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16 October 2014

I.B.H.Q.


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I.B.H.Q.


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National Poetry Day

Today is - someone's just told me - National Poetry Day. So if you've got a poem of your own, or a bit of someone else's, let's be having you. I like MacDiarmid's rambling epic, which is too long to post here...A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle, so here's an extract.

Post them on your own blog or as Comments here.

A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle
by Hugh MacDiarmid

The munelicht's like a lookin-glass,
The thistle's like mysel,
But whaur ye've gane, my bonnie lass,
Is mair than I can tell.

Were you a vision o mysel,
Transmutted by the mellow liquor?
Neist time I I glisk you in a glass,
I'se warrant I'll mak siccar.

A man's a clean contrairy sicht,
Turned this way in-ootside,
And, fegs, I feel like Dr. Jekyll
Tak'n guid tent o Mr. Hyde...

Gurly thistle - hic - you canna
Daunton me wi your shaggy mien,
I'm sair - hic - needin a shave,
That's plainly to be seen.

But what aboot it - hic - aboot it?
Mony a man's been that afore.
It's no a fact that in his lugs
A wund like this need roar!...

Posted on I.B.H.Q. at 10:44

Comments

The only poems I know aren't suitable for the 91热爆.........

Sunny from Arran


Actually remembered one I learned as a wee girl: A puddock sat by the lochins brim an thought there wis never a puddock like him, He sat on his hurdies, He waggled his legs, He cockit his heid as he glowered through the segs, The bigsy wee crater wis feelin' that proud, He gap'it his moue an' crock'it oot lood, "Gin y'd a' like tae see a richt puddock quo he? Well never y'll find a better nor me, I've famlies an' wives an' a weel plemished hame, Drink fur ma' thrapple an' meat fur ma wame, The lassies a' thought me a fine strappin' chiel an a' ken am a richt bonny singer as weel, Am no goin' tae blaw, but the truth a mon tell, Ah believe I'm the very Mac Puddock himsel!" Now a Heron was hungry an' needin' tae sup, So he nabbit the puddock an' gobbled him up, Zine rumphled his feathers, "A pair thing quo he, But puddocks are nae whit they used to be". Can't remember who wrote it?

Sunny from Arran


I like this from Kate Clanchy... Poem For a Man With No Sense of Smell This is simply to inform you: that the thickest line in the kink of my hand smells like the feel of an old school desk, the deep carved names worn sleak with sweat; that beneath the spray of my expensive scent my armpits sound a bassnote strong as the boom of a palm on a kettle drum; that the wet flush of my fear is sharp as the taste of an iron pipe, midwinter on a child's hot tongue; and that sometimes, in a breeze, the delicate hairs on the nape of my neck, just where you might bend your head, might hesitate and brush your lips, hold a scent frail and precise as a fleet of tiny origami ships, just setting out to sea.

Carol from Dunfermline


You can find the puddock on the poems of Robert Burns web site

Helen from Letham


sorry, forgot to tell you The Puddock was written by J. M. Caie

Helen from Letham


a podduck was writing by robert burns

crai from perth




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