Against those throes of untimely demises that Hormel chili should usher in surprises, or so the weapon goes to the kiln where kilts affray melt ire still, but beside the moon, that heavenly crest shan't ring new tones, the silent rest, whereupon one green stamp made this here, reap and commala like times past my dear, where one thing never finds Ms. Garland and another may leave her, is it simply constructed or beaten and beleaguered? I beat the metal hot and strong, but saintly serpents proved them wrong, the energies aglow like fires unkempt, the hearth and mantel heavens lent them and showered the earthly with cures galore a poor poet's boy, Aurora's demure.
Betsy Ross sewed the US flag with ease
Fellow countrymen were more or less pleased
A Scotsman stole her design
His wife sewed something so fine
Flags doubling as kilts ~ Waving in the breeze
Scotland, My Home
Scotland, my home, where I was born and bred
Where the saltire flies high above my head
Where the bagpipes sound and the kilts are worn
Where the haggis tastes and the whisky warms
Scotland, my home, where the history runs deep
Where the brave and the bold their freedom did keep
Where the clans and the kings their stories did weave
Where the legends and the lore their magic did leave
Scotland, my home, where the culture thrives
Where the poetry and the music their spirit revives
Where the humour and the wit their charm displays
Where the friendship and the kindness their heart conveys
Scotland, my home, where the beauty shines
Where the mountains and the valleys their splendour define
Where the lakes and the islands their serenity show
Where the flowers and the wildlife their colours glow
Scotland, my home, where I belong and love
Ye are the treasure of my life, and the gift from above
I cherish thee more than words can say, and I'll always be loyal to thee
Scotland, my home, ye are the best of me
A giraffe who was new
At the Aberdeen Zoo
Heard a bagpipe askirling one day.
He tracked down the player
And offered to pay her
If she kindly would teach him to play.
He gazed at the piper,
A Hebrides viper,
As she uncoiled and let out a sigh.
Then she hissed, "Listen, dearrie,
I'll answerr yerr querry,
But you're nae gonna like my rreply.
Yerr legr'rr like stilts,
You'd look funny in kilts,
And that just would'na sit well wi' Scots.
We'rre quite snobbish and swell,
And know perrfectly well
That plaid dinna fit well wi' spots!"
Paris was built gray, though in summer,
the trees and the umbrellas upload color.
The architecture spills over
into gay shades of silver and pewter.
Edinburgh is gray, gray are the plastic rainhats.
Damp kilts gamely fly a little color.
The stonework is granite gained,
and in late arriving Spring
color creeps up the hilly streets.
Shanghai flakes away in gray
a lacquered gray
that gilts the Huangpu river.
The skyscrapers are creamy
and blush in the sunlight.
The girls are silk flowers
in gray designer Nike’s.
Nowadays,
those who world-travel no more,
and those stuck in their own mud,
spin a grey alchemy into colorful words
which they then send
to places
worth writing to.
Gordon's gin
is not Scottish
but British
Canadian whisky
is better than nothing,
if all you have is nothing.
The name 'Gordon'
means -
'Large fort, big hill'.
This has drove many a Gordon
to drink, and dark poetry.
Pink Gin is for slim men
who brunch until lunch.
The Scots like to sword dance
in their shorty kilts
that's what too much whisky
can make you do.
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.
The beauty of this nation is enhanced by the Unicorn,
Captivating kilts are here made and worn!
Encyclopedia Britannica was born here,
You cannot find King penguin Nils Olav elsewhere!
The invention of modern kilt was done here by Thomas Rawlinson,
Beautiful tartan cloth is used for it and admirable pleating is done .
Golf's birthplace is Scotland,
It shares the border of the south with England.
Scotland's Knap of Howar is a historical tourist attraction,
Must visit the place once for its amazing tradition!
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
I love manly men.
I love men in tartan kilts
who wear them effusively.
What is under them?
Do they wear short pantaloons
that will not show under kilts?
Or just in the buff
that will allow air to flow
and cool what suspends beneath?
Regardless, I love
manly men in tartan kilts
who move with cool confidence.
I toast Scottish kilts,
and the bare-kneed manly men,
and Gael clans to which they’re bound.
May they never lose
their bold, cocksure demeanor
and ever display their plaids.
Working on the ancient rocks I traveled across Scotland,
on way to Edinburgh I crossed the rolling Highlands,
trailing the serpentine road built on rocks and debris,
fenced by the unbroken lines of birch and pine trees.
Dressed in elegant tartan kilts the enthused bagpipers,
moored at road edge played the captivating Celtic music,
while in the winds blowing with blue mist from the glen
the colors fluttered on the backside pleats of their kilts.
Roaming on the rhythmic undulations of the moor,
the sprinting reindeers framed a splendid sight.
From beneath the shroud of the mystique mist
the legendary monster didn’t appear in the Loch Ness.
I couldn’t have covered the whiskey trail faster,
Scotch gold in dashes of small pegs went to my head,
enticing me to be suffused with the pristine imagery,
and to fondly remember the beauty of Scotland.
____________
March 17, 2021
Contest : Scotland-One Rule
Sponsor : Julia Ward
Edinburgh, Scotland is where the Union Jack is unfurled.
This city gave a rock and roll gift to the world.
Dressed in tartan kilts and scarves were five talented boys.
During the seventies, they gave countless teens great joys.
They recorded a hit song that to many sounded just right.
This number one record was the memorable "Saturday Night".
Some other hit tunes that followed would play.
With personnel changes, the Bay City Rollers are still around today.
They are still wearing their tartan kilts and scarves by the way.
I thank wikipedia.org for valuable information I obtained to write this poem.
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
Haggis hype
Bagpipes bleating like unshorn sheep
Tartan theatrical - military tatoos
Scotland cloning Dolly the Sheep
National pride - Robbie Burns, poet, bard of Auld Lang Syne
Highlands of ancient rocks, rift vallies
natural beauty, layers of worth
Loch Ness, geologic scooped, water serene
Nessie settled in depths, unseen
sonar detection elusive
marine monster of geeky charm
conjured in gift shop puffery
Nessie hat, Dragon like, tucked above protruding ears
In Edinburgh's historic streets
Whiskey fed men, burly, bearded
strut
wrapped in kilts
traditional garb
plaid, pleated, blessed, dressed
in woolen scratchiness (avoid a public itch)
Breezy kilts wrap manly legs menaced by
thigh high thistles
Scottish reach prickly
No matter
Scots men, image strong
(ignore the thistles and street whistles)
brimming swagger like malt liquor
skirting scavengers in exploration peaks
men in kilts (minimalism denied)
protectors of the realm
unafraid
to let it all hang out
Poem composed: March 10, 2021
Bagpipes conveying the delight
Of a country filled with insight
Swinging their kilts in accord
With their song of joy, so adored
They color the world in green
Appreciating the good queen
Awakening a world to glean
~
Gaelic poetry and prose will sigh
Through the echoes of a blue sky
That reminisce with kilts so bright
Laughter harmonizing despite
The blessed stanzas and rhymes
Poems alive with a joyful times
That focuses on more than crimes
~
The Scotsman has reported the fact
That we shouldn’t ever overreact
We should keep remembering the past
History and the mystery so steadfast
Lives that knew blessings to the hilts
And hearts that liked wearing kilts
Certainly never feeling swell of guilts
Scotland One Rule Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
March 2, 2021
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