Best Roon Poems
Covered bridge sheltering frothy lagoon
Woven tapestry gilding each silted dune
Garnished threads over polished diadem doth croon
Fabricated ensemble breaching pristine medley, emitting swaggering tune
A treasured grove; each branch artfully hewn
A regal polish smoothly layered on a well-crafted spoon
Scented laces nestling in furrowed moon
Binding corset ballasting each milky balloon
Red velvet gown swaddling paps so roon
Silver, monogrammed broach cresting over satin plume
Golden necklace the antechamber doth groom
Lilac perfume from each tendered Liily doth fume
Plowing through the quilted morass so carefully strewn
O'er snowy plain with sculpting touches tenderly prune
Nurturing each crevice; in your fecund valley swoon
Watching in rapturous chorus each mound bloom
With fertile lips I pollinate each riveted loom
From each rendered nipple a sweet nectar I exhume
Nature's, anesthetizing beauty held
tightly in escrow
'Til on tendered form its heavenly
charm can bestow
Fair maiden strides through
manicured meadow
In her lovely essence, the enchanted
flora doth wallow
Overhead, azure canvas paints a
regal halo
Her satin cheeks radiant in Helios's
afterglow
Beneath, green clover spreads its
downy pillow
Her dainty feet tenderly the svelte
blades furrow
Lilac strands their fragrant
essence strew
As her ebony locks in soothing
breeze flow
White, silken lillies fringe the
bristling undertow
Roon paps gild voluptuous, damsel's,
milky tallow
Twirling dandelions their feathery
dander billow
Maiden's silted bosom takes a
respite under fawning willow
Creamy buttercups in the noonday
heat their hearth's mellow
In their steamy shadow, frothy
maiden spreads her umbrella
Wur in RE an the nuns are gien
oot sweeties, fur getting the kweschins right.
Three oota three, then she’s askin mae who Jesus’ mither is.
‘Ah doan’t know sista,’ ah tell hur.
She isnae happy an tells mae tae hink aboot it. So ah dae
an ah wurk oot Jesus wis god. It wis a trick kweschin,
‘he didnae hiv ah mither.’ Ma
sweet stoats aff the side ae ma heid.
She’s spittin in ma coupon fur a name, an
diggin hur digits in ma neck.
‘Ah doan’t know who Jesus’ friggin mither wis!’
Miraculously ah float tae the front ae the cless. Ma haun’s oot,
bit ah doan’t hink shill hit mae wae that big stick. Thwack!
Ah look doon it the bloody gash through ma puddlin
eyes, ‘yoo’ve broke ma haun’ ah croak,
then turn roon an boak.
Gang awa frae tha Glen
Tae a fearsome place;
Where tha darkened souls
Hae na gleemps o’grace.
Where tha work must fit
A new tongue and race.
Gang awa frae tha Glen for a wheel.
“Tis for certs He has ca’d
Ye, and ye must roon;
Tae a land o’ plagues
And o’ blastin’ sun,
Where tha rule o’ richt
Hae just sceerce begun.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, Robbie, chile.
There be muckle tae ken
O’ tha people’s need;
O’ tha crops that thrive,
O’ tha life they lead;
O’ tha daily thirst;
O’ their warfare, greed.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, and be wise.
Tho’ tha ship be worsted,
Tho’ tha trail be long,
Tho’ tha beasts be awful,
Ye’ll arrive anon;
And commence tae cant
Tha sweet Gospel song.
Gang awa frae tha Glen, in His love.
And ye’ll spot tha dee
When it starts tae click.
As they bring their young,
And they bring their sick;
For o’ Jesus’ kind
They ken nae sic lik..
Gang awa frae tha Glen, tae be used.
An’ it’s nae sa muckle
That their needs ye know,
Whuch’ll fan tha flame,
Cause your strenth tae grow;
But tha confeedence
“Tis your Laird says, “Go!”
Gang awa frae tha Glen, ‘til you’re gone.
(Robert Moffat, Pioneer Missionary to South-west Africa)
Note: The story is told of the early day in the mission of Moffat when his camp was confronted by a prominent chieftain. The man demanded to know the purpose of the missionary’s visit and the authority who sent him.
Through an interpreter, Moffat advised that he represented the greatest of all Chiefs and that he was bringing news and help for the best in life. The native said that he would kill Moffat and his chief. The territory was under his absolute control. He brandished a menacing spear. His retinue stood at the ready.
Calmly Moffat loosened the breast of his jacket. Striding to within inches of the man’s face, he pointed to his own heart and said, “My Chief lives here. If you intend murder, do it now, for I will not be held back from my purpose.”
The other’s jaw dropped. His spear hand faltered. His bluff had been called. The two would soon become fast friends.
Refined dame with polished frame
Strewing rose petals from lofty pedestal
Sparkling eyes from which stardust flies
Bright smile spindling on embroidered dial
Pallid face shrouded with humble grace
High cheek bones with sculptor's chisel honed
Coiffed strands of hair so De Rigueur
Elegant neck sharing femininity with regal dignity
Voluptuous bosom with silky folds rolled
Roon paps flowing with sweet, sugary saps
Frothy balloon hovering over silted cocoon
Swiveled hips whose billowy curves in rhythm swerve
Heart-shaped hands from which dexterous tendrils
expand
Long, shapely legs with slithering grooves bathed in silky
lube
Dainty feet whose comely features do entreat
A dinae ken ma purage frae ma ale
Ma heed is burlin roon, a canae stan’
A’m no the yin tae swalie toast sae stale
an’ cannae yet get up withoot a han’
Tak a swally wae mae will ye?
toast tae a life goan past
tae a wee lassie pure et last
Am no gonie lie
ets time fur her tae die..
So swally doon yer whisky son
goat a joab tae be dun
we'll fuk her err
wack er roon the heid
til she's deed
shes a bonnie wee lass nae
mare
Im dancing roon the kitchen, the music is ablast, Ma table is a buzz of life and i am not
harrassed. You see i have five angels who drive the neighbours wild, but in my eyes there's
nothing better than the laughter of a child. We laugh and dance together and i thank god im
alive,Cause sometimes i will doubt that when the sperm donor arrives, But today im very
happy, I have my angels to myself, the joy i feel's fantastic and may it never end, cause I
know whatever happens i will be there to defend.
Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.
Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.
Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.
Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.
Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.
Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.
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.
Canny remember this Lass's name,
but fur the poem's sake let's assume she's Jane.
'Jane ' this per wee soul had fingers lighter than a blidy feather,
aw things within her sicht yea had tae tether.
Wartime is no jist a time fur wurry or sorrow,
Certainly no fur Jane, aw things she wanted she jist borrowed.
Aye aw things she'd borrow without askin' if she could:(
frae clothes pegs,newspapers an' oany flippin' type o' food.
Funny thing tho' is ,she wis hard tae catch,
wae Jane, things vanished, even oot o' awbidy's veggie patch.
Noo this went oan fur sum munths -even a year.
every week sum wee thing wid jist disappear.
Everybidy jist kent is wis this lass Jane,
bit ivery bidy's attempt tae catch her wis jist in vain.
Yea kid be talkin tae her an' she kid steal yer blidy teeth,
nae kiddin' this lass wis beyond belief.
We lived in number three oor wee But'N'Ben,
Jane lived in five or wis it ten?
Nae matter- she lived in tapmaist flat,
jist hersel' withoot luv an' no even a wee tabby cat:(
No oor family didnae want tae drop her in the poo,
jist teach her a lesson ma dad said he wid do.
So ma Dad an'ma uncle Harry made a parcel wae a few frills,
An' left it oan the neighbour's doonstairs windae-sill.
Sure as itchy flees oan a wee cat's bum,
it wisnae lang before Jane did come.
She walked past the frilly parcel here oan the windae-ledge,
ma Dad an' uncle Harry watchin' -nerves oan edge.
Quick as a blidy blidy' flash,
that said parcel unner Jane's airm an' oaf she dashed.
Up the stairs tae her flat in number ten.
dad an' uncle Harry waited fur whit they didnae ken.
Suddenly the level three tap windae o' Jane's wee flat,
an' oot came that undone frilly parcel like a blidy scalded cat.
It landed at ma Dad an' uncle Harry's feet,
whit wis in that parcel a canny easily repeat.
Dad an' uncle Harry wir in fits an' tears,
their laffin' muscles wir in tap gear.
A wee clue tae the contents - Coo's S#!^#,
stull wonderin' eh? Rhymes wae Kite.
Noo cross ma hert this story is true,
cos' we had a dairy roon back which had lotes o' coo's poo.
As for Jane - weel she kent we knew she had fingers light,
never again did she pick up parcels full of S#!^#.
Aye the last wurd rhymes wae Kite
The Auld Yin.
Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.
Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.
Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.
Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.
Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.
Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.
The room is cleaned up
and because it is saturday
the sheets are linen
pure, white and steamed,
the dinner is a banquet
and the dessert is an apple pie
So, she lies on the bed
and he, on the top of her
and because it is a holiday
they have closed the office
they are following the schedule
The roon is cleaned up
linen sheets
she is waiting for him
he is on the top of her
he is following the schedule
she is looking through the window
For a few brief moments
he enters and pulls out of her
she moans and suffers predictlaby
he comes and shakes convincingly
Because it is Saturday
the office is closed
she is lying on the bed
he is on the top of her
she is moaning predictlably
he is thinking about the pie
she is thinking about morphine
and in the inside-outside rhythm
she feels like she was dead
and he pretends he is loved.
Patrícia Evans
Far tae the North hidden alang Moray coast,
Therr bides a little toon o which yin can boast.
Wi a rid phone boax in pride o place mak a call tae freends an aa.
Nae thing tae spile the view ower grey blue sea reflecting azure sky
Rest yer mind oan Pennans lap bringing a smile tae yer mou'.
Sky ablaze with fire a glow as ancient as the stones
Ancients witnessed this cosmic fire thinking it was the gods ire,
Hiding within circles of towering stone while druids chanted
Smiling as they alone knew ,it was the voyage of the sun roon the wurld
Bringing the gift of life making crops grow at summers height.
Stillness settles over the sea and land, lulling all to rest and sleep,
A flash o siller moon catching and painted by setting sun.
Now the red of setting sun is painted over the sky,
Segou’s fly hame tae roost oan clifface steep an sheer,
Till yince again at dawns rise brichtens the sky again.
Splish, splash said the seagaus yin tae anither,
Fur whit wull we hae fur oor supper e dey,
said the ither ,Ah ken lets hae fish,
Whit again replied the first ane, weel we aa ken that at Pennan ye allus get the
best fush
my but yer richt therr ma freen quick afore yon dolphins jin the queue
C,mon n hurry get therr furst an gie them the push.
Pennan is the fushing village wherr “Local Hero” wus fulmed.
Swooning in chorus to your rhapsodic tune
Your soothing Sonata crests to the billowy moon
Your animalistic rhythms o'er every truant part croon
Blithe melody softly careening over every pallid dune
Bass drum taps lightly; milk flows from hardened paps so roon
Exploring in cadence each curvilinear line artfully hewn
Riding each stanza in your seething, swaying balloon
Coursing over each ripple in your silver shoon
Each crevice, crater my hands carefully prune
Sifting out silty pebbles with a sculptor's spoon
Dipping harmoniously into your deep ocean; gleeful loon
Ruddy ballast anchoring ship in your salty lagoon