Best Kilts Poems
Roads rising up from Irish mists in merry jigs
To the flowing tenor song
Sung by the River Boyne born from Tara's Keep
As Patrick's paschal fire
Weaves truth from stones of blarney
And lucky charms of Erin's spring
Cloth hills in kilts of green clovers with four leaves
To the Kerry pipers wail of jigs and tiompan reels
When soft sunbeams kiss fields - the wind petals
Of Killarney's rose in Londonderry Airs
Born in fifes and fiddles in soft brogues
Delighting in tea and scones - the clairsel harp -
When clear cut crystal rays
Embrace green fields clothed in sheep -
Faire mischief - the wind dance of the Kells -
In bohdran thunder to banish banshee cries
As pirate queens and lost chieftain kings
Sail from emerald shores
Until they meet again beneath the blessings
Of the Celtic cross
In the north winds of the fair aran island.
Categories:
kilts, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I love your heathered highlands,
steep cliffs and rugged islands,
hedges and gardens under
rainclouds of grey.
Old steeples rise above
those small rural towns I love;
your hillsides of sunny yellow,
rolled bales of hay.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
O, highland games of yore
with racers and tug-of-war,
the cabers are tossed asunder
by mighty men.
I love your farmlands rustic,
mountains and lochs majestic,
as kilts of many tartans
hike through the glen.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
Castles with ancient hist'ry,
Celt runes of ancient myst'ry,
we sing an "Auld Lang Syne"
and toast Robbie Burns.
Clans clad in plaid will whistle
fondly of Lion and Thistle,
dressing with tartan kilts
their wee bonnie bairns.
Hands high, your dancers dance -
crossed swords, I'm in a trance,
pipes heard for miles
with that old familiar blare.
St. Andrews' cross - the flag is
don't ask what's in the haggis!
Just eat your shortbread
and be glad you were there.
//These reflect some of my favorite memories from the 6 months I lived in Scotland, in 1990. I miss her dearly and hope I may be able to return some day. These words may be sung to "Scotland the Brave", a beloved anthem of Scottish national pride. You can hear it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzK2PWVQYX0
The tempo of this recording is much faster than I prefer, but I include it here in case you have never had a chance to hear this wonderful patriotic song. //
Written 24 Mar 2021
Categories:
kilts, patriotic,
Form:
Lyric
Clans, Ilks and Tartans
Woven into threads of red and black,
Girded by grids of white,
Distant plaintive bagpipe memories
Of sunset over Kilmaurs –
A crest that bears a unicorn
Touches royal roots
As a poet’s tribute to a patron lost
Watches neighbors Campbell and Montgomerie
Then looks out on the seas from tidal lands
Of Ayrshire in flings and reels with swirling kilts
When explorer’s feet recall on new world shores
The mew of seagulls soaring –
Politicians, engineers and entrepreneurs -
Over Fork Over – Cunningham, a clan of auld.
Blocks of green and wine
Stripped with blue
Look back into the heather
Covering highland hills of country dances
Where spring wanders in hunting kilts
Beneath clear cerulean heavens,
Boldly enduring;
A crest that bears a coronet
Of storied noble and knight
Whose melancholy legend
Whispers in glens and gloaming
Of standard bearers for a king
Watched by Ogilvy and Stewart
Lindsay, a clan of auld.
Like sunlight bouncing off of autumn leaves
In crimson, golden amber, umber greening hues -
A sword dance of squares and lines in twirling kilts -
Near the sparkling waters of Loch Lomond;
Clan neighbor Graham and cousins MacCammon
See the crest adorned by a coronet
Prize of battle;
The wind remembers
Tiny windswept island Clarinch -
A battle cry of Clar Innes -
Campaigns of kings and exiled queens –
Chieftain’s seat sees a president and prospector -
Hence the brighter honor – Buchanan, a clan of auld.
Cousins of the same ilk
Bear the names of families -
Of highland lands
And lowland memories -
Seaside and mountain territories -
Kilts wearing colors interwoven patterns
Born of clans with
Tartans telling legends and the stone of destiny,
Plaids dancing at the piper’s hand,
Ancient names, though maybe hidden, still live –
Cunnyngham, Lindsey and MacCammon
Of Buchanan –
In Celtic refrains like iridescent whispers
Woven through clans of auld.
This is the story of my Scottish heritage through the mottos, the tartans, the history and geographic references to the clan homes.
Categories:
kilts, dance, family, history,
Form:
Free verse
A is for Aprons, like Moms used to wear.
B is for Barrettes that adorn young girls’ hair.
C is for Coats, many colors and styles.
D is for Diamonds, best friends that brings smiles.
E is for Elbow pads skateboarders use.
F is for Flippers folks might wear on a cruise.
G is for Gowns, to wear out . . . or to bed!
H is for Helmets - Hard Hats for one’s Head.
I is for Indian saris so bright.
J is for Jewelry that dazzles at night.
K is for Kilts used by Scotts, do you know?
L is for Lingerie, a woman’ peep show!
M is for Masks to look scary or funny.
N is for Necklaces from your sweet honey.
O is for Overalls, comfy for big men.
P is for Pajamas, so easy to fit in.
Q is for a Quilted skirts and jackets too.
R is for Rags - what our worn clothes turn into!
S is for Shorts, for a day warm and glad.
T is for Ties that we all give to Dad.
U is for Underwear. I can see France!
V is for Vest. It enhances your pants.
W is for Wig, great when hair has been shorn.
X is for Xmas clothes too rarely worn.
Y is for Yamaka - only for Jews.
Z is for Zippered, the clothes over buttoned ones that I would choose!
Oh, the things we’ve been wearing since Adam and Eve
first started it off by just wearing their leaves!
For the ABC Contest of CYNDI MACMILLAN
Written by Andrea Dietrich, a big fan of poetry and PoetrySoup.
Categories:
kilts, humorous, clothes,
Form:
ABC
Allow altruistic artistry among ailing american adversaries.
Bartering begins before begging beasts break brothers.
Capture calamity controlling catastrophe calming castration.
Dedicate decisions directed down dreary deaf disillusionment.
Eradicate equality earning efficient energetic epiphany.
Follow fallen foreigners forgetting faithful flight from fluid folly.
Gasping greatness growing grapes given golden goodness.
Halt hollow hearts hearing helpless happiness.
Imagine impurity imitating indestructible ice inflicting impotent illness.
Justify jolly jerusalem jingling janitors joining january’s jewelry.
Kill kindergarten kings kicking kindly kindred kilts.
Lament likeable links lingering lowly light like lavender letters.
Mount monetary moments melting motherly marshal monuments.
Negate nightly notions noticing nurtured naughty nakedness.
Open oblivious obligation of odd operative oceans.
Propagate proposed premonitions producing proud pirate papas.
Quiet quilted questions quickly quoting quaint qualm quandary.
Remember righteous royalty returning rotten remnant rage.
Skip silent sulking surrounding super salty sounds squeezing sanity.
Teach talented tearful tyrants total trivial topics training treason.
Utter utopian universality upon united unitarian usurpers.
Violate vermin validity valuing victorious vomiting virgin volunteers.
Wash wandering women wondering whether western whiteness welcomes war.
X-ray xeric xenophobic xylem-made xebec.
Yearn yellow yearlings yelling yonder yuletide yachtsmen.
Zebra.
Categories:
kilts, parody, people, social, kindergarten,
Form:
ABC
Jock always wore a sporran and kilted
Wore a clan tartan hat that looked quilted
But couldn't cope with the stares
And so now trousers he wears
Cos everything below has now wilted...
Word got round the town now everyone knows
Why Jock has taken to wearing strange clothes
He used to flash all his bits
Have the young lassies in fits
But now too embarrassed when the wind blows...
(a sporran is a small leather pouch worn with a kilt that serves as a wallet as kilts don't have pockets)
Written 26 September 2020.
Categories:
kilts, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Hank was a maker of stilts
and sold stunning quilts.
Trade was a success
but caused folks duress
when workers on stilts wore kilts.
Categories:
kilts, humor,
Form:
Limerick
Another bash
Careening dancers emerge
Frenzied
Gyrating haplessly into jigs
kilts lifting
Maurice nods
Ormond poised queerly
Rocking
stretching
Tim under vintage wiles
Xavier yawning zzs.
Categories:
kilts, life,
Form:
ABC
In the skies over Inverness
is light-play on an annual quest
and pipers in kilts come to play along
with the aurora’s lovely song.
Moonbeams shy in aurora’s light
give way to flowing waves so bright.
Cosmic charged particles from the sun
are sure to leave no coloring undone.
Echoes of piped tunes will dance
while colors in sky do entrance;
as high above the highland lakes
the sky performs a waltz of grace.
3-13-2021
Scotland - One Rule Poetry Contest
Julia Ward
Categories:
kilts, light, nature, places, poems,
Form:
Rhyme
Argyle socks, kilts,
Scottish tartan scarves
and Knox — aye
Mary, Queen Mary
shall you marry Darnly
for love? Nay...
Torches, kilts and song.
Heather in hands, waving
but Knox knocks their merry
socks off, eccentrically calling
Mary, a Jezebel queen.
Stuart clings to her Catholicity,
as she permits worshipping
as Protestants — not good
enough for Knox. Of kilts and tales
told, no dancing, singing or drinking fold —
bearded and bold John rattles.
Knox’s mentor burned at the stake.
His ire, his hand raised, will not accept
the same fate, so he rains down hellfire.
Kilts and bagpipes, boots marching,
music playing. Aye, Mary Queen of Scotland
with drumsticks banging, the pretty thing
rules with her heart...loses her head.
3/22/2021
Julia Ward’s Scotland
Categories:
kilts, angst, religion, sad, woman,
Form:
Free verse
I combed cool waters of your baby blue
crystalline Jewel as you waded waterfall
waves washing my stellar rainbow rays
arching it melted into the warm womb
of transducing tangoing Earth
Her Violet Flame devoured us both
as nectared dewdrops to fuel the fire
our soma swirling into ecstatic orange
oxytocined crane flowers whispering
wisdoms to a hundred yellow butterflies
fluttering and flirting
They circled a sunken Atlantean apex
atop where you ruled anew with Baconian
brown locks surrounded by sirens serving
savoury silver sardines, oolite oyster shells
sang solos as dolphins dived, oceanic mouthed
In Ancient Egypt you followed my runcinate
rulings or indigo sorrow siglums, sighing
becoming slimmed seeker who served
Thoth well whilst wreathing my wounded
worthiness and fallow fallopian tubes
at pyramidal plumed midnight hour
In our Grecian lifetime you draped alabaster
urns lighting my marble mantelpiece
I watched breath enter your nebulae nostrils
as you crafted provincial proverbs instructing
slaves to whiten your garb with lemons from
our sculpted garden
On lavender Celtic hills we exchanged kilts
not knowing whose waist was whose
barefoot we flaunted sleek sharp sapphire
studded swords dancing necessary wild wars
Who remembered and who forgot
where in ether our nestling niche napped
as games of betrayal, fear or doubt
doubled into involuting circles and spirals
each tried to neck THE VOID as naked
excuse for not excavating heaving Heart
How much escaping, escapades, evolutionary
clocks cloak our cusps or cues or custard
synchronicities
how many summer summit starlings must
seek to sing of sorrow or of wolves, withering
willows, watermelons on this Planet of
coloured curriculums
holding dear our distinctive designs where
lacy lament is but another aperture into Space
I seek not to know !
Categories:
kilts, allegory, blue, color, deep,
Form:
Free verse
the host in kilts
for Christmas celebration-
spirits flow freely
Categories:
kilts, holiday,
Form:
Haiku
Who or what was this Gretna Green? I oft' did ponder
And English heroine or a fetching greensward? I oft' did wonder!
I learned on my bewildering computer and with my 'cyclopedia at hand,
'Tis a village amid the brae and heather in the South of Scotland!
The Scots are renowned for their haggis and kilts of tartan plaid,
The elusive Loch Ness Monster and the finest whiskey to be had!
Lesser know is the village of Gretna Green and its colorful past,
Where hordes of couples fled to wed without being harassed!
In 1754 the Brits passed A Marriage Act that changed the town forever,
Decreeing if under age twenty-one, from their folks they could not sever.
Soooo, if neither could obtain the necessary parental consent,
Off to Gretna Green they'd elope - this grave restriction to circumvent!
Gretna Green is the first town just north of the English border.
There, lovers fled to unite their lives sans parental warder!
The blacksmith on a road called "Headless Cross" was their destination;
There, an "anvil priest" legally hitched them up with little hesitation!
The "anvil" has since become the symbol of Gretna Green,
Since at the blacksmith shop is where eloping couples would convene!
There, the "anvil priest" "forged" a union that each did cherish,
Leaving enraged mums and dads seething back in the local parish!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
kilts, educationgreen,
Form:
Rhyme
SCOTLAND
Very big sign on highway A1 going southways
Out of Scotland into England,
Painted with thistles, tartans, bagpipes, says
“Haste ye back to bonnie Scotland”.
The other side of road has a small squat
Stone saying one word - “England” - and that’s that.
I am not Scottish: there’s nobody perfect about.
But I’m the closest thing to I reckon:
I am a Geordie, a Scot with brains knocked out.
But mother often told me I was not born -
But conceived in Scotland - the Trossachs;
But nevertheless, still one of the Sassenachs.
I know Scotland as well as I know my hand:
Have crossed the mighty Forth bridges countless times,
Know the “charms” of Dundee’s sandstone tenement-land,
Breakfasted at the huge dining table with clock chimes
In Carbisdale Castle youth hostel, at ease;
And sawed logs for firewood from its fir trees.
I’ve hitched with Glaswegian drivers on the Campsie Moors
And listened to their pleasant chatter
In heavy dialect for twa hoors
Without understanding a word, for that matter;
And often had a dram and been merry
With the crewmen on the Ballachulish ferry.
The fact is that Scotland is the most
Beautiful part of the world I’ve ever known
And the Scots are a warm generous host
Always pleased to help a stranger on his own.
A pub-reading of Burns’ Tam O’ Shanter
From a soft Scots lilt is a real enchanter.
And when you go south on the A1,
All you find is just England.
That’s probably why they want
You to haste back to their bonnie land.
Kilts and haggis, the list is endless:
And while you’re there you won’t be friendless.
Categories:
kilts, places
Form:
Verse
They’re mournful at a wake or when
A person’s laid to rest,
Yet there are those who say their sound
Is something to detest.
But line them up and hear them played
By marchers wearing kilts
And suddenly you see the green
And hear those Irish lilts.
Oh, it’s a joy to witness
The St. Patrick’s Day Parade
And watch the bands from every police
And fireman brigade.
The pipers always lead the way,
Their plaintive notes on high;
The green-clad crowd applauds
As all the marchers pass them by.
I wouldn’t want to listen
To a bagpipe every day,
But on the 17th of March, I’m glad
I get to hear them play.
Categories:
kilts, holiday, music,
Form:
Rhyme