Frae Poems | Examples

frae

five nights at freddys is not where i wanna be, fried rice at eddies has more nutritional stuff to eat.

Long Time Awa

When yins ye lou are taken awa ,
forever gang intae eternity,
ne,er will ye see them agin,
as eternity is far frae hame.
aye maybes yell see them float by,
in a clear day o sky,
ye can talk tae them when ist yer wont,
but ne,er will ye gain a reply or song,
the kirk it says yell get tae heaven,
where ere yon maybe hidden in cloods,
beyond yer sicht an hid frae hubble ,
an its freends o similar clout.
Oh me freends Eternity is an awfy lang time,
weel beyond oor een an sicht o mine,
aye this life is unfair tae cause sic pain an despair,
tae brek oor herts in a thoosand dauds,
must be workings o hertless gauds.
sae gaither in yer airms yer kith an kin,
tae ignore them aa wid be a sin.
Lou them dearly beyond compare,
dinae mak their hert sair.
Tae hae them leave withoot yer blessing,
wid be tae lose them fur ever mair.
Mak yer peace wi them at war,
offer understauning nae matter
how faur ye hae to travel.

APM 25/01/2024

Rise Again

Tak oor grund from beneath oor hurdies 

Burn oor birches aside the lough, 

Besmirch hard fecht fur freedom, 

Dictating oor days tae come, 

No from the pint o a gun, 

Fae laws an promises  broken. 

Lees an lees spout forth like watter 

Lives expended as if they dinnae matter, 

Feel the Jacobite spirit again, 

Ready tae fecht like scotsmen again, 

Like warrior poets risen from the glen, 

Fae the mists o the past remember, 

Oor freedom wis wun sending Edward hame, 

Yon wis the past a new war begun noo, 

No wi claymores ,targes an guns, 

This time its ideals an Eton buffers, 

Those who wid sell oor birthrights 

Tae mak us slaves an servile peasants, 

Using stealth ,treachery an unco ither weys 

Rogues they be crooks ,cheats and thieves 

Seeming beyond reproach wi things hidden  

Frae us puir mortals aye they wull dae us doon, 

Sic a time as this tae fecht fur whit is oors 

Naw mair begging fur aa few scraps  

Fae a table fu wi guid things , 

Scraps urny fur us we ur free loons 

Burthit free an deeing we wull be free, 

Ur ye ready tae rise yince agin? 

 

Andrew P mcintyre 14/09/2020

Foxy Tale

Hey  fox cub whaur will ye play the day?  

The forest floor is covered in bronze an gold  

leaf hiding youngsters like you from harm 

.Dinae wander far frae yer den .siblings and mother, 

stay close little one theres a storm coming. 

 (c)Andrew Mcintyre.

Scotland the Free

Have pity on the Scott’s ruled 
By the Brexit voting sassenach
Who don’t seem to understand 
We too want out country back.
Arbroath Smokies for breakfast
Porridge  seasoned with salt
Kedgeree, Haggis, neaps and tastes
With wee drams of single Malt.

Pints of Heavy Friday nights
The working weeks end
Words of wisdom swapped
With true and blethered  friend.
Fish and taties frae the chippie,
Deep fried Mars Bar to follow
Just to round off the night
A sweet delight to swallow.

Then the planning to drive
The Sassenachs from our soil,
Take back all our fish and
What’s left of North Sea oil.
Home Rule For Scotland 
Restore our law and Order
Keep those thieving Brits
To their side of the border.

We'll gladly offer asylum
To those few  of sound mind
Who want to up sticks  and leave
Those heathen Tories far behind.
Let them keep their wee King
They’re always asking God to save
We’ll have  the massed pipe bands
Loudly  playing  Scotland the Brave

Goodbye United Kingdom
Land of thieving Tory
Living on faded memories
Of Passed hope and glory.
Scotland the Brave
Scotland the free
Goodbye puny England
We’re all so well shot of thee

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.

Upon Your Shore

Ma boatie sailed ower the mist covered sea,
I searched an sought for your hidden shore,
Shrouded in mist frae ma searching eye.
You left in a red mist o yer makin,
Stormin aff afore ah could stoap yer flight,
Heid strang defiant an unco deaf tae protestations,
Awa back tae yer hame doon by the wild sea,
Broodin an frettin yer wrath ready tae explode,
Watchin the mist conseal yer shore.
Selkies an sirens kept silent at nicht,
Feart o yer mad writhings an screams,
Even the Coileach hid hersell away ,
In daurk caves inside o hills and bogs.
They were loast in the wids,
Whaur only fae Ghillie could see them oot.
Doon rushing burns kelpies would scream,
Rending the nicht to quiver an moan,
Whaur travellers wid shiver in tavern rooms.
Ah heard the moans an gripes in the mist
As at last ah fund yer shore wi smooth saun,
Whaur ah beeched  ma little boatie,
Unner the licht o a bricht shining moon.
Upon yer shore ah staun an cast a look
Ower the saun toward yer hame,
An wunner if ah was tae blame.
Yer loast tae me forever in time,
Ne,er again will ah call ye mine.

Andrew mcintyre.   28/12/2020.

Awa Tae France

The battles ower ,smoke settles ower the moor,
Clans are broken flying aff tae the hills.
Redcoated sodjers mingle with red Heilan blude,
Killing the wounded in Drumossie mud.
Oor Prince has fled leaving dreams in the dust,
Of a Stuart oan the throne that was oor lust,
like the heron scared of mans approach
fleeing his home being taen awa tae France.
Some say he was a bonnie lad cam frae italia way,
Heir tae the royale throne pretending tae be king,
Nae clue or fighting skill but the bonnie prince could sing.
Noo he was being led awa tae catch a boat tae tak him awa.
It was spoken of in tones hushed and still,
Ane day he wid return tae claim the throne,
Frae ower the watter oor king wid come,
Alang wi lairds cawed awa tae France.

© Andrew Provan McIntyre 2016-05-28

Monument To Sir Walter Scott - Glasgow

Nigh on ninescore year hae I
Preside o'er thaes city faer
But i' shoundna be me on thaes stule
In Mad King Gaerge's Squaer

In life a saemple claerk o' law 
Who frae Edinburrah hael
'nd 's kent tae woo thae lasses
Wi' an auld ramaentic tael

Naw I set upon mae paerch
'nd watch Glaswegians pass
'nd time again mae eye doth fix
Upon a bonny lass

Thaer be but one wee aeggravation
I 'ud gladly tae shed
Faer I'ud rathaer dae wi'out
Thae seagael on mae haed

August 25, 2017

Mornin' Efter

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’

Whit'Ll Ye Dae

Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they bring thur minarets,mosques and imams
An' ower the city sound the muezzins' prayer alarms
An' they mak great play o' daein' Ramadan
An' profit frae sellin liquor they themselves ban
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they wrap thur wummin in niqab and burqa
An' insist oan usin' the courts Sharia
An' don't let ye mak jokes aboot the prophet
An' tell ye ,if ye dae,ye'd better come aff it
Glesga,whit'll ye dae?

Whit'll ye dae when the Muslims come
If they chant"Allahu Akbar" wi' thur guns in thur fists
An' blaw thumsels up wi' thur suicide vests
An' aw this efter shootin' hunners ae us
An' blamin' the West fur aw ae the fuss
Haw Glesga,whit'll ye dae?

Burns' Lament

When ah sairly look doon frae up oan high
Frae ma cloud warmed dookit in the azure sky
At aw the drunken bloated bletherums
Wha meet fur ma birthday's kilted getherums
Tae feast sae dearly oan neeps an' tatties
Wi' yon sonsie  puddin' we  aye cry haggis
Tae toast wi'  wee haufs o'usquebaugh ma name
Ah huvtae admit tae a  real sense o' shame
Ah widnae want tae  be  seen deid wi' ony o'thum.
No e'en fur the whale o' a  guid king's ransom.


Sic beanos fur ithers might be fine 'n' dandy
Just gie me time fur  a wee bit o' hoochmagandy.
'Twas wi'  the lassies ah dearly lo'ed tae gambol
Fur they queens  aw did mak ma knees tae tramble.

Did Rabbie Say It At An' Efter Denner Speech?

Hawk-teuchin   -   spitting up phlegm
Nimmer            -   dinner
Gundie-guts     -   fat slobs
Mickle-moud   -   great big mouth
Sachleasly        -   Innocently
Muckle herts    -   big hearts


Rabbie wis hawk-teuchin frae the back o’ his sare throat,
Afore he gave his efter nimmer speech.
He said tae the landed gentry, “ye’re a set o’ gundie-guts,
But far be it frae me tae staund up here an’ preach.

Ye ken ah’ve stacks o’ gumption fur ye widna asked me by
Tae render words o’ prose frae ma mickle-moud:
Sae sachleasly ah’ll spout ma rhyming ware fur ye,
It’ll mak yer muckle herts feel staunch an’ proud.”

The Gowfin' Chimney Sweep

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

A Voice In the Mist

Sa sit an sip a dram wi me
We'll do again those  grand ol days
Sa lately hidin' in a haze
What was the cause of such a daze
Sa soon f'got sa soon fo'gave
It wa' na nuff ter blame or fault
Sa sniff an' smell this single malt
It tastes of heather drifting fog
Up frae the loch o' Lomon'
Two swallers each an' we'll be young
Enough t'hear the song as sung
By we wha fought t' right a wrong
An won enough t' get along
An' swap a lie  as if among
Old friends as we belong
Sa sit an' sip an'  hold y' tongue
It wa' nae worth the bother.

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