Best Awa Poems
Awa' oan the Firth of Forth,
high oan the famous brig',
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cauld and bitter wind.
Awa' aff the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scourin' and roastin' tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would hae him drinkin',
The cummers would pay him 'ahind the door,
but he oany has wan thing oan his mind
and she's awa' aff the river shore.
*Translation*
Away on the Firth of Forth,
high on the famous bridge,
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cold and bitter wind.
Away off the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scouring and roasting tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would have him drinking,
the cummers would pay him behind the door,
but he only has one thing on his mind
and she's away off the river shore.
Glossary of terms:
* the Firth of Forth is the estuary of the River Forth in Scotland
braw means fine looking
tatties are potatoes
bonny means pretty or handsome
a but and ben is a modest two room cottage consisting of a kitchen and a main room
a carl is a laboring man
a cummer is a woman of questionable moral character
to pay behind the door is to engage in sexual activity as a form of 'payment' for favors, services, or goods.
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
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
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
She was born with the whole sky in her hands,
soft fingers reaching for a world that hadn’t yet told her no.
Her first breath was limitless—
the kind of infinite that only newborns know,
before the world shrinks them down,
before the weight of it all settles into their bones.
She could have been anything.
A girl who laughed, who danced,
who walked streets that weren’t filled with shadows,
who lived in a world that didn’t demand a price
for every moment of peace.
But that wasn’t the world she was given.
Her mother broke before she could teach her how to stand.
Love was something tangled—
a needle’s kiss, a bruise disguised as tenderness,
a promise that life was a game
where you always ended up losing.
The world didn’t wait for her to grow up.
It didn’t give her time to understand
before it ripped away the softness,
before it carved out her innocence
and replaced it with hunger.
She learned to walk without a destination,
because no matter where she went,
there were only locked doors.
She learned to take,
because the ones who followed the rules
were the ones who got devoured first.
She learned to run,
because stopping meant drowning,
and they don’t let girls like her come up for air.
She found love once.
Or maybe she only thought she did.
Soft hands, whispered promises,
a glimpse of something gentler.
She almost believed in it.
Almost.
But love is another kind of cage
when the world belongs to men with power,
and she should have known—
even those who love you will throw you away
if it keeps them safe.
So she learned.
Not to trust.
Not to dream.
Not to believe in mercy.
The world was a machine,
and she was just another cog
meant to grind itself into dust.
She should have let it.
She almost did.
But somewhere in the marrow of her bones,
beneath the scars and the bruises,
beneath the hunger and the rage,
something still refused.
Not hope.
Not faith.
Not a reason.
Just a screw you
She would suffer,
she would crawl through the ashes,
she would shatter every bone in her body
before she let them win.
She would not kneel.
She would not obey.
She would not be erased.
Because she was born limitless.
And not even the world itself
could take that from her.
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