The Leid an the Lingo

Gin I wis Doric but nae Glesca,
Or I wisna Dundee nor Fife, nor yet
I wis some teuchter bumpin his gums
Shooglin on a tractor for his pey,
Fit wid I be but a dour carl
Wi a rochsome orra gab
An in my rauchlin couthieness
Fin’ some wad glory in’t
File ithers lauch?

Orogeny

tides of stone
rising

above the earth
the sun and moon

in a heaven without gods nothing exists
but the necessity of their invention

A Few Old Men

[Meeting Minute 1003]

a few old men
as high as kites
intoxicated by
soup and teacup
put the world to rights
and over tiffin and cake
pontificate

idols

words on stone
words on paper
books of words
libraries and churches
pages of scripture
before which we
bow down

Muisicianer’s Lament

Gin I wis walkin doon ae road or anither,
files I wis duncin, lik Jagger nor Bowie, tae the soon o a drum.

Nooadays I’m mindin on times weel deid an beeriet,
mindin days fan I pit ma finger on the string an played
ma ain rock n roll, ma ain jazz in the howfs o Aiberdeen.