Waesum Weird – Lionel Hawes

Waesum Weird – Lionel Hawes

Athout the bairns kennin their ain leid

the leid o the Scots wul shuirlie dwyne awa an dee.

Athout hearin an seein the leid,

the leid o the fowk, in the herts an mynds

o the bairns, wul gang awa foraye

an we, the Scots, a Sovereign fowk,

wul tae the warld, be Suddron.

Quaeitly Ben – George Hardie

Quaeitly Ben
George Hardie

At the hicht o simmer 

at the hinnerend o day 

in the quaeit streets o sma toons 

and kintra places 

there cums a licht. 


Daylicht that isna day. 

A hazy, fey, licht 

wi muted colours 

and saftened edges 

gin aathin had had 

a wash o some antrin tint. 


And, wi ‘t 

cums the stillness 

gin aa creation 

was haudin ‘s braith. 


At that oor 

in thae places 

ye can sense 

the shades o ither times 

and feel the ripples 

o unseen lives 

slip quaeitly ben. 

Simmer Blue

 I mind on fan ye wir granite an blue lift
a solid bawk tae lean ane’s bek agin,
ae sunny sky tae lift ane’s speirits hei
haird wark, an canny ease.
Aye haird wark cam easy yon dey lang syne
fan sun an raen melled intae clementine,
saft wund taiglet oot the blustrin gale,
guid times yon in a faur awa isle.
But the granite rock crummlet intil grush
an a caul wun hairdens the happit bane,
a dim ee caas canny ower the wey aheid,
simmer an blue nae langer tak the lead.


George T Watt

El Desdichado

Frae the French o Gérard de Nerval

Ah’m the schadowit een – widaw man – ayont ease,
The Prince o Aquitaine tae the fawen toor:
Ma sole Star’s deid – an ma lute w’starn
least Hauds a dark sun peakit and door.
In the lair’s nicht – ye wha made me easy,
Gie’s again Posilippo an th’Italian sea,
The floor whit sae pleisurit ma hairt sae eerie,
The wa whaur grape an rose thegither be.
Ah’m a Venus or Phoebus? – Lusignan or Biron?
Ma heid’s aye reid fae the buss the Queene’s gien;
Ah’ve dreamit in the sea cave whaur swims the sirene…
Twicet beirin the gree Ah’ve crossit Acheron:

Ower the Thracian’s lyre slidin sang fir sang,
The saunt’s dule an the wee fowk’s wrang.

David Malcolm

Bairn-play Villanelle

Feetikins pammer an littlins skirl
Thon’s the wye the bairnies play
Hug yer lugs they’re like tae dirl

Watch wee quinies daunce an birl
Skirts are fleein an hair’s agley
Caa the ropies plain an purl

Here’s the loon wi the cruikit curl
Plays his lane near ilkie day
He his a tyke that likes tae gurl

Watter’s warm, the waves they furl
Dookin’s braw in the hett sun’s ray
A paiddlin laddie pykes his scurl

Here’s a cairt … d’ye wint a hurl?
Intae the lan far aathin’s fey
Is thon a draigon? A skytie squirrel?
Thon’s the wye the bairnies play

Sheena Blackhall