Address to a Haggis

Robert Burns

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad stow a sow,
Or fricasee was mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! See him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware,
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Loch Lomond pictures across water

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In Waiting

 

Light shimmers through a broken window
Shards sparkle on the the floor below
Jagged points of harsh light reflected
A mirror to the day.

My life may be on standby
Awaiting things that may
Its possible it is coming
A better way to see the day

A dark place there will always be
A place to cower and shiver
The light will displace the dark
Its brightness chasing dark eddies away

For now there is ghosting
But not of witching hour kind
My world will be exorcised
When corneal has grafted hard.

Ducks on ice

Taken today, on my little excursion to Balloch, Loch Lomond was frozen still and I snapped these two love ducks :-)


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MMXI

The drink flows
As time flows
The appointed hour grows near.

More beer?
There's plenty of cheer
And more than time to feel queer.

You all may teeter
The edge is twitter
For friends are all tweeters

Virtual bells ring
While whisky Bells chink
Soon you'll be in the pink.

A new year is upon us
A bleak one it may be
But in time we will be free

For now let us indulge
For the bulge of Xmas has gone
And a new beginning for all is here.

A twiteryeanot year
To all of my followers
A Happy New Year.


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The Stillness

The night has slowed,
Festivity has dulled,
It's time for rest.

The weariness settles in,
In time there will be more fun,
For once stillness comes.

The carols are sung,
And the fun is done,
Only until the stillness is over.

Soon a year will turn,
More fun will have begun,
Then quiet shall reign again.

The stragglers in the future year.
Heads that hurt from all the beer.
No loud noise, on pain of death.

The stillness comes but briefly,
A short reprive from Maddness,
A time for sanity in a world of noise.


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My existence

I see the splendour of existence.
Light filters into sight that is diffused.
One pinpoint sparkles into clustered stars.
The surroundings blend into pastels.

The world if frosted through.
A haze of indistinct edges.
I see a fuzzy universe.
All harshness blunted

My wish for clarity may come.
But time shall have to pass.
Till then my world is shade.
With sharp light intruding.


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