SCOTS HOOSE

Favourite Poems

THE SELKIRK GRACEby Robert Burns

Some hae meat and canna eat,    And some wad eat that want it;

But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit

CA-CANNIEby Sheena Blackhall

Fowk say that ye are fit ye eatSae ca-cannie fin chawin yer meatSwiss rolls an paninis luik daft in bikinisAn petticoat tails hae nae feet!

MINCE AND TATTIESby JK Annand

I dinna like hail tattiesPit on my plate o minceFor when I tak my dennerI eat them baith at yince.

Sae mash and mix the tattiesWi mince into the mashin,And sic a tasty dennerWill aye be voted ‘Smashin!’

THE MAGIC PIZZAby Alison Fitt

Eh’m a pizza, a magic pizza,Bein stuck in the freezer’s a scunner – So eh grew twa legs an oor agoAn fae Tesco Eh did a runner. Eh’ma pizza, a gaen-mental pizza,Eh’m skitin doon the street,An giein a muckle cheesy grinTae the dumfoonert fowk Eh meet.

Eh’m a pizza, a please-mehsel pizza,Eh can dae whitiver Eh like – Fleh wi cheese and tomatae weengsOr gae dancin doon a dyke. Eh’m a pizza, an oan-the-rin pizza,The polis are efter me – But they needna think that ony o themAre haein me fur thir tea. Eh’m a pizza, a thumb-yir-neb pizza,Eh’ll tell them tae git loast.Oh jings – Eh’m a puggilt pizza noo –Eh’ve stertit tae defroast!

CROCODILEby JK Annand

When doukin in the River NileI met a muckle crocodile.He flicked his tail, he blinked his ee,Syne bared his ugsome teeth at me.

Says I, "I never saw the like.Cleaning your teeth maun be a fyke !What sort of besom do ye haeTo brush a set o teeth like thae?" 

The crocodile said, "Nane ava.I never brush my teeth at aa !A wee bird redds them up, ye see,And saves me monie a dentist's fee."

NESSIEby JK Annand

Nessie the Loch Ness MonsterWad seem to be gey blate,And doesna like the scientist chielsThat come, and sit, and wait.

But gif ye want to see herPretend ye dinna care,Keek oot the corner o your ee -Ye'll see her soomin there.

She'll wiggle-humphie-waggle,She'll goggle wi her een,Syne disappear ablow the lochLike she had never been.

A DUG, A DUG by Bill Keys

Hey, Daddy, wid ye get us a dug ?A big broon alsation ur a wee white pug ?Ur a skinny wee terrier, ur a big fat collie?Aw, daddy,get us a dug.  Will yi ?

Whit! An' whose dug'll it be when it durties the flerr,An' wets the carpet and messes the sterr?Its me ur yer mammy'll be tane furra mug.Away oot'n play.  Yer no getting a dug.

But daddy thur gi'en them awayDown therr at the RSPCA.Yu'll get wan fur nothin, so ye will.Aw. Daddy, get us a dug, Will ye?

Dji hear um?  Oan aboot dugs again?Ah think that yins goat dugs'n the brain.Ah know whit yu'll get: a skite oan the lugIf ah hear ony merr aboot this bloomin dug.

Aw, Daddy, it widny be dear tae keepAn‘ ah'd make it a basket fur it tae sleep.An‘ ah'd take it fur runs away ower the hull.Aw, Daddy, get us a dug.  Will ye?

A doan't think thurs embdy like you:Yi could wheedle the twist oot a flamin' corkscrew.Noo! Get doon aff my neck.  Gies nane a yur hugs.Aw right.  THAT'S ANUFF. Ah'll get yi a dug.

Aw Daddy.  A dug. A dug.

THE AULD BROON TROOT by Sandy Thomas Ross

The auld broon troot lay unner a stane, Unner a stane lay he, An he thocht o' the wund, An he thocht o' the rain, An the troot that he uist tae be.

A'm a gey auld troot, said he tae hissel, A gey auld troot, said he, An there's mony a queer-like Tale A cuid tell O' the things that hae happened tae me.

They wee-hafflin trooties are aa verra smert, They're aa verra smert, said he, They ken aa the rules O' the gemm aff by hairt, An they're no aften catched, A'll agree.

They're thinkin A'm auld an they're thinkin A'm duin, They're thinkin A'm duin, said he, They're thinkin A'm no Worth the flirt o' a fin Or the blink o' a bonnie black ee.

But A'm safe an A'm smug in ma bonnie wee neuk, A'm safe an A'm snug, said he, A'm the big fush that Nae fusher can heuk, An A'll aye be that - till A dee!

THE SCHULE IN JUNE by Robert Bain

There's no a clood in the sky, The hill's clear as can be, An' the broon road's windin' ower it, But - no for me!

It's June, wi' a splurge o' colour In glen an' on hill, An' it's me wad be lyin' up yonner, But then - there's the schule.

There's a wude wi' a burn rinnin' through it,

Caller an' cool, Whaur the sun splashes licht on the bracken An' dapples the pool.

There's a sang in the soon' o' the watter, Sang sighs in the air, An' the worl' disnae maitter a docken To yin that's up there.

A hop an' a step frae the windie, Just fower mile awa, An' I could be lyin' there thinkin' O' naething ava'.

Ay! - the schule is a winnerfu' place, Gin ye tak it a' roon, An' I've no objection to lessons, Whiles - but in June?

SLAISTERby JK Annand

Mum cries me a slaister,Says naethin could be waurNor mellin sand and waterAnd slaisterin in the glaur.

 When I'm aa glaur and slaistertAnd  clarty as a tinkMum maks a graith o soap sudsAnd plops me in the sink.

 Syne when I'm washed and tidiedAnd clean as clean can beMy Mum gies me a cuddleAnd maks me chips for tea.

THAT'S THE GAMEby Jill Bennett

A poem, huhAh could eat a poemTak a biteGet ma teeth intae itRattle it roond ma gumsChew real slowSpit a word ootKick it alang the streetPlay keepie-uppie wi itHeider itBring on a substituteScore a goalA poem, huhThat's the game

MENZIESTraditional

A canty wee lassie cried MenziesSpeired, "Dae ye ken whit this thenzies?"Her Maw, wi a gasp,Reponed, "It's a wasp!And ye're haudin the end whaur the stenzies!

FIREWORKS AFF THE CASTLEby Matthew Fitt

Fireworks aff the Castle Goin WHEECH, WHEECH, WHEECHBairns in the library Gettin WHEESHT, WHEESHT, WHEESHT

Cans o Irn Bru Goin SKOOSHITAY, SKOOSHITAY, SKOOSHFitbaw in the playgroond Gettin DOOSHITAY, DOOSHITAY, DOOSH

The snaw blaws in fae Norroway

And nips your TAES, TAES, TAES

We go skitin on wir sledges

Doon the BRAES, BRAES, BRAES

The rain comes doon in buckets

And it’s WEET, WEET, WEET

Your teeth is sair fae sweeties

And it’s GREET, GREET, GREET

You’re oot wi pals and aw the time

It’s BLETHER, BLETHER, BLETHER

But when awthin’s wrang and no goin right

Jist go and tell your MITHER

When awthin’s wrang and no goin right

Jist you coorie in wi MITHER

TWA-LEGGIT MICEby JK Annand

Ma mither says that we hae miceThat open air-ticht tinsAnd eat her chocolate biscuitsAnd cakes and sic like things.

Nae doot it is an awfy shameThat mice should get the blame.It’s really me that ripes the tinsWhen left alane at hame.

But jings I get fair hungertAnd biscuits taste sae niceBut dinnae tell ma mitherFor she thinks it’s the mice!

BEASTIES by Helen Cruickshank

Clock-leddy, clock-leddy Flee awa' hame, Your lum's in a lowe, Your bairns in a flame; Reid-spottit jeckit, An' polished black e'e, Land on my luif, an' bring Siller tae me!

Ettercap, ettercap,

Spinnin' your threid,

Midges for denner, an'

Flees for your breid;

Sic a mischanter

Befell a bluebottle,

Silk roond his feet -

Your hand at his throttle!

Moudiewarp, moudiewarp,

Howkin' an' scartin',

Tweed winna please ye,

Nor yet the braw tartan,

Silk winna suit ye,

Naither will cotton,

Naething, my lord, but the

Velvet ye've gotten.

Street Talk by JK Annand

There was a rammie in the street,A stishie and stramash.The crabbit wifie up the stairPit up her winda sash.

“Nou what’s adae?” the wifie cried,“Juist tell me what’s adae.”A day is twinty-fower hours, missis,Nou gie us peace to play.

“Juist tell me what’s ado,” she cried,“And nane o yer gab,” cried she.D’ye no ken a doo’s a pigeon, missis?Nou haud your wheesht a wee.

“I want to ken what’s up,” she cried,“And nae mair o yer cheek, ye loun.”It’s only yer winda that’s up, missis.For guidsake pit it doun.

THE BOY IN THE TRAINby Mary Campbell Smith

Whit wey does the engine say Toot-toot? Is it feart to gang in the tunnel?Whit wey is the furnace no pit oot When the rain gangs doon the funnel?What’ll I hae for my tea the nicht? A herrin’, or maybe a haddie?Has Gran’ma gotten electric licht? Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?

There’s a hoodie-craw on yon turnip-raw! An’ sea-gulls! — sax or seeven.I’ll no fa’ oot o’ the windae, Maw, It’s sneckit, as sure as I’m leevin’.We’re into the tunnel! we’re a’ in the dark! But dinna be frichtit, Daddy,We’ll sune be comin’ to Beveridge Park, And the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!

Is yon the mune I see in the sky? 

It’s awfu’ wee an’ curly.

See! there’s a coo and a cauf ootbye, 

An’ a lassie pu’in’ a hurly!

He’s chackit the tickets and gien them back, 

Sae gie me my ain yin, Daddy.

Lift doon the bag frae the luggage rack, 

For the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!

There’s a gey wheen boats at the harbourmou’, And eh! dae ye see the cruisers?The cinnamon drop I was sookin’ the noo Has tummelt an’ stuck tae ma troosersI’ll sune be ringin’ ma Gran’ma’s bell, She’ll cry, ‘Come ben, my laddie.’For I ken mysel’ by the queer-like smell That the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!’

A VOODOO FOR MISS MAVERICKby Sandy Thomas Ross

I dinna like Miss MaverickThis cushion's for her heidI'm jumpin aw ma weicht on itAnd noo Miss Maverick's deid.

Ye're deid, ye're deid, Miss MaverickAnd never mair ye'll sayI dance like a hird o Ayrshire kyeOn a mercat day.

I'll pit ye ablaw the sofaYe're deid and yirdit baithAn never mair ye'll miscaw me - Ye've drawn yer hindmaist braith.

THE CIRCUSby JK Annand

The circus cam to our tounAnd settled on the Green;They heistit up the biggest tentThat I hae ever seen.

And there for twa-and-saxpenceHe let me in to seeSome acrobats up in the ruifDae henners on a swee.

Pownies danced the cha-cha,Monkeys rade on bikes,They even had a fitba matchFor teams o mongrel tykes.

The best turn in the circus wasThe clown in baggy breeksThat gart me lauch until the tearsCam rinnin doun my cheeks.