Today I’ll portray a God
Ganesh with arms & tusk wide
Grasping tight
In trunk a soul
In hand the sky holding
Over another with the world
Leaving 2
2 alone to do things daily
Cleaning, dressing, eating
2 alone with no guarded task
No mission
Today I’ll portray a Man
Like the music page, I’ve killed the poetry page. It really should be something more blog like.
When you’ve got lemons you make lemonade. And if you’re Scottish and those royals keep taking the best part of the sheep, you make haggis.
Yes, Robby Burns Day is long gone, yet this weekend at Egmont Marina, it was January 25th. Pipers and fiddles and kilts and beer and haggis, oh my! Everything was there to make a great ceilidh night. And as my tribute, here’s a copy of “Address To A Haggis” by 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 ye 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 strech 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 staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad 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 make 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!
I might not have any Scottish blood in my veins but this weekend, I was a Scott!
I don’t know who they are, but I’m sending out a nice thank you to the 3 people who thought my collection of poems were good enough to purchase. Sure it’s been a couple of months scince I submitted 4 copies, but concidering the competition on the shelves I’m pretty stoked about that. So to the universe I scream, thank you!
sample
I have a thought that’s purple
Well, it’s more purple with orange swirls
It’s kinda Happy
It’s kinda Angry
It’s like daisies in the spring
and Bears in the winter
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