Braw Poems

Robert Burns 1759-1796

His work is known around the Earth
This ploughman lad of lowly birth
He wooed and won the lassies braw
His Jean the fairest of them aw
He honoured such as mice and men
And friendship flowed beneath his pen
Of parity and justice wrote
A line that I take leave to quote
“That man to man the world o’er
shall brothers be...” can’t ask for more.
Diverse his works, out of his time
The man who gave us “Auld Lang Syne"

Dimming Reminiscence

I delight in your twaddle inside me, young girl.
Restore the golden-pink gleam with a swirl.
Memories of who've died or are close to dying.
Delve deep, according to inner-child supplying.

Taking apart each self that has been dark-dyed
Then, closely dig up the shimmering past's side.
Until we draw a kinder rainbow hue, we must wait.
Vacant space below crops and owned bogs is fate.

I witnessed my parents waiting at the school gate.
I spy my father wandering the area near the grate.
The stems of ivy felt alike wings around her neck.
I can view my mother eschewed quickly to the deck.

ignited by her tenderness and exuberance.
Hijinks start here, unlucky protuberance.
Her giggling sounds akin to the essence of life.
Her grin, which is always braw, stops any strife.

Written: May 1st 2023

An Outdoor Relish

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

Inextricably Untethered

I've struck a snag after a long develops steps.
To a recent attitude over alliance depth,
I investigate this frightening atmosphere.
On top, winning expresses me insecure.

 Because of my hearty assurance, I'm here today.
Divine grace has favored us for countless days.
I'm ailing back running with my unique mindset.
God, the Divine, contrives a chart for us, don't fret.

I can't travel to this area alone or by potent force.
It's all mercury; there's subtly nothing else sparse.
I'm defenseless to impact or succumb to anybody.
Every day, there is solely a requisite mission boldly.

But I'm evenly a pebble and embody no braw feeling.
Conception utterly lingers the power of God's crafting.
Despite our slightness, shapes harbor an awful misgiving.
In our style-driven culture, inner self-fosters are laying.

The fence of affection grows stouter as unfolding.
The Lord has appropriately arranged everything.
We are more poised than we reckon and form sound.
A wall that set us free, not the myriad way around.


Written: December 19, 2021

Caledonia

Caledonia her laund is oor laund,
Caledonia her laund is ma laund
A laund wherr ithers ur walcome,
As we haud oot oor hand
In friendship an tak ye aw in,
As brithers fur aw that.

Caledonia we hailse you foriver,
Caledonia the braw kintre,
Whaur fowk ur aye at hame,
Wherr ithers feel richt at hame, 
Whaur affront is ne.er oor aim,
An deceit fur laund wi lea alane.

Caledonia yer nae wanes slave,
Caledonia ne,er unner Sassenach fit,
A laund fu o kemps  aplenty,
Free tae skail guid  rid bluid,
We urny  hinder tae scowth-and -roth
An will fecht tae uphaud oor richts.

A kintre o men free wi lealtie tae,
Auld alba caws tae us frae whiles bygane,
Wi sangs an ports fae the pipes ,
Filling the hairt wi  pride an courage,
An we will fechttae protect oor ain,
An free auld alba frae colonial pain.

The Scottish Play

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

A Reading of Things

Inside an old library of things uncountable
clippings, extracts, jottings, and snippets.

‘things’ 
nothing can be
excluded

yes the air is musty, thickly clothed,
muffled and club fingered, 
incidentals are listed 
on the cuff of the half-remembered. 

Mind dust wafts from one place to another.
Orts of loss, tittle, and trifles. A library
in pieces.

A fine looking woman approaches
she has an armful of books.

Maybe she works here
or maybe she works only
in this moment.

Behind her
things begin to fall off shelves.

“Don’t worry.”
She is Scottish and actually says 
“dinna fash yersel.”
An old Celtic grandma peeps out of her eyes.

The enormity of every-thing
pecks and probes.

She places more books
on the reading table.

The thought of a ‘reading table’
amuses.

Outside the library the world is simplifying.

A fresh sky begins to write
in a language only spoken of
in empty rooms.

It’s a braw uncluttered daylight
that greets awakening eyes.

A Statement

A Statement

When I was young, 
my Aunt burned her braw. 
She fought for rights, 
for me, and my daughter(s), 
that I had no idea, 
I did not have. 

Voting, 
equal pay, 
the chance to say, 
what is important.
A woman's view, 
to add a lighter touch, 
to partisan screams. 
Sadly only human, 
not always right, 
not always wrong. 

Graceful dedication, 
to the truth about our land. 
We the people, 
together we stand. 

The right to vote, 
and make a difference, 
important to one and all. 
Citizens that feel the same, 
about freedom, 
and the lack of it.

Path of a Burn

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.

Brilly Natchers--------Total Nonsense

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

Rabbie Burns 1759-1796

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

When I Grow Old

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

Butterflies Flutter By

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

Country of the Clans and Glens

Scotland, rich in pride
Braw mountainous scenery
Stands proud and salutes
 
Saltire shares the wind
Tartan Highlanders kilted
Kingdom of the clans

When I Was a Wean

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.

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