Best Braw Poems
When i grow old i will be glad
of the five braw weans im blessed to have
Gordon my oldest wise for his years
Kelly shes bolder but inside theres tears
Ashly my nightmare but i love her to bits
Sean has a laugh that has me in fits
Natasha the baby the wee cuty pie
I hope when she's older she gets a good guy
they are all so good looking no one can deny
and their all the apple of this mothers eye
Categories:
braw, family, children, happiness, love,
Form:
Light Verse
Scotland, rich in pride
Braw mountainous scenery
Stands proud and salutes
Saltire shares the wind
Tartan Highlanders kilted
Kingdom of the clans
Categories:
braw, inspirational, places
Form:
Haiku
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.
Categories:
braw, love, places, song-river,
Form:
Lyric
William Shakespeare is my favourate poet!
It does not need a thousand poems, dear,
to prove that William Shakespeare
is a scintillating poet, nor does it require
him to write so many sonnets or tire
His ambidextrous pen and his gifted wrist
writing romantic ballads with a twist
in the end – his poems vivifies the air,
especially when his poetry is about despair.
William Shakespeare is my favourate poet of all days;
I like how he writes, his styles and his ways;
his poems written with words embellished,
with his thoughts and his ideas dearly wished –
His imagery is pure, his emotions are raw,
a tale of poems that always make my day so braw;
as fair enough twice the generosity of the sea,
Sterling I say, to make him my favourate poet be;
From how he wrote ‘Shall I compare thee. . .’
To how he structured his poem ‘Soliloquy’,
And won people’s hearts with ‘Let me not to the marriage of True minds’,
When he said, I quote: ‘Which alters when alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no!’
William Shakespeare, this poet was such a pro –
He owed the world definitions of his words of charm,
which always but so puzzled the mind though meant no harm.
His antique English inspired and fascinated me to read his work,
His sonnets, full of metaphors and similes that evermore but had his back –
Tell you what, no poet can write close to how Shakespeare ever wrote,
For the master of poetry ever lived and died, and vanished with a quote.
That is, inter alia, why William Shakespeare is my favourate poet!
Categories:
braw, inspiration,
Form:
It’s braw y’are its braw a’reet
Wi’ brilly natchers at yer feet
Tis one fer they an’ one fer me
T’ set tha brilly natchers free
So dinna mumble dinna fret
Tha has nae seen yon natchers yet
But when they come as come they will
Be sure t’stand rock solid still
Nae griping an’ nae felly clure
Wie brilly natchers at yer door
Categories:
braw, funny, happiness,
Form:
Couplet
Note-It's Burns Weekend in Scotland and this is my tribute to our great bard.I will
be reciting this at a Burns Supper tonight.I hope you like it.
Our Scottish Prince, rustic rogue of rhyme.
Sainted, painted and pillored through time.
Yer cottage it stands, a tribute its true.
How the braw bonnie lassies o Ayrshire loved you.
A common man, wi a romantic notion.
Yer pen was filled wi frivilious potion.
A man o' men, wrote o' love and spite.
Blushin' girls cheeks an' satirical bite.
Scots tounge and dialect, that was straight fae the heart.
Ye wrote "A Man's A Man For A' That."
Yer poems appealling tae the worldly masses.
Yer ghost still lingers in drinkin' mens glasses.
Rabbie, the toast o' the town and the haggis addressed.
Wi' a wee dram o' whisky, we're now fully refreshed.
Yer words were like snow on a loch, stream or river.
Just a moment o' white but not lost forever.
Was a Priince, died a pauper at only thirty seven.
Yer poems are read at supper-time in heaven.
So "fair ye weel and now we'll severe."
But yer memory will stay wi' us forever
Categories:
braw, nostalgiapoems, tribute,
Form:
Rhyme
Bobby Burnett bought a barrette
For wee, bonny Barbara's long braids.
Braw Bobby beams on wee bonny Babs
As she gaen through the glens and glades.
Categories:
braw, daughter, father, children, funny,
Form:
Wee, wee rid rid coated thing
tae ma hert sic joy yea bring.
Wae elegance an' tender charm,
ma racin' hert yea sae disarm.
Yea hang there among yer kind,
Bright an' braw but sae refined.
Ma wee rid rid coated friend,
sae Bonny, I'll nae pretend.
Each year fur us yea come along,
espousing nature's sweetest song.
A song not o' sound but o' exotic taste.
a taste fur oor lucky paletes tae be graced.
Here fur oanly a wee wee time,
yea mak ma taste buds gently chime.
Tastin' like nuthin' else oan this earthy place.
wae yer wee rid rid bonny smilin' face.
Frae yer parent tree yea duly burst ,
as a wee fluer yer gently nursed.
Caressed by bees yer scent doth bring,
eventually tae be a wee green pimply thing,
Bathed wae the Sun's life giving rays,
growing, maturing in such a wondrous way.
Changin', yellow, pink, noo tae yer rid rid style,
tae a Bonny Cherry tae please us fur a wee wee while.
Av jist picked yea up frae among yer like,
frae the box foo o' Cherries whay are jist alike.
But you ma wee wan are jist fur me,
hope yer taste is in the proper key.
Oh my, sic a burst o' pleasure,
ma wee wee rid rid bloomin' treasure.
Say juicy say sparklin' ma mooth foo o' joy,
wunnerful, exotic, aw ma senses yea do employ.
hank yea, thank yea ma wee rid rid friend,
yer the greatest, aye I'll nae pretend.
Tull next year, tull wee meet again,
whin I'll listen tae yer song o' sweet refrain.
A song o' taste an' no o' sound,
o' tasting magic from aw Cherries abound.
Rest now yer gentle parent tree,
an' please bloom anither day fur me tae see.
The Auld Yin.
Categories:
braw, nature, song, song,
Form:
Quatrain
When i was a wean we got everything free.from first bras to high heel shoes. ma mammy
thought she had the cream of the crop, five braw weans what a jaw drop. dad wasn't
working, money was tight, out came the sewing machine, she peddled all night.we awoke in
the morning new togs to put on, no designer labels but she was dead on. we would fly up the
stairs to try out our gear,kick our brother out the way,and give him a thick ear. Back we
would come, twirl for ma mammy,our pals would say yous'e are really jammy.they pulled at
our clothes looking for a tag,but our clothes you wouldn't find in no mag.
Categories:
braw, childhood, family, funnyclothes,
Form:
There was a young Scots lass named Lilt
Who wondered, “What’s under Mac’s kilt?”
She asked him politely,
He answered contritely,
“It used to be braw but it’s wilt”.
There was a young Scotsman named Vin,
A wench tossed a coin with a grin.
He hoisted his kilt,
Said, "Keep yer wee gilt -
I forgaw ma knickers agin!"
March 8, 2021
Categories:
braw, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
Sailin doon the watter,
Frae Glesga tae Dunoon,
Wae the paddles at thur fullest,
We'd get ther awfy soon,
The music played as we stood on deck,
An the sights so much tae see,
Doon past Dumbarton Castle,
A magic sight tae me,
Sailing past Helensburgh,
An roon the bend,
We could see the Holy Loch,
On this Glesga fair weekend,
The sun wis shinin brightly,
As we entered quaint Dunoon,
Wae its tea rooms and its cafes,
We wid go an eat ther soon,
Fish n chips fur dinner,
An a big ice cream tae end,
A walk aboot the shops,
An a postcerd we wid send,
An later on aboot eight o'clock,
We steamed away once more,
Up the Clyde tae Glesga,
Alang the rivers shore,
Wae a couple a drams an the music,
The trip hid been jist braw,
A sail doon the Clyde on the Waverley,
Ye jist cannae beat it at awe.
Categories:
braw, adventure, places, sea,
Form:
Rhyme
A Butterfly flutters by
On a summers breeze
The flutter by Butterflies
With delightfully winged ease
To watch the Butterflies flutter by
Leaves me in total awe
To witness all the butterflies fluttering by
Would just be totally braw
To all the Butterfly flutter by fans
On the Soup today
If you see a flutter by, by a Butterfly
Think of this poem and me
Categories:
braw, naturebutterfly,
Form:
Rhyme
A Dribble a Trickle a Dram a Splash
Flowing Down a Brae Past the Steading
Rushing Over Rocks Creating Crag and Tails
Waves Wash and Bleather on the Bank
Water Shimmers and Shines in the Sunlight so Braw
Dinnlin the Earth and Trees as it Flows
Over Moor and Though Glen Toward Linn and Loch
Eventually Passing a Stone-Thrust and Becoming the Sea
This is the Path of a Burn.
Categories:
braw, nature,
Form:
Light Verse
The theme park was crowded. Elephants on roller coasters, mosquitos bracing the water slide, ferrets enjoying the ferris wheel and leopards shooting crack in the gallery. A myriad of personification and abundance of fairy tailed suggestions. ‘Its a small, small world’ blared from Magic Mountain as Cinderella dressed up as an indentured laborer in a fancy shoe shop. A comedy of terror ensued in the ghost train, conducted by a retired wall street banking giant resuming the corporate identity of a demon slayer. seemingly seeking redemption, but of course, he had another ace in his sleeve.
All animals were equal but of course the apocalypse had struck in 1984 and the Lord of the Flies was buzzing disguised as an orange clock, collected tickets and sold strawberry ice cream.
An English patient from a nearby lunatic asylum, thought he was a beetle, but Kafka had married Mary Antoinette and was sipping champagne from her braw. She, for once was not eating cake and was thus unveiling the myth of leavened bread at her altar. A merry go round of deception in the snake pit in which a contortionist was trapped in limbo and loin cloth from hell. Mary Magdalene teased him with with a vile of anti venomous serum and soothed his wavering agony in anticipation of saving the world.
Hot cross buns offered cold comfort, but the world was on withdrawal after management had banned coke as a sugar substitute. Sweet dreams were made of lactose free roach skin and the party dwellers reveled in aspirations and nightmares, elevated to prime position in the national canon. A truly amazing ode to joy and poignant distraction from the pawn shop of modern living.
But when the bell struck midnight and Dali melted his digital clock, all went back to the nothingness of the human condition. ‘Your shift starts in eight hours, nothing has moved because of a little fun in paradise’s ante chambers.’ Thanks God the crowd were already wearing their flannel night gowns. ‘Gotta live life to the full and heaven can’t wait.
Categories:
braw, allegory, black love,
Form:
Narrative
Can you still grasp me trembling on the ledge?
Your braw heart was precautious to dive in.
Do you spot me pause seeking out a pledge?
Can you still grasp me trembling on the ledge?
A strong leaf turns to a caring skin hedge.
To taste my zeal in your arms and within.
Can you still grasp me trembling on the ledge?
Your braw heart was precautious to dive in.
Written: March 20, 2023
Categories:
braw, appreciation, beauty, longing,
Form:
Triolet