A Scottish Poem: Hame by annmackiemiller

Poetry by Ann Miller

Hame

by the fire

Yer asking me whit hame is?

Well, haud yer wheest a mo and let me think.

Weel then -

Hame is whaur the hert is -

is it no?

and once upon a time

twas whaur wallie dugs graced the mantle

and 3 geese traversed the wa'

in endless flight.

Hame was faither's pipe and the coloured cleaners

I bought him every year - you mind the kind.

He'd duly mak them intae wee men fer me,

He'd say 'here ye go bonny lass',

faithful pipe clenched tight in teeth

wi groove long worn.

Hame was couerieing in by the fire

tartan legs and cauld lugs.

It was a tully lamp in power cuts

and lightning visits tae the lavie.

It was a box foo o half pennies

we used when playing cards.

It was listening to the radio

while mum knitted socks

and dad mended shoes,

or tinkered wi his clocks,

ye mind? the anes he'd

be winding up to tell fowk

was time to leave when visiting;

'Here's yer hat and whit's yer hurry'

we'd laugh and joke

but that was him,

and his bedtime ritual.

Hame was sing-a-longs

when mum played piano;

it was books and music,

friends and fowk comin rund

for tea and sugary pancakes,

for help, or crack and telling jokes.

Hame was an open door

Mum's baking and dad's gerden.

Ye want mair?

Och weel

let's just say

Maste o' a' -

Hame is in the past.

Poetry copyright to AnnMackIeMiller

A Poem in Venacular Scots: MY FAITHER AIRMS

A Scottish Poem by AnnMackieMiller

Dad

MY FAITHER AIRMS 

I mind my faithers airms,

strong and chisled flesh

walnut brown

with lines painted,

a map of life-blood

that mark time, place and burdens.

They wer'nae muscley strong mind

but stringy strong, whittled strong

by years o shovelling coal

intae yon great burning monster

that made the jaite.

Tons o coal broocht in big lorries

frae the coal-fields where ither faithers

howked it oot the grund in dark profusion then.

I mind the smell, the heat,

and black stained haunds

adjusting dials and funny wheels.

I mind his laugh ain dae

I asked tae ply the shovel

and couldnae lift the loads

he threw aroon,

muckle heaps o coal piled ceiling high

that dwindled tae noucht alooe his haunds.

I mind his airms pruning roses and turning wood

I mind his hand haundling faithful pipe

and stroking mither's hair

where she sat at his feet by fire.

Aye I mind,

And mindin', miss him still.

Poetry copyright to AnnMackieMiller: Please do not copy

A Scottish fun poem@ Is a doo a dove Dad by Jim Douglas

IS A DOO A DOVE DAD

BY JIM DOUGLAS

twin doos photography by annmackiemiller

Is a doo a dove/ Is a cow a coo Dad

A sparrow jist a spyug

And is a wall a waw Dad

Is a dog a dug

She's gonnae warm ma ear Dad

 Instead o' skelp ma lug.

Ma teacher's awfy posh Dad

 She changes aw oor names

Wee Shuggie now is Hugh Dad

And Jimmy's ayeways James

Ah'm scunnered wi' it aw Dad

The way she shoogles words

Ah must be glaickit no 'tae ken

That feathered friends are burds.

Ye learnt me aw wrong Dad

Ye cawd a ball a baw

Your wife is now my Mother

You said it wis ma Maw

Ah'm no share hoo tae spell Dad

Ah'll niver pass ma test

Whit is this ah'm wearin' Dad’

A simmet or a vest?

Ah gave ma nose a dicht Dad

When it began tae dreep

She gave me sich a fricht Dad

Ah near fall aff ma seat

“Haven't you a handkerchief”

She roared as if in pain

No, ah jist yase ma sleeve, Miss 

And wiped ma nose again.

Ah cawd a mouse a moose Dad

Ah shid hiv held ma tongue

That's manure oan yir bits Dad

Nae longer is it dung

It's turnips and potatoes

No tatties noo and neeps

She said I've ripped my trousers

When ah'd only torn ma breeks.

There's twa words fir awthin' Dad

They're jumbled in ma heed

Hoo kin I be well bred Dad

When ah keep sayin' breed

Now is a crow a craw Dad

 Is a bull a bull

A'll try tae get it richt Dad

I will, I will, ah wul

AND IF YOU WANT TO HEAR IT SUNG....