Best Weel Poems
Lo' beneigh' the random bield, bewails upo' the leaf
An' lea'e me naught but grief and pain, as moone breaks through the heath
Upo' the gilded braes we kissed, luve sang a zephyrs cry
Where say, my luve, o' fare thee weel, till a' the seas gang dry
An' bleak October winds ensue, beneigh' the furrow's frost
The sacred lowe, o' week-plac'd love...o' lost my sweet betroth
Yea withered ere', lies mist and bleak, an' mine an empty hand
With sword in hand, yea wander'd far, monie a ravished land
Och! Fated arrow pierced my heart, cauld by thy warrior's blade
Thy sun has waned, the bluid has poured, so boldly o're the glade
Death oftly feared, tho fear naugt more, so deep within my breast
O' do thou kindly, lie him low, upo' this mound of rest
Whase only faut was lovin thee, my tears in dust, my luve is deeply laid
Immortal I lie down 'ere now, lockt in thy arms, upo' the gilded glade
__________________________________________________________________________
beneigh (beneath)
bield (shelter)
bewails (weeps)
heath (meadows)
gilded braes...(golden hills)
lea'e (leaves)
naught (not)
luve (love)
a' (all)
gang (going -gone)
sacred lowe (sacred vow)
monie (many)
cauld (cold)
bluid (blood)
o're (over)
upo' (upon)
whase (whose)
faut (fault)
'ere (here)
lockt (locked)
_________________________
POST HALLOWEEN
I’m a talkin’ bout them trick-er-treeters last night!
Dang kids cum up on tha porch –
Cum by the bus-loads
Up on tha dang porch!
“Trick er treet!”
Them dang squealee little voices!
Don’t trust none on ‘em
While maw’s a passin’ out nuts ‘n apples ‘n candee ‘n
stuff
I’m ridin’ shotgun a sittin’ on tha porch swing
I’m talkin’ bout a genyouwine 12 gage babee!
Oh it’s not a couple extree candees i’m wurreed bout
It’s them dang Jones twins
Honriest kids ever
An ya caint tell ‘em with the masks ‘n all
Weel tha brats knowed some better ‘n ta come
beggin’ on our porch last night
but this mawrnin whin I waked up look out tha winder
At first I thunk it snowed durin’ tha night
Nope!
Twas a charmin sight
Bout fifty rolls
that's newly sprung in June.
O, my love is like the melody,
that's sweetly played in tune
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wit' the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
while the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only love,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my love,
though' it were ten thousand mile!
Geordie is ma brother; some say he is a hero!
Me, ah ken better an’ his rating’s close tae zero!
He likes tae hog the flair wi’ jokes oh say dreary’
Efter twenty meenits we grow a wee tadge weary.
He has a better side but it’s hidden oot o’ sight,
An’ onything he says, Ye’ve guessed, he is ayewis right!
Ah’m no sayin’ he is stoopid, that wid be unkind;
Aw he really needs is a kick up his behind.
Hooever, he’s ma brither sae ah’m gi’en’ him some flack;
Ah’m share that when he reads this he’ll gi’e me plenty back:
Ah suppose ah really like him, weel jist a tiny bit,
Even wi’ his awfy childish doonbeat wit!
Ah should stope ma ramblin’s an tell ye somethin’ guid!
It isna really true that his heed is made o’ wid;
Naw, he’s truly brilliant….when he is far awa’,
An’ talkin’ oan the telephone he’s like a babblin’ Craw.
AYE FOLKS THAT’S MA BRITHER!!!!!! An’ ah love him!
We met in yonder tavern
hay up top o' meikle hill
bousing nappy til a' fou
the nite drave on wi' rairing voices
an the nappy growing better
a souter gars a bet wi' lades o' siller
the deil laughs as they skelpit
slippin' in the dub. Ro'nd birch
an meikle stane they slipped and slid
sic boldness as at deil th'y laughed
full wi' tippeny fearing nae evil.
auld Nick ken weel his turn was nigh
turning into a meikle towzie tyke
hay pounced an thy muck'd thir breeks
an skelpit lik pussie's for shelter
thou'll get thy fairin laughed the deil
as they reach'd safty o' key-stane
ae was shaking kenning thy luck that nite.
translation
A Drunk Bet
We met in yonder tavern
high up on top of huge hill
boozing strong ale until drunk
the night drove on with roaring voices
A cobbler makes a bet with loads of money
the devil laughs as they raced
slipping in the mud . Round birch
and huge stone they slipped and slid.
Such boldness as at devil they laughed
full with whisky not fearing evil.
Auld Nick knew well his turn was near
turning into a huge shaggy dog
he pounced and they messed their trousers
and raced like hares for shelter.
You will get what's coming
at them laughed the devil
as they reached the safety of the key stone
each was shaking knowing they were lucky that night.
TRIMDON GRANGE EXPLOSION *
( 16 FEB 1882, DURHAM, ENGLAND )
Noo March is heor and the wind she’s cowld *
But the sixty nine sowls divvent feel it - strange
Theor noo wheor they feel nee cowld and nivver get owld
Since they gave theor sowls at Trimdon Grange.
Last month on that bad sixteenth day
Owld Widow Burnett went to church to pray
For the three fine sons she once cherished
Noo, aal too soon, they hev aal perished
In thet dusty pit the rolleyways worn’t proper wattored *
And in the Harvey Seam - a thoosand foot doon
And three miles lang - that’s aal thet mattored.
The goaves * wor filled wi’ gas and the dust wes aal around.
They winnet be gannin yem nee maor *
Nor scrannin theor supper o’ pan hagglety *
Nor hengin theor coats yon under the staor
Nor scoffin theor bait and sugary tea
Wor footbaal tyem’s gannin tiv miss the lads
Joseph, Geordie, and James and the fower Broons
We’ll nivver forgit what gyems we had
And when we skelped Hartlepool Toon *
At Durham Big Meetin as the bands made a start
And the teams showed theor best to the crood
We were cowpin wor creels in the clart *
and shootin the odds o’ Hartlepool oot lood.
Oh weel, they left hame that morning to eorn theor daily bread;
Noo theor scrannin in a place where danger is nee maor.
Sixty nine men and boys wor numbered wi the dead.
Aye, death will pay us aal a visit : they hev ownly gone befaor.
…………………………………………………………………………
* One of the worst coal mining disasters in England
* The dialect is known as “Geordie” and is still widely known today in the UK. It
is the dialect of my own childhood, sadly now heavily overlain with standard English.
* Watering kept the explosive dust under control
* A goaf was a working gallery in the mine
* Pan hagglety - a fried mutton dish
* The Trimdon Grange soccer team beat Hartlepool’s team the previous year.
* They won’t be going home any more
* Doing somersaults on the muddy ground
A luv ma life sae full o' joy,
I keep ma interests at full employ.
Each day fur me is sic' delight,
every day, aw' day an' ivery night.
I go tae bed an' lay doon ma heid,
aye richt efter ma supper feed.
Ma thochts are o' beautiful things,
an' tae ma wee brain sic' pleasure brings.
Ah even dream afore ah sleep,
aye, ah do, afore a count those sheep.
Aw' the happy things that has been ma day,
ma wife,ma daughter, sons an' all things ofay.
I'm lucky growing plants is my joy,
auld as I am noo, an' since a boy.
Saft , verdant, vibrant, aw' kinds o' colour,
that grow in winter, spring, autumn an' summer.
I luv sculpture as weel as ma bonny plants,
an' aboot them ah very oaften rant.
An' a luv ma Gairden that's foo o' life,
sno' though, as luvly as ma Bonny wife.
An' ma bairns gei me luvly dreams,
aw life's great, thats what is deemed.
So when ma heid has passed tae sleep,
aw thay luvly thoughts ma soul dis keep.
When I awake frae ma gentle dreams,
wae that first gentle saft sunbeam.
Am oot o' bed like lightnin' jack,
an' oaf tae work wae ma luncheon pack.
Workin' among aw ma bonny fluers,
ah tend no' tae notice ma wurkin 'oors.
Of back noo ,tae ma ain luvly hame,
luvly , 'cos nae ither hoose wid feel the same.
Ma ither joy is cookin' fur aw ma folks,
an' I'll no' mention ma luv fur jokes.
Then there is ma luv in writin' poems each day,
am sure oan FanStory yea arrr' aw' ofay.
A guid night wae aw' ma kin beside,
ma happy face yea canny hide.
Hae ma supper then tae bed I go,
thinking beautiful things, Aye, that is so.
The Auld Yin.
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
This is based on a story about David 'Deacon' Brown The Open Golf Champion of 1886 at
Musselburgh, Scotland.
Davy wis a genius
at climbin' up an' doon.
A chimney sweep o' sure repute
frae Musselburgh Toon.
He won The British Open
in 1886;
Ah'm share awbody whae wis there
thocht it wis a fix!
The Championship Officials
had a player oot o' sync.,
So they thocht o' 'Deacon' Broon,
A player whae'd played the Links.
They fund him up a chimney,
Cleanin' oot the Lum.
They washed him an' they claithed him
An' filled his achin' tum.
The course wis fu' o' champions
linin' up that day.
'Deacon' mumbled tae hissel',
"Weel ah'm jist here tae play!"
He played his gowf wi' panache
an' beat them at their game:
"Ah'm the world's best chimney sweep
an' that is NOO, ma claim tae fame!"
Copyright Robert Cartwright-Davidson February 2009
Ah had a aulder bruther whin ah wis wee,
ah wis five then an' he -wis nine yea see.
A tendid tae follow him aboot,
bit bein' aulder he widnae care a hoot.
Aw jings a remember wan day at school,
oot o' ma pocket ma hankie a bullyboy did pull.
Whit arrrr' yea cryin' fur? Ma brother Jack did say,
that big bullyboy pinched ma hankie whin ah wis at play.
Noo bein' aulder an' bigger he set aboot his bloke,
at furst the bloke thocht it wis a joke.
Bit no fur lang whin Jack grabbed this blokes wee wee parts,
the bully bloke screamed an' had an involuntary fart:)
Weel a gote ma hankie back an' it stoaped me fidgin',
as that bullyboy bloke walked away haudin' his Nether region"
Naw ma bruther wis no fond o' playin' wae me,
bit he wid a'ways protect me tae the Nth degree.
Whin a wis Nine an' ma bruther wis thirteen.
Jack wis a'ways oot an' never tae be seen,
Wan day ma faither came hame frae his workin' day.
"Alex" he shouted oot the windae , cum in this minit frae play.
Jings, crivens he wis in a blidy angry mood,
a wid hiv ran a mile if a possibly could.
Did you burn aw those window curtains doon?
a looked up at the windae an' blidy swooned.
The curtains wir hingin' wae a wee bit charcoaly thread,
oh crivens a wished as wis blidy dead,
No me faither, naw it wisnae me,
jist then, at that moment, ah hid an' involuntary pee.
The door opened an' Jack came in,
his face white as if he had done a terrible sin.
Sorry faither it wisnae Alex that done this horrible deed,
oh so sorry faither I wis stupid, Jack did 'onestly plead.
It wis me as ah flicked a lighted match,
oan blidy fire those curtains did catch.
Aw a kid dae wis tae pull them doon oan the flair,
an' smuther the flames wae the back o' that there chair.
Noo , faither dinae explode,--- at aw,
even efter aw whit he had saw.
Faither said. Twa things saved yea Jack ma lad,
an' fur those twa things you should be glad.
First wan, yea admitted yer firey crime,
saved yer wee bruther frae a hell o' a time.
Second wan wis yer presence o' mind,
actin' sae quickly whin yea were in a terrible bind.
So ma lad, thank you for being so quick an' true,
no punishment but a reward for you is due.
Sadly for me noo baith have gone,
but niver have lights so brightly shone:)
The Auld Yin.
“Long time na see Jim”
“Yip Long time na see Jake”
“D’ja see?”
“What?”
“John Critchuns ‘n that danged Big White o’ his”
“Caint say as I did”
“They oughta be a law ‘gainst brangin’ cats inta tha saloon
But he’s niver without his dang cat
Don’t care ‘bout tha law
Men in here should cumplain
‘Cep John’s mighty fast on tha draw”
“Yip”
“That thing’ll walk around top a poker table
Flashin’ them big white teeth hisssn yet
Dang thing’s sa careful not ta spill a chip
Niver seen tha like”
“Oh yeh?”
“He’ll perch on John’s shoulder lick his ear
Don’t bother John none”
“Hmmm?”
“Niver seen no cat sa big sa white sa downright mean
Meanest cat I ever seen!
Whatcha lookin at me thata way fer?”
“Hmmm?”
“Ya keep scratchin yer head”
“Yip
It’s strange”
“What’s strange?”
“When’s tha las time ya seen Big White?
“Why jis las night why?
“Member tha gun fight six weeks ago
When tha Deeler boys held up tha stage out near Castle Rock?”
“Yip”
“Weel I was there
I was there when John Critchuns and Big White saved tha day
Big White went fer Luke Deeler jist as he uz pickin at the money box lock
Critchuns drew on Luke too
Then Pete Deeler brained Big White ith a rock”
“Dead?”
“Damn sure!
Caved in his friggin head!”
O' my bonie lass o' Loch Ness,
Thou art so fair.
As the rays that melt wi' the sun,
And seyth fare-thee-weel to the moon bright,
on this half night.
Bidding my darlin bonie lass, o' Loch Ness
Aye goodnight,' twere a heavenly sight.
With hair of red, eyes so blue,
I bid goodnight, adieu.
(Let it be recorded far and wide
That the sun shone brilliantly with pride
And bright azure were the skies
The day he entered Paradise.)
Slight of build,small of frame,
His ginger head weel kent throughout the game.
A buzz of excitement ran round the ground
When his name the PA did sound.
His presence promised electric thrills
As he paraded his rich range of skills.
He made his name out on the wing
Where he could make the ball dance ,and almost sing,
A dip of the shoulder,ball tied to his foot,
Skipping nimbly over a cruel ,scything boot.
Whenever he was forced into a fall,
Back he bounced like a rubber ball,
Ready to launch another mazy attack,
Body prepared for more pain on the rack.
Finally time made him hang up his boots,
He retired to Uddingston ,the place of his roots
There were dark days,they say,of drink addiction.
Thanks to family and friends,he survived this affliction
And went on to entertain guests at his old alma mater
With jokes and songs and his bright ,breezy patter.
Glorious were his years upon that hallowed stage
But the finest hours arrived with his advancing age.
Was it a stumble or losing his grip
That alerted his doc to his physical dip?
Those limbs,once fluid with beauty and grace,
Were now imprisoned as though with a steel carapace.
When he was diagnosed as having motor neurone,
That's when we saw the true strength of Jimmy Johnstone.
More cheerful than ever, he offered all comfort and solace
And made the world a much happier place.
We shall never see his like again
But,thank God,the memories will remain
As we recall Wee Jinky in his football guise,
Now Lord of the Wings in Paradise.
Im just a person that is full of lots dreams,and likes to make the world a better
place.I alway think of others be for myself. I have one sister and one brother, and
parents that care. But i believe in me, that i have a talent that i can't find, that's why
im having a hard time fiding a carrer, but i will keep trying.
me and my family has been reting sice i was 7 years old. But when i was born i
had a long peace of hair grown from my spine and my dad caught it from birth.so
when i was 7 i have to have four back surgys and i was in a weel chear for one
mounth.So i had to get a steel rod up my back. So i miss out in sports and all the
other things that people can do that i can't.I thank my dad every day for what he did
what will i do with out my parents i will be lost.
But me i feel sore everyday but i am so happy that im not in a weel chear.Im in
tears every day that i might have to go for another surgy,if i do im not, because
that was the most pain i when"t thro.
But life goes on and i keep living my life as the days go on and on. Lots of people
feel sorry for me and i say do't im still walking and i say it's a gift from GOD..
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.