SCOTS Project - www.scottishcorpus.ac.uk Document : 506 Title : Preparing to Meet the Minotaur Author(s): Sheena Blackhall Copyright holder(s): Sheena Blackhall Text Tussle: Inspired by Tussle for the Keg - John Pettie Gimmit Makk me Gimmit. Buy it Canna. Gimmit or I'll takk it Try it an ye'll, brakk it Gie it here ye nyaff Or fit? Skelp. Dunt. Scrat Scram! I'm the winner o the dram! Commodities My wish list Doesn't include an egg by Faberge Doesn't include a wonderful singing dove Doesn't include a fleece on a far tree When I lay me down to sleep I'll travel light Fate's whistling at the gate Can't take a laptop into Elysian Fields. Tart and Cream Dress the fading courtesan In red uplift, basque of tin Grim's a goalpost, the old tart Wears a mask to aim her dart Wicked in the living heart. Stir her potion. Love's sour dream. Whip and Bondage. Tart and cream. Loaded Question A mind may be a suitcase full of clouds, A loaded question enters. Should words pull the trigger? Would their aim be true? An artist's brush, primed With leaves and shadows Can split a rock dead centre While words drip off like rain, It all depends on your view. Crabs and Haloes I would like to run like a crab Sideways, under a rock, letting the seaweed Cover my retreat Instead, I press my nose to Future's shop. Apostle spoons rust over. Haloes are mere dog-pee round a pole Wishbone Wishbone If I had a wishbone ... Skyscrapers would suck the suburbs up Every sign would have to learn a song. Everyone's aches would melt away like snow And old Age could take up its bed, and go. SNAILS' NUPTUALS: COITUS INTERRUPTUS Spittle Split Sp- it. Sam Coleridge's favourite tipple 'Like one, that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread And having once turned rounds, walks on and turns no more his head Because he knows a fearful fiend doth close behind him tread'... The Ancient Mariner Roll up! Roll up! Step into the right eye of a junkie. Come on in. He's taken vacant possession of an illegal substance There isn't a bouncer on the door. A squatter's sitting hunched Behind the sofa, waiting to mug your day. A porcupine of syringes hangs from a human dartboard Watch for the vampire coming to bleed you dry It's a cunning bat. It hits the town with a leech and a sewer rat. Put down the pineapple, it's really a hand grenade. Exit quickly out of the sinister eye. Oh soiled spring day whose tears will wash your feet? Strange Converse Conversing with strangers, their thin notes Suddenly snap like piano wire Tearing a perfect slit through cheese cloth, Insecurity made visible as a rubber hose through gauze. First meetings may be as pleasurable As the interface between a nest of velvet Incubating a brood of razor blades. Better to be a television amoeba Flickering in its slip-screen just awareness Tuned to neither tenderness nor torment Transmission on the blink till further notice. Walking Meditation No where to go but here. Nowhere to journey, but this I. Cleaning its windows, I perceive the loch As precious as a spanner to a mechanic As beautiful's a seat is to a cripple. What Lies Behind the Word? What lies behind the word? A room of mist and rain? The drip-down steps to a well, where a waiting bucket sits? What lies behind the word? What sits in another's mind, Is it Thought, like a smouldering coal? Out, out with words! Away! Unless they say what they mean! What sits in another's mind, Behind the gates of the eyes? Is it plucking the beautiful feathers from a swan? Wolf Pack Look! Look quick or you'll miss him! See! Another's there behind the beech, Darting off where the leaves race in the wind! Thoughts in the wolf-pack circle the raw poem. Bolder wolves press almost onto the page Nuzzle the syllables with dewy muzzles Others wait in the shadows.. There! Where the beech is rustling! See their bright eyes gleam! Thochts on Meevement I meeve throwe the warld wi ma harns. Ma thochts are swippert an swack, slee an sleekit. Cannie! Ane o ma thochts is teetin ahin yer lug Is takkin aathin in. Is giein naethin oot. Yon wee leaf that flichters aff the birk at the waa' s eyn, Birlin an furlin micht be as teem's a shell efter the snail's gaen. Ye dinna ken. Ye canna tell. Anely the snail can tell. Three Craas an the Law o Karma Takk tent o karma. Dinna deave the craas! Blaik as deevilicks, Craas are flang in yer face Like seet back-blawn fae the lum. Thon craas'll gar ye jink. Foo daur ye wag yer neive At three direct descendents O the corbies fa theekt their nest Wi a deid knight's hair? Did ye nae ken thon three birds Is the Morrigan resurrectit? Takk a thocht tae yersel Awa an fleg a doo. Wee Fite Rose May this, the day ye chose, be as the wee white rose A joy preened tae the briest, hallowed bi Hope an priest An fin the flooer is deen, may luv pruve evergreen The vows ye freely makk, bide true till sun turns black Stoot be yer reef an waa, a bield fin Storms blaw Sweet are the ties that bind for those that Luv has jyned May ye as man an wife, ken nocht o dule an strife The path ye wauk be clear as larksang ower the muir You You has a hole in it clear through the middle And two wide arms, sky-catching. U is a mouth that opens to chew things over. I, on the other hand am the last column of a Doric temple, A chip off an old block. Daffodil I pulled a piece of Spring from the low dew, Smuggled it into the house Snuggled my eyes into its yellow glory Yellow filled my iris to the core Its golden petals transported me Beyond Cortez Beyond Da Gama Beyond the claustrophobia of the room Its silken scents were like Salome's veils. Refreshing as a rainbow after thunder The lily lay suspended in my hand On the brink between flounce and wither A shadow darkened the room, An inner rain, a weeping haar. Like Dauchau skin, the petals. Not Charles Rennie Mackintosh There's a stitched up rhino behind the radiator A wall-eyed paper Eskimo peering from a book Deadly nightshade is wrestling in the patio It's an OK room to scratch the writing itch in Fit to build ideas from, like a sofa Not designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh Poem-Path in the Botanics Slates step through the grass The roof has fallen The walls are made of air. Sun and clouds Are papering the horizon Shards Everything under the sun Should be given a chance of wholeness. I don't know when I broke Beyond redemption, a maze of glued up flaws Rubber nipples plugged my infant mouth, Useless as ballet pumps on an amputation. Shards never mend. They only breed resentments, Harbour hates. Militate against progress They congregate in corners picking away at their sores. You should let them get on with it. Stay well away. They will only sit on your mantlepiece Filling the house with ancient lamentations Examining their breakages Their cracks as raw's the day they hit the floor. Crossing the Rubicon Hate needs no passport, crosses checkpoints daily It has no face, nor does it need a face. It feeds on fear. It has no ear tuned to the thrum of mercy Hate is the enemy within, plotting behind closed doors. It cannot be taxed nor monitored by anyman's surveillance It may sit beside you, Murder on the bus. Hate can be one of us. Greyfriar's Bobby Discovers Balquidder Nae traffic. Nae fowk. Nae toun. His barkin fulls the glen! Fever Ward Night in the ward was stormy. Being slowly fried from inside, out, Burning forehead, fingers twisting sheets. Sister's lamp was a beacon Dimly seen through mist. Through hot black hours, All the others wept (Except for me, a young grave patient) Rehearsing I thought, for death.) I was a bubble in a small aquarium floating around them all Very carefully, in case I happened to burst. Very fragile, neither here nor there Drifting anchorless in and out of consciousness. I was not recorded On the list of emotional casualties. I did not run with the pack. I did not lie on my back and howl. 'What a good girl,' the nurse said. 'No boo-hooing from you. Crying helps others get things off their chest.' Next day my mother came. An exquisite jewelcase Her heart was a tight-locked lid. We touched through glass, just as we always did. Birthday Boy (3 year-old; overheard on a bus) Fit a lot o flags are oot the day! The flags are makkin the sky happy! Even the sun's smilin! Wisn't that nice o the Queen, Ma, Getting thon flags oot fur me. Someb'dy must hae telt her It's ma birthday! Death of an Eel With my three cousins, Duncan, Ewan, Neil, Too young to help at harvest, small and slow, We set off from the fann to catch an eel. Ewan declared we would not need a reel. He dug up curls of worms with his hoe, Skewered them writhing onto hooks of steel. The reedy banks sank muddy to the heel. The burn slid, dimpling with an amber glow. Like praying monks, we four bent down to kneel. How Duncan laughed! 'They'll think it is a meal, Our lure of worms. Look! There's a trout below!' It floated up, the bit of bait to steal. It nudged the hook, but turned a scaley keel, Its tail, a rudder slapping to and fro, Steered it beneath the waves grey ferns conceal. A catch! A catch! My stealth had bagged an eel. My line went taut. It felt as if a blow Had struck my arm, as it began to wheel, And twist, as if it sought its skin to peel Away, so it might break that deadly towe. Its agonies were speechless. Not one squeal It was a knotted Celtic scroll of woe. Death on a hook. Too late to let it go. Maths Co-ordinates Join the co-ordinates, quo she I luiked at her cardi. A raw o rompin rhombuses Lowpin ower twa globes. Prison 'I like my prison' Said the flower held firm by the earth 'I like my bars' Said the bird in the twiggy tree. 'Don't unlock my door' Said the whale As the harpoon tapped At the wet black wall of his side. I pace and pace my parameters of flesh, Tied to the tides of blood. The sun beats down, A searchlight in the sky. Each day I re-invent my self Each day the same face Stares out from the glass. The acid bowl of death Will wipe it clean. A Book comes off the peg I took a book off the peg Tried it on, walked about in it, Got the feel of it, Wore its thoughts. My imagination danced through every page Merrily linking arms with total strangers Stepping out from unsuspected sentences. Snow Snow can be kind In its cold way Like a social worker It must be numb to work Harebell To be a dreamer in the leaves Is just as good as climbing trees To watch clouds muster in the sky I look up through a linnet's eye And set aside all human care A moment, in the harebell's lair. Lily Pad Tinkle tinkle goes the stream Pouring its discursive theme From the mountain to the pool Always filling, never full Lily pad conceals it past Anchor, hidden by its mast. Ghaistly Dauncers These are the ghaisties in the glen The flooers that Winter disnae ken Vetch an speedwell, harebell, ling, Blossoms that brier in sonsie Spring. Each petal gies an oorie skreich A sab that fulls the muirlan dreich The tabor beat ben brittle reed's The ghaistie-daunce o flooers that's deid. For Tessa Ransford 'The word bites like fish. Shall I throw it back free Arrowing to that sea Where thoughts lash and fin Or shall I pull it in? (Stephen Spender) Lang years her wummin' s hauns vrocht siller nets, Wi smeddum, skeelieness an sweirity. Ben pit-mirk oors she planned an manned a fleet, Tae gaither wirds. ..a nation's barderie. Noo that she's catched an keepit yon rich hairst, Mapped oot the fertile banks o yon great sea, Far poems are thochts that kythe an mell an steer, Flichterin like fire-flauchts in yon Norlan bree. Like Ulysses her boat can hamewird run, Wechtit wi honours, aa its victories won, An as the anchor draps tae herbour foon, May poems like sunbeams, daunce aboot its croon. Marie Antoinette in the Country Not one splash of dung met perfumed silk Playing at peasant, a queen with cheeks like apples Carried silver buckets with arms as white as milk. Not once did the Queen who knew no lack Notice the guillotine's shadow behind her back That would slice away her cake and her velvet chair The pruning hook that lopped the Chateaux bare. Bugs Migraine Ma een are Aunty Mable's. Ma moo is Uncle Jim's An frae ma faither's cousin I hae twa double chins. Ma lug's a rabbit's burrow. He lowps in frae the rain An thumps aroon ma cranium. I ca him 'Bugs Migraine'. The Question "Do you think I'll ever be happy?" The young girl asked. When parliaments were wrangling, Religious icons crumbling, Skyscrapers were tumbling, Out of a troubled sky. "Will I ever find a boy to take my hand?" The young girl asked, As political movements shifted, Surveillance data was sifted, Leaders loaded words and unfurled flags. For people do not cry over enormities When nudged to the edge of despair, There is nothing but horror there. When the slit-eyed serpent War Is roused and hissing, Talk is of broken toys, Of homes and love and kissing. And so it seems right after all That a girl regrets Her unshared bed, The rites of book and blessing, Like a shrine set out for quiet meditation Its central focus, missing Age Age is like rain. You can't stop it. It never pauses. I am old, old. old. I would rather stay in, than go out I am becoming a whisper. Once, I was a shout. The Scottish Year The month o Januar comes in Wi droothy Hogmanay, Auld Eel we'll fete wi reamin plate Syne neist it's Burns' Day. The month o Februar is cauld The weeks rin faister yet St Valentine brings flooers an wine Let nane their luv forget. In Merch, the bannock's in the pan, Tae mithers, gifts are gien The Teuchit Storm howls roon the barn, The parks are brierin green. Feel's Day takks in the Easter month Fin eggs rowe doon the brae There's sun, there's win, there's caul, there's rain The skies weir hodden grey. The first o Mey's a magic time Gyang wash yer face wi dew Ne'er cast a cloot till Mey be oot Or cauld will gar ye grue. In mony's a toon the month o June Brings merriege tae the fore For auld langsyne, the Solstice myne The mountain taps explore! In saft July the showdin hey Is dried afore the weet For gin St Swithin draps his tears Fur forty days it's weet! In August, guns are cleaned an iled The corn begins tae fill At Games an Fairs, fowk shakk aff cares An daunce wi richt gweed will. September's sere. TIle deein year Brings Autumn's equinox Fin hairst is cut, an windaes shut An sleekit slides the fox October: eildritch Halloween An neepie lanterns bricht Fin bogles steer wi faces queer An guizers brave the nicht. November. Bonfires licht the lift Reid Poppies noo are thrang. St Andrew's Day takks oot the month Wi poem an Scottish sang. December's here. Yule's near at haun Wi bubblyjock an cheer Takk up a dram baith maid an man Tae toast the Scottish year. Nettle Rules, OK? Ca cannie stranger...l'm a nettle I'm as saft as heavy metal I staun here sae ye'll recaa In ilkie life some rain maun faa I'm the sting by beauty's side Pu me friens... I'll scrat yer hide! Willow Pattern Text bridges link computer words to scanner Trade info in their fey computer leid Blue Japanese fowk peintit on an ashet If they cud spikk micht gar ye scrat yer heid Tae forge aheid, an founs o learnin bigg Culture maun jyne wi culture, brig tae brig Braille Land In the world of constant night, Fingers serve instead of sight, To search a room, to clap a pet, To feel if weather's warm, or wet, With fingertip on studs of Braille, Touch is a stick, a safety rail That tells the toucher with a tap, The contours of his sightless map, Whether it's safe to stay, or go, To forge ahead, or loiter, slow, In the world of constant night Fingers serve, instead of sight. Bull-Leaper I would like to have been a bull-leaper Keeping my options open Taking Confrontation by the horns Not meeting Him head on Dancing off-range, off-focus Out of site of His blood-shot eye Elusive as a Cretan fire-fly. Wish-Giver On seeing a white horse. an old Scots superstition encourages folk to make a wish. Wish-giver, a plea. Don't let scientists modify Celts. Please don't change the cut of our pelts Wish-giver, you see If they tried to reorder our runes, And made us androgynous media-led clones We'd be terribly tame. Mac-Ayes with no fiery cross raging Would not be the flaming-well same. Wish-giver, Give crimson tomatoes twelve heads. Cross parrots with bright philabegs But don't douse the torch of my tribe, That still smoulders and glows, When we look in the face of Be inn Ciochan, Mountain of sorrows and snows. Judas And then they came. Too late to stop the taking, Ears blocked to His cries, The kicked chair, breaking. Now, night comes dark's a bruise. No cosy quilt Can cover up that Minos-maze of guilt. That leaving day far more than things were trashed Lares, Penates, family bonds were smashed. Two knotted strands. Love's woven there, but frayed Forever tied. Betrayer and betrayed. The Burnin Brand For Flora Garry 1900- 2000 A waxen caunle- stump, rikk trails abeen An oot-blawn braith, aa darg, aa poetry deen. Stoor sattles. Midgies heeze in simmer heat. Thochts steer far shiftin recollections meet. I speired her eence 'Fit wye did ye stert late Wi sic a gift, oor leid tae celebrate?' Back cam nae slick repon, nae leein styte, O writer's block or latchy Muses's wyte. 'Fin I wis young, I shone in King's grey airt.. My winsome face won mony a laddie's hairt. Fin ye are happy, ye hae mair adee Than spenn sweet oors on lanely poetry. ' Fierce pride in yon! A flooer, smert an braa, Her reets ran ben the derk side o the waa, A Buchan booer, far complex shaddas faa. Murray an Garry. ..brilliance in the mools, The yin an yang o literary jewels, Used wirds they niver learned in scholar-street, Bi turns, could gar ye rage. .or lauch. .or greet. Their Scots, a burnin brand passed haun tae haun, Kinnelt a line o lichts throw oor thrawn lan, A bleeze o wirds nae even daith could smore, As lang as een may read, and thocht explore. Alistair: for the late Alistair Taylor, former Preses o the Aiberdeen Branch o the Scots Language Society, Secretar o the Saltire Society Furl o the fusky in the glaiss, braid haun, an lauchin ee Kenspeckle chiel... a scholar's harns, a gyangin fit, an free. I'd raise a dram o Lochnagar in memory o his name... Wioot his glaiss tae clink agint it wadnae be the same. Fin I gyang ower the Cluny brig, I'll dauchle bi the burn An luik doon in its peaty face an bide awhile, tae murn. A derker place is Beinn a Buird withoot its quate star, His fitstep lued the springy peat, the bywyes o Braemar. There's monny's the nesty, nippy tyke I'd gledly clart wi clay Ahin the dubby kirkyaird dyke than yon gweed dominie. Wi fearie tales o oorie glens, an Gaelic Bens sae wild At his command - a lesser chiel Daith surely cud hae wyled. Torphins withoot his sparklin wird is broth wioot the salt Fur he wis smeddum, virr an spunk, an kindness, tae a faut. Curtain Call A thrush hops through the grass on twigs of feet. The grass parts and shuts Two emerald curtains closing. Double-Barrelled The carrot wis scunnered wi life en plein air Foo she wished she cud cheenge tae a paw-paw or pear Foo she girned an banned at her cauld kailyaird hame Sae tae seem mair important, she tuik a new name: Miss Caroline Farquharson-Gordon of Finzean (Bit they still drapped her intae the broth wi the ingin) A Horse is an Honest Species Horse is not deodorised or sanitised It does not ache to fling its fetlock over a centrefold It is immune to adverts It'll crunch its clover Without one foody fad If it wants to stare all day at a tree, it will. Its opinions are not standardised or marketed Its travels are not ticketed or docketed No horse watches another on CCTV This moving barrel of grass on hairy legs This horse, this muncher of meadows This creature of wood and plain Is remarkable sane Accepting with equine-imity Sun and rain A horse is an honest species. Furniture The table's there, but seldom used. It's called Conviviality. An option, should I ever choose to offer hospitality. A sagging armchair's by the fire. It's saturnine and surly, With broken springs, and arm wings tashed by the hurly-burly Of years of psychic ups and downs of angst and aggravation, And there's a cushion at its back That's kept for meditation... Except, the cushion isn't real..And neither is the table, And nor's the sagging armchair, for each object is a fable, An introject, a puff of smoke within the mind's recesses, Even the mind has disappeared (I've emptied all its presses And all that's left's a little pile of question marks and guesses!) Robes Clouds, I'd like to borrow your weeping robes And walk unseen, a nothing of light and hope Over the glorious rainbow of non-being... But how do you cross the bridge from Now to Nowhere And what is the asking price for transformation? Les Fleurs Du Mal Looking in through the Windows of an abandoned Psychiatric Ward Les fIeurs du mal. Forest of fragile flowers, The emptiness is sinister. Like entering a Mediaeval minster. After the Norsemen called. Raindrops undergo a transformation. Drop back into Primal Ground. Reason lifts its long white cane and walks. A single tear of water runs crookedly down The streaky face of blank unsmiling glass, A world within a world. Behind the panes Lie ghostly fields of trembling, ruined grass Office We're the ghaisties in the contract. We're the ink ye dinna see We're the telephone, the e-mail. We're the perks some dinna gie We're the muckle photocopier, the paper an the fax We're the poems fae competitions cairtit oot the door in sacks We're the heatin, we're the seatin, we're the kettle on the byle We're a quate wee oasis oot the hassle, fur a whyle If ye think we dinna maitter. ..Cut us aff, an see foo far The ghaisties in the contract contribute tae fit ye are! Toothache Dirlin teeth hae got a stang, as thrang's a beezer o a bummer. A blichtit gum ... a fooshtie fang, wad gie a verra deil the scunner. A hoast can set yer throat ableeze. A neb can dreep like leakin wallie, Bit ice cream on a fillin ... Jeeze! Can gar ye skirl at ilkie swallie. Tantalus, tho deaved wi drooth, Prometheus, ett bi a vulture, Wad baith agree a stoonin tooth's the torture-king in ony culture. An alligator bi the Nile needs far mair teeth than me, tae smile. Near sixty fillins mair he'd need, tae stop teeth dirlin in his heid. The Inquistion's rack micht raxx yer verra shanks frae oot their sockets. Far coorser is an achin gum, fin reets flare up ... explodin rockets Wi nae remeid an nae relief fit Sorra's loon inventit teeth? On Supply Alpha, Beta, Charlie, Delta, I wid like an air raid shelter, In each classroom biggit wide, far teachers on supply can hide. Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, Dante'd reinvent his Hell If he faced a Primary 3, on a mental wreckin spree. India, Juliet, Kilo, Lima, timetable's a concertina, Squeezed tae pack new targets in...Takk redundancy an fin! Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Roon the rafters watch them swing. Tell me Daith: Far is thy sting? Tango, Uniform an Victor, watch oot fur the schools inspector! X-ray, Yankee, Zulu- Noo I'm signin aff. I'm on the Broo It wad takk the S.A.S. tae rule a classroom wi success! Old Trout Millicent's mother was a cold old trout. Gave her a pair of wellies, a brolly, a Mac. Pity the rain was inside and not out. Matter It was surprised to be noticed this morning. I usually lug it round like bags of shopping I fling it down any old where I never fold it nice and neat and clean This body I inhabit When I sleep, I kick it off like an old shoe Like a discarded husband, like a ripped stocking. It is smelly and scrunched and scuffed And slightly disreputable Today, prejudice like a coffin lid Slid one whole centimetre to the left My body peered from its box, tapping softly against the ribs Letting me know it was there, an old retainer Letting me know who the real master is Not the one who sits at the table Over the laundered linen Waiting nonchalantly to be served. Zebra Being a zebra in a herd of horses, A hot-dog short of a bun, is not much fun However, a Zebra CAN be a traffic stopper Of import to little green men and orange cones. Boulder Were they lovers? None of your business Or mine, for that matter. They laughed a lot together. Decency was not breached. At the age of ten I was told Never to touch my father. Not even in kindness. Not even in fun. I was to become a boulder, give him the cold shoulder I come from a cold country. Even our rose is white On Cloning On hearing that anti-bodies are to be produced from sharks to improve human health and general well-being... Soon, you may have an injection (Once they've ironed out rejection) Syphoned from the lurky shark of shining teeth. But what if you formed a liking, for a herring or a Viking Or a paddler wading off the coast of Leith? Should you saunter in the dark fortified with cells of shark Would you masticate a passing cat or two? Over dinner, would you munch the hostess, as well as lunch... Or with the family terrier make do? I say, why's it only shark? With a doggy gene you'd bark And you'd terrify all muggers on the prowl With sophisticated doses, under licence, one supposes You'd suppress the lunar tendency to howl. I don't want ajab of shark. I'd prefer a shot of lark I would fly to perch upon the Crown of Kings. ... Traffic jams would be redundant and the boons would be abundant If the scientists could manufacture wings! They are plotting so I've heard (But you musn't breath a word) To cultivate a vaccine without pills With a serum culled from bats and laboratory rats To add radar to our armoury of skills. If we' re making up a list of improvements, one they've missed Is a drug to clone the human embryo Make the double delegate, do the things you really hate To long conferences, you wouldn't have to go! Quote from Ted Bowman (Wed 29th May: Giving Sorrow Words) from the poet William Stafford who was asked 'How do you write a new poem every day?' Stafford replied 'Sometimes you have to be willing to lower your standards.' Mr Success Mr Success your cash don't impress, you car nor your fine degrees How would you greet a tiger? I'm looking for answers, please. What's your position on free range eggs? Should microchips be banned? If the polar caps should open their taps, just where would you make a stand? Don't flannel or swank, your class or rank add not one jot to your status You're one more face in the human race between birth and death's hiatus If you're straight or bent...Ifyou live in a tent or a skyscraper ten miles high I want to go where your thin cracks show. Say, what do you think, and why? Filleter (i) The fish have been selected from the net Place fish on the counter, belly down Grip the fish by the head with practised hand Open up the head down to the backbone Cut and lift the first steak from the carcass Turn the fish on its side, raise up the knife Cut deeply, slit the belly, lift the fillets The fillet lies stretched out upon the platter First rule of the fish house. Pull your weight! Be careful when you're handling a knife Peel and slice off skin. It makes fish tough Wash the scales from your hands in case they cling Hygiene's important. Keep the fish house clean Freeze those steaks offish which you can't use The treasure of the fish house is the fillet Neat and stacked, to be preserved or savoured Facilitator (ii) The intemet's been trawled for delegates Lay notes on the table, opened wide Grab the group's attention, show you're leader Open up their minds, let in new thought Set short tasks. Put group poems on the page Tum their world on its tail. Pain can be precious Mine their minds for golden glancing words Rows of words lie waiting to be trinnned Encourage others' writing. Do that well! Be warned. Groups can breed stalkers, ragers, needers Strike off phrases which make poems flabby Break clean away, when workshop's done and dusted Facilitate the day. Be cool and clear Freeze any surplus words for future study The treasure of the workshop is the poem Fish and poems, produced with different sweats Gaudeamus Igitur The kilt's taen ooto mothbaas, fur Pride maun hae its sway An aa because a graduate is gettin capped the day. Yer nae a gype, ye've proved it, shown there's mair tae ye than oo. It's wirth aa the years o warsslin tae reap the honours noo Noo yer upwird an yer mobile... Ay; an sae are aa yer fiers An ye niver thocht they'd families like yours, yer student peers. Look! There stauns Fiona's faither...Nae a letter tae his name Bit a millionaire twice ower sellin herrin fae the faem. Lack o siller, lack o confidence sets goals ayont fowk's reach Washes mony's the likely fitpreint fae Ambition's bonnie beach An fur ilkie plum that's ripened, there are twenty sittin soor Niver coddlit nur encouraged...Gaudeamus Igitur Yule Yule arrived this year, unmissable as a steam train Approaching a victim tied to the tracks Disgorging its annual surfeit of dead celebrities At every TV station. Multi- stomachs of Friesian cows Like mighty turbo engines, had laboured titanically Towards the production of milk for the custard layer On top of the sherry trifle Like a volcanic deposit, solidly stratified. After the Lamentation of the bank balance Came the laying on of tablecloths. The Annunciation of the melon The Adoration of the Turkey The feast of the featherless host. The parson's nose was gobbled. The clock wore tinsel and sulked A nest of scorpions went round wearing party hats A cracking time was had by one and all Bing Crosby drowned out a robin. Yule came and went Bland as a scentless fart. The Computer's Day Oot I thocht that my computer'd like a cheenge (It hid bin luikin unca peely wally) I tuik it tae the Gallery tae view The wirks o Miro, Mondrian an Dali I tuik it on an ootin tae the park, Raither than typin poetry in the hoose It sat an chittered in its plastic sark, It winted hame. The cat played wi its moose. It spat oot aa its discs. It wisna pleased. An cairriet on like a wud thing, diseased. I learned ma lesson. It is plain tae see Ye canna butter up technology. Preparing to meet the Minotaur When I'm an ancient, A caged cockatoo with nothing to do but moult I'll straddle Pegasus and hitch a ride. I'll own a mischievous zimmer I'll abseil down the cracks upon my forehead Thoughts will glissade off mountains There will be an avalanche of poems. Though they drug my Horlicks Though my teeth may clack like coconuts hung out to dry Though I may wear a beard as grey's Tiresias Though I spray my 'pshaws' on the fronds of plastic vines I'll continue to saunter down the valley of fantasy Visitors will come bearing alms Fluffy cardigans, or mint imperials I must wear my props then, my medical aids "All the better to see you with, my dear All the better to hear you with, my dear All the better to eat you with my dear." Watching the threads on the carpet growing thinner Preparing to meet the Minotaur licking his bull-black lips Three Tinkers Three tinkers chapt at the haa door, the lan frae far they cam, Has riveries reid wi human bluid, that nae fish iver swam. Day niver daws in thon fey lan. The raindraps frae abeen, Are aa the tears o bitterness that faa frae human een. There is nae springtime in thon place, nae simmer, saft an braw. There winter reigns eternally. The Sizzen o the craa. Diamond Carrot If you're the only rabbit in the hutch A diamond carrot is the telephone That ringing in your ear can mean so much Your skiis are wrecked. You're hobbling on a crutch Promotion may be swiped by some old crone! Text, page or bleep your work, and stay in touch A spoken update can reveal so much Don't e-mail. Hackers steal what others own They'd snatch a takeover out from your clutch You can't afford a round, you're going Dutch? Ring up, excuse yourself, and stay at home But keep your options open, stay in touch See Whistler's mother pouting in her Mutch? A sour-faced mare, as grim's a whippet's bone She might have smiled, if joy had kept in touch A burglar's in the house! You are in such A panic. Hurry! Use your mobile phone He'll soon find out you're not an easy touch Dial 999. One call can do so much! Home Sweet Home Key in the lock, a shoved-wide door Four rough strides on a plush red floor. In comes the food. A hair on the plate Steel fist punches a hymn of hate Wipes the blood from his purple knuckle Tightens a notch on his trouser buckle No golf tonight. Mop up that stain. Clouds in the East. Yes, it looks like rain. Job Description Fit wye div ye nae like cookin? Aa mas are supposed tae like cookin. I dinna ken ony ma bit you that disnae cook. Darren Buchan's ma makks stovies, skirlie, clootie AND she cleans his sheen. It isnae pairt o the job description? Fit kinno a spikk's thon? Playgrun Fecht "I wint tae be yer frien" A whine. A plea. Nae respite, nae let up A deave, a secunt shadda I warned her, fair an square "I like tae be alone" Bit thrawn or daft She didna takk it in. I skelped her hard on the neb Rugged oot a daud o hair "Fecht! Fecht!" the ithers skirled Eekin me on. The upshot wis, I won Some kind o victory Yet, ma neive wis stounin Seen from a Low-Flying Helicopter The low flying helicopter With blades like dervish knives Sheared the wind Over phantom fields of corn, Swaying golden on the parking lots of cities Twa Brithers at Seaton Chippie Johnny! Dicht yer face! Yer chikks is manky. "Ma nose is rinnin Dannie..." Use yer hanky. "Gie me a pickelt ingin wi ma chips?" Yer moo is aywis bigger nor yer belly! "Can I ging oat tae play? Ma's on a date!" It's dark. We'lljist ging hame an watch the telly. "Dan, can I hae a coke? I wint it! Wint it!" Yer jist a flamin scunner. No, ye canna. "Dan, can I clap yon big Alsatian dug?" Nuh. Stuff yer face wi this. Here's a banana. "Yon mannie gien's a penny fur ma bankie. Yon wifie says I'm jist a cheeky monkey. It's affa caal. I wish I cud get cosie." Climm up then, an I'll heat ye in ma bosie. Waddin Toast Guid health tae the newly wad couple! May their merriege be merry an lang, As a weel-wuvven coracle, rhythmic and close, bob-bobbin life's oceans alang. Guid gear, tae the newly wad couple! May their kist be weel-stappit an braw. May their littlins be fair as the rose in its lair in the glimmer an glisk o the daw! Guid crack tae the newly wad couple! May they mver be crabbit or soor Bit keep sweet as the peat-heather hinney that's cupped in yon heich mountain flooer! Kind friens, tae the newly wad couple! May Sorra and Tribble be niver Allowed ower the length o the lintel, o the hame they hae biggit thegither! Guid luck tae the newly wad couple! May the sun wi a fecht niver set! May the ring on the bride's merriege finger niver tarnish wi wae nor regret! The Sangster The heidy wine in ilkie haun, a glitterin company Fur fyew cud string the shinin wird, my love, sae weel as ye. An tho aroon the steerin room like fireflauchts fowk did flit Inbye my hairt as ye stept ben a thoosan caunles, lit. I watched ye movin back an fore..Gin ye hid bin a swan I wished that I hid bin the loch lay neist me ye at dawn. I watched ye movin back an fore. Gin ye hid bin a reed I wad hae bin the pearlin dyew that sattIed on yer heid They say a robin sings its best wi'ts briest pressed tae the thorn Tae see anither bi yer side an ill thing me be borne. Oh I hae sung in boose an haa, bit ne'er sae sweet or strang I wis a flame fur ye alane because ye prigged a sang. The Rocher Brew The stoppered bottles, whyles, we meet, the contents maun be scanned wi care 'Colleague' 'Employer' 'Doctor' 'Priest' afore we pree the contents there. Stranger, aquaintance, Onyman afore we chuse me ken them better Maun first be sipped tae wyle the taste, be't soor or sweet, be't cauld, or hetter. The stoppered bottles that we meet (Weel-kept, nae moosewabs ye can see) Micht serve me pass a meenit's space. The rocher brew micht kinder be. There's vintage wine - ye ken the kyne decants wi pomp an siller speen The rocher brew, sweet Natur's dew, will aywis prove the better frien Luikin in the Coffin Luikin in the coffin, he thocht "She wis naethin special." Naethin special, luikin at naethin special A Letter from the Archangel Gabriel Dear Angus Og, It has been brought to my attention by the Management That you've been sending prayers up 20 times a day. Angus Og, you are clogging up the prayer-ways for genuine emergencies. Morag Mac your favourite ewe, gone off her feed Is not an event of cataclysmic proportions. Think of your fingertips, Angus. Are they not calloused by telling the beads? How would it look if you murdered the postie at Abriachan And weren't apprehended for months Because you had worn your fingerprints away? Furthennore is it necessary, normal, or kind, To try to convert the rams in the next field? The shepherd at Drumnadrochit is a Protestant, He does not wish his sheep to be confessed. Would you consider puting your prayers on microfiche? On a deeper theological level, Angus Og, 'Lamb of God' was just a poetic symbol. Heaven's above, we're crowded enough already! The Gracefu Trinity: for Helena Anderson-Wright Far pine wid trees staun Tam-Linn green, three veesitors in velveteen (Rich russet coloured ilkie coat, wi ruffs o fur aroon the throat) Arrived ae gloamintide tae dine, their liquid een like Spanish wine. Mony's the gweedly company has met in fine festivity On yon snod lawn, bit nane sae fair as thon three graces gaithered there. Like quines dressed fur a glitterin ball, the mist clung tae them like a shawl. Dew-drookit flooeries at their feet, keekt up at them, wi nectar, weet. The birk let doon her tresses braw. The creepin cat drew in her claw, As frae the misty gloamin air, they stepped frae ither-wardly lair. The deein sun flashed firey-reid, stars lichtit up abeen each heid. Swippert's a swan wis each ladye within thon eildreich Trinity. As hauntin as a loveseek sang, the deer, that tae the pinewid cam. Under the Full Moon Under the full moon Pipistrelles live up to their bad press, Silken fiends not up to any good. Bees sleep in their wax chambers Coyly rehearsing Autumn The gross toad lollops across the milky grass Arse studded with khaki warts, he is off on manoeuvres Keeping his eyes peeled for maggoty business. The hare's ears quiver with cold. In spider-shrouds the moist peels off the Ben Under the full moon The loch is an ancient cradle "Balloo, balloo", it has sung for a thousand years Dreams lie in its lap It rocks them gently, gently, in two gnarled hands It rocks them gently, gently, in two gnarled hands Its one eye fixed on the moon Constantly reaffirming its position. Lean Pickings In winter nests are empty of violins. The sombre eye of the cello is fixed on trees Where green ships lie at anchor, rigging furled. Robins like wooden puppets tug at heart strings The stake in the icy heart of the forest floor May one day yield a rose Or a rotten mushroom filled with worms and mould. Yet, out of the charcoal season nightingales always fly Encore! Bravo! Pouring a welcome out to the certain Spring That's round the comer, whether you will or no. Footprints Through the eyes of my feet Moor grasses fork and splay Moss bounces. Ferns rush to genuflect Rain and the winds of day Will wipe them clean away The Villanelle Therapy The kernel of this villanelle In rhyme, attempts to prove a link Of things to do to make folk well By singing they can soon dispel Despondency and make it shrink. A drawing pencil can propel A hand to pictures that compel The inner eye to seek the brink Of symbol-land, where icons dwell They may sit quiet as a cell Of monks, and in blue biro ink Write words small troubles to retell Writing is strong's a magic spell Better to float on words than sink How powerful it is to tell A story when you can't foretell What lies behind the reader's blink Who in the silence of his shell Drinks in your tales as quick as wink So write to cure, if not to sell A therapeutic villanelle Skeletons off Prince's Street Abeen the cream jug, fite as a carnation, They claikt on culture, literature an nation, Twa weemin newsin aboot hames an wars, Checked oot domestic minefields, battle scars. Skeletons hing like jaikets in fowk's presses. Whyles wi a stranger, fowk micht try them on, If they nae langer frichten or dismay, Their ghaisties bit the shadda o a dwaum. Mebbe thon wis the bait that lured her oot, Thon Handsel / Gretel crumbs o the irrational, Like Darnley's silken face mask, drappin aff, Barin the pox, the blether turned confessional. Fa'd sung her aince, a lullaby o frost This exile. in the shaddas o the lost? Her life wis crystal, cracked ayont remeid. Let slip an shattered, chaos in her heid. Nae meenit's claik can mend the evil oor Hope smashed inbye. A single haimmer cloor. Punctual I'm a tick-tock person, A clock watcher, a time clutcher. I'm a quick-ticker. If I'm late, My pulse rate runs staccato. I may just detonate, Citizen Seagull Good morning citizen seagull! A hundred thousand welcomes on your croak! May you lord it over Union Stret forever Cryptic as a conversation lozenge. The Primary Source: in search of linguistic purity He tuik Intercity tae Embro, (mair beasts in thon zoo than the Ark) Tae see Kali the Bengali tiger, wi her cleuks an her braw strippit sark, Bit he wisna impressed bi her antics, tho she roared wi a hurricane's force, Fur fin he broke doon her semantics, weel, she wisna a primary source. Withoot wishin tae seem ower pedantic, she wis Scots, wi a thochtie o Norse. Neist he gaed tae a show at the theatre, far the star wis a pantomine horse. It could whinney an trot... bit he caredna a jot, fur it wisna a primary source, As he kent, fin it rent doon the middle, and its halves tuik an instant divorce. A soprano frae bella Milano, sang her hairt oot until she grew hoarse, Bit he shot doon her sang wi a critical bang, fur she wisna a primary source. Na, her ma wis a gutter frae Fitty, which diluted the aria's force. At the interval, platters o oysters, war served as a maitter o course... Bit they didna tempt him, they cam ooto a tin, fur they warna a primary source. A ventriloquist chiel frae Findochty, spakk in Cantonese, Zulu an Morse. His claik wis as fake as a soya bean steak, fur it wisna a primary source Twis the "ugh" in a caveman's polemic, wis the birth o phonetics, of course. Be as dreich as Methuselah's dandruff, fowk will queue up tae hear yer discourse As lang as yer sure the linguistics are pure an they cam fae a primary source! Deid Balloon Ma heid floats on the loch. Deid balloon on a slop o wattery clouds Auld Crocs Birk trees raxx up. Their trunks, like auld crocs' hides Catched in a larry's lichts Are yalla, oorie. Swamp flop-belly deid. Small Movements on the Shore A jack-knife bend of straw tugged by a wave Sunbeams creepy-crawling on a crab A thorn's fang slashing the air Shadow spilling like wine on sodden linen Sea, sucking the multiple nipples of shore Rainwater in a sluice, wet candy-twisting Bubbles blipping like tadpoles up through mud Waves like bobbing buoys, exhuberant seals. Sandbars rolling at anchor. Seaweed tugging its tethers Pebbles rocking the boat Sunlight piercing mother of pearl skies. Hanging in reedy fathoms, dismal seaweed Fishes flickering on ocean's silver screen Pebbles rattling Neptune voodoo sticks Shells melling into shards, a charnel house A curling feather blowing across the shore Waltz in their wings, the ubiquitous gulls above A terne's pupil wavering on the blink Tableau vivant of sea and screeching bird. Degas Absinthe Drinker Trees, dripping, music, tinkling. An hour in the warm café Might be a hiatus in one girl's Personal anarchy Tables, crowded, faces strange. Absinthe is cheap, Her demon and her friend Miss Alki's one familiar. There's no change. Panacea Words drip from the pen in painful syllables. To write is to heal, to reveal things long lain hidden. Like desert winds that shift, unexpectedly baring a skull Or a silver bell, dropped from a dancer's foot. The incidental things that make as human. Fur Long before weft and wool, remember the fur you borrowed, Between birth and dying, warm as a crackling fire? No fangs hissed at the collar No claws slashed from the feet No tail flicked the flies around your haunches. Oh but you enjoyed it Remember? Remember? Not for its glamour. Not for its chic I dare you. Touch it. Feel it. Let your sides fill With the deer's swiftness, the bear's strength The pelts you once put on to face the world. On Singin Gallawa Hills: for the late John Watt Stewart, Cotton Street The frost sat in my cauldrife hairt, ice glittered in ma een The driftin sna in the deid thraa blew ben my thochts yestreen An ilkie note like jagged scree I climmed as I'd bin telt A ghaistie's fitpreints merked the wye, Lear, neither bocht nor selt An as the muckle sang swallt up, the weary wastes o sna Soughed ben each limb. Unseen, the linn roared ben the packit haa. I didna sing fur praise nur cheer, nur did I sing frae need I sang tae pass the ballad on.. A gift frae ane lang deid. mr poseidon Out of the crucible of the sea Out of the Nile, Euphrates, Tigris Out of the Thames, the Tweed, Atlantis Out of the Styx, the Tiber, Lethe, Rises a queer fish of a sea-salt His shovel beard all spittle-stiff with spray, Something slimey from Davey Jones's locker Taking the dog watch Keeping his head above water. I think his mouth Makes music for the waves Dancing up from a thousand ocean graves Behind his eyes I hear the tempests roar I almost see the hurricane's cold spray So calm, he seems But inner storms are raging Old wounds old terrors Far beyond assuaging. mr poseidon I'm the one with pearls and fishes in my side mr poseidon, I will not rock your boat mr poseidon I will lie with the nets and seaweed I will practise not to swim against the tide. Sleep Chimneypots with the fire gone out, The mathematician, the rich, the sick, Take a break from the waking world, Close their eyes, with the slow, the quick. The phone may ring on its plastic perch, It's screech unheard in the sleeper's zone. All men drink at the pool of dream, All men kneel at the pool alone Turbulent day with its heres and theres, Closes its door. "Good riddance" I say To its whys and wherefores, its snaps its snares, "Bring on the moon and the Milky Way" I lay me down with a questionmark... Puzzles are solved before the dawn The wizard who works in the webs of dark, Has found an answer for every one! Dragon-fly Dragon fly. Dragon gone. Gone dragon. Fly high dragonfly. Drag one fly. One I, dragonfly. Shimmer-slimmer. Sun swimmer. Light skimmer. Snag-rag. Light gutter. Flutter stutter. Breath splutter Dragon-flame hiss gone out. Death of a Fox From the great green glacier of woods Fox streaked through a red stop One shot sent the fur head bouncing Into the waving fern A shot, a bounce, a flop. Caught on the Hop Grazing fridges, shoppers scavenge scraps. Outside, on Asda's living larder... lush green lawn Is the cats' self-service. Poo pods pepper the grass Like Libyan raisins Our cat bagged a bunny, caught on the hop A fast food takeaway . "Oh pussy, what big eyes you've got" Floppy's a rag doll, dried blood stuck to its teeth The rabbit's slumped head was a jester's cap Four funy legs down-dangled. The prey, eventually, slain. Tom scooped the brains From their delicate porcelain bowl A fastidious feeder, no mess on the mat. One funy paw was left behind for afters Honest assassin, hunger pangs assuaged, The filled cat sprawls and purrs, His feline conscience clean. This work is protected by copyright. All rights reserved. The SCOTS Project and the University of Glasgow do not necessarily endorse, support or recommend the views expressed in this document. Information about document and author: Text Text audience General public: Males: Females: Audience size: 1000+ Text details Method of composition: Handwritten Word count: 8944 Text medium Book: Text publication details Published: Publisher: Self: Limited Edition / Thistle Reprographics Publication year: 2004 Place of publication: Aberdeen Text type Poem/song/ballad: Other: Collection of poems Author Author details Author id: 112 Forenames: Sheena Surname: Blackhall Gender: Female Decade of birth: 1940 Educational attainment: University Age left school: 16 Upbringing/religious beliefs: Brought up Protestant, now Buddhist Occupation: Writer and supply teacher Place of birth: Aberdeen Region of birth: Aberdeen Birthplace CSD dialect area: Abd Country of birth: Scotland Place of residence: Aberdeen Region of residence: Aberdeen Residence CSD dialect area: Abd Country of residence: Scotland Father's occupation: Manager of Deeside Omnibus Service Father's place of birth: Aboyne Father's region of birth: Aberdeen Father's birthplace CSD dialect area: Abd Father's country of birth: Scotland Mother's occupation: Private Secretary Mother's place of birth: Aberdeen Mother's region of birth: Aberdeen Mother's birthplace CSD dialect area: Abd Mother's country of birth: Scotland Languages: Language: English Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Language: Gaelic; Scottish Gaelic Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: Elementary. Gaelic choir. Poetry. Language: Scots Speak: Yes Read: Yes Write: Yes Understand: Yes Circumstances: