chris and famished girth spinning swirling away
And in the tease of the bright
A small speck of light
Winking in turn
Causing the blackness to burn
Oh eloquent silicone sequences adorn
Not the flickering shouts
The gruesome black the spots
The clouds, the dark the pains of dripping rain
Shadows part as the dot of light explosive invades
2/19/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
The battles ower ,smoke settles ower the moor,
Clans are broken flying aff tae the hills.
Redcoated sodjers mingle with red Heilan blude,
Killing the wounded in Drumossie mud.
Oor Prince has fled leaving dreams in the dust,
Of a Stuart oan the throne that was oor lust,
like the heron scared of mans approach
fleeing his home being taen awa tae France.
Some say he was a bonnie lad cam frae italia way,
Heir tae the royale throne pretending tae be king,
Nae clue or fighting skill but the bonnie prince could sing.
Noo he was being led awa tae catch a boat tae tak him awa.
It was spoken of in tones hushed and still,
Ane day he wid return tae claim the throne,
Frae ower the watter oor king wid come,
Alang wi lairds cawed awa tae France.
© Andrew Provan McIntyre 2016-05-28
Maram grass dewed.
An adda takes a chance,
And, drinks from the dewed Maram,
Ere the sun dried it.
Now full of pep was awa.
Saw, I was astounded!
Or did I just imagine?
Our deed done, clock says home.
Otto called, "We are late, come on"!
"Nan will be worried"!
"Ata", I screamed, then ran!
Home, nan greeted us
with some pop fruit flavoured.
Mmm, fresh apple cider.
Palindromes poetry contest sponsored by Joseph May