Long Scotland Poems
Long Scotland Poems. Below are the most popular long Scotland by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scotland poems by poem length and keyword.
are these bluebells from Scotland, England, Texas, Virginia or Spain?
I have seen a video, but am not sure, so try to expand my brain.
do they grow in hedgerows, grassland or at the edge of a wood?
they are lovely bluish-lavender hyacinths, I would say if I could.
their bright tubular flowers bloom along with tulips, in May.
attracting pollinators like bees, butterflies and moths along their way.
bluebells symbolize gratitude, humility, everlasting love and constancy.
I want them for my bridal bouquet says my six-year-old-cousin Dee.
bridal bouquets already? We older cousins scoff at the silliness of this.
white bluebells symbolize purity says Charlene, reading from a list.
why would they be called bluebells if they are white? I ask.
getting back to the country of origin, a rather daunting task.
Living here in southwest Scotland
winter brings its share of cold air
along with biting winds so chilling
makes you feel thinking it's not fair
Then Jack Frost appears so deep
getting deep into the earth's ground
walking on the grass feels do crunchy
with its hardness, it brings a crispy sound
You need to wrap up really well
with thick layers, keep out the cold
wooly bonnet, scarf, and gloves
all needed especially when you're old
Remember that in your elderly years
the blood gets thinner all the more
so you feel the cold and that frost
take all precautions so close your door
So keep warm as best you can
make sure your house has enough heat
this cold air won't last forever
for when spring comes sun's a real treat!
(Just back from a week in the Scottish Highlands where although we had no snow there was plenty of frost and that really cold air so just a few thoughts on that cold air at this time of year.)
The heather weeps, a purple bruise,
Across the glens, the chilling news.
No bagpipes drone a mournful sound,
But sirens wail on hallowed ground.
A thistle bleeds, its prickling crown,
As innocence is stricken down.
Young eyes, once bright with Highland fire,
Now gleam with something dark and dire.
The steel they flash, a twisted boast,
A stolen childhood, dearly lost.
Each shadowed lane, a whispered fear,
Of blades that gleam and futures near,
Consumed by rage, a hollow pride,
Where youthful dreams have gone to hide.
Parents clutch, with hearts ablaze,
Afraid to loose in this iron maze.
The ancient stones, they stand and stare,
At broken vows and whispered prayer.
Can Scotland rise, her spirit mend,
And teach these children how to bend,
The steel to craft, the hands to heal,
And learn the wounds are truly real?
To trade the blade for open hand,
And reclaim peace within the land.
Well here we are into this year
what is it that fills my hopes
as I look into what lies ahead
point up to my heavenly rope
Trying to learn more of holy scriptures
draw nearer to Jesus my saviour
seek His face praying to Him
please God by true godly behaviour
Pleading and prayer for revival
longing for God's touch on this land
for this country to turn from its sin
make their peace at His righteous hand
To be a true hubby to Christine
with God-like love I'd show
give her all I've promised to do
be God's man, just let it all flow
Seek to know God's contentment
know His touch upon my tongue
control my stammer to speak so calm
just do that as I've always sung
Healthwise all is so good
my diabetes is under control
feel really well in my soul
keep close to Jesus,
my constant goal
(The country I speak of here is Scotland. )
I will stand in the heather,
I will stand in the glen,
I'll defend my Bannockburn,
With horse, pike and men.
As Bruce I command,
As Robert I will die,
But not on this day,
For English souls rise to the sky.
Remove them I will,
Send them o'er the hill,
Past Stirling and Falkirk,
Back to England yet still.
As Scots' we are strong,
Edward be damned wrong,
Tae' think he will be victor,
Today he is gone.
Seton gave me the clue,
Schiltron's stood fast and true,
Horsemen and Bowmen,
Fought as they knew,
That Scotland could prove,
It would rule through and through,
Without English invaders,
Marching on my moor.
Many lie dead,
Both English and Brave Scots',
But Edward is gone,
His army bloodied and lost.
Back to their home,
And leave mine tae' me,
At Bannockburn we stood,
And held Victory.
Graham Alexander Devenish
We met during the war on this now famous sunny isle
Like a moth to a flame, was her infectious smile
I was in the Navy, stationed aboard an MTB
Keeping shipping lanes open, for the Mediterranean Fleet
Whilst the war years progressed you could sense the islands bravery
Heavily bombed and damaged, under threat of Axis slavery
Although we lived amidst, we could only marvel at their spirit and guile
They fought hard for their liberty on that famous sunny isle
I'll never forget the times, endured during this terrible war
Camaraderie became their strength, for what they had fought-en for
Simple life went on, amidst the cafes and the bars
My new found love from this famous sunny isle, became my married dove
We still recall the radio broadcast, declaring that war is over
As we headed back to my homeland, to Scotland and live in clover
The day that we embarked, many a tear fell from our eyes
Looking back at this famous sunny isle, under peaceful azure blue skies
Many a word we spoke, whilst we sailed to Southampton Port
Now demobbed, to a civilian, hopefully the war mongers are brought to court
Although the war years showed their horrors, respect was never far away
This famous sunny isle, wears the George Cross in deserved display
Heading home to Scotland, past fields in harvest bloom
This proud Royal Navy sailor, with his bride and he a groom
We cried as we passed the war torn, not only was it the famous sunny isle
For the war had been so expansive, in it's putrid inhuman vile
We settled on the West Coast, amidst the heather and the glens
Bringing up our boys, praying they'll never be fighting men
Many nights we stayed up, answering questions of our past
From that famous sunny isle, our true love would always last
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-15.php
Awa' oan the Firth of Forth,
high oan the famous brig',
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cauld and bitter wind.
Awa' aff the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scourin' and roastin' tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would hae him drinkin',
The cummers would pay him 'ahind the door,
but he oany has wan thing oan his mind
and she's awa' aff the river shore.
*Translation*
Away on the Firth of Forth,
high on the famous bridge,
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cold and bitter wind.
Away off the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scouring and roasting tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would have him drinking,
the cummers would pay him behind the door,
but he only has one thing on his mind
and she's away off the river shore.
Glossary of terms:
* the Firth of Forth is the estuary of the River Forth in Scotland
braw means fine looking
tatties are potatoes
bonny means pretty or handsome
a but and ben is a modest two room cottage consisting of a kitchen and a main room
a carl is a laboring man
a cummer is a woman of questionable moral character
to pay behind the door is to engage in sexual activity as a form of 'payment' for favors, services, or goods.
Scotland sees England as their biggest rival
the nation to beat down and torture.
but down here in England we see the Scots
as our neighbours just north of the border.
we view our rivals as Argies or Germans
and the French just south of the water,
we don't see the Scots with the hate that they've got
and we don't share a desire for slaughter.
they are our rival that we barely notice
yet we are theirs and important,
we must be the greatest for them to hate us
and though they erupt we sit dormant.
they join with the Irish and all those from Wales
enjoying the days England fails,
I don't know this hatred that they've generated
all I know is that Scotland smells!
From a heather laden hill
A Scots king looks down
The march of his armies
In their blood, his enemy drown
His tartan clad warriors
The joining of the clans
MacDonald's, Fraser's and Stuarts
To every single man
With their claymores at the ready
Across the fields they charge
Five thousand Braveheart clansman
Patriotic hearts so large
They will never take our freedom
They will never take our lands
While a Scotsman breathes
We will fight with our bare hands
They charge into their enemy
Bloodied fallen, strewn
As blood rains everywhere
Wars red monsoon
Many hours later
The sounds of dying men
Boys among the still
Thought their time was then
On his heather laden hill
Our Scots king looks down
The march of his armies
Have cut our enemy down
We have driven them from our lands
They will never darken our shores
For if they ever return
They will fear the Bravehearts roar
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
I liked its comforting and quiet
Enclosure from the time and rain
Designed to be impossible to sleep in
(Some vagrant friends reported miseries)
Shutting out the rest of the world
It became a space for answers
A sea-shell or confessional
Calming the small change of your soul
Adored no less by travellers
No doubt for its already ancient
Novelty it would not admit
The weak or infirm to its secrets
And such room inside limited
Admittance or forced proximity
Upon us if we shared a call.
Revered by Mum and Dad as
One familiar part of modern living
To me unvalued then missed
As a lost limb when it was gone.