Amusing Poems

[squidge]

I thought you might like to see these folks - not mine im afraid but Robert The Bruce's from The Rampant Haggis collection




Nessies' finest feast.

Saint Columba gie'd it laldey oan the side o fair Loch Ness.
His burbling christian diatribe put Nessie under duress.
For vegetarianism wis nae the guid monsters way
So fur her soul auld Saint Columba said that daily he would pray.

But Nessie wis a hungry beast and hankered fur some dinner.
The longer the auld saint did pray, the monster did grow thinner
And so to end his rhetoric as he prayed for the monster’s soul
Guid Nessie jist opened her maw and swallayed her patron whole

Poetry

I'd like to write some poetry
To make myself a living.
Perhaps I'd live in far Portree
Where weather’s unforgiving.
And write about the gales and storms
Or the wildlife round about.
The birds in all their various forms,
Some skinny, some short, some stout.

Or the mammals too, like stoats and otters,
Or beasties, timorous cowerin’.
I could fill my poet’s jotters
With them and blooms all flowering.
See the flowers and plants
Growing wild by the road
They’d sooth my rants
And inspire an Ode.

The Waddin’

May ye tak this day, yir bonnie bride,
May yir man haud ye close and lang.
E're the gither may the twa o ye bide.
Wi’ the greatest love ever sang.

Let her face fill yir mind last thing ev'ry nicht
Wi’ a love that is fore'er an' aiy burning bricht.
When ye wake in the morn and mind yir lover’s name
Let yir heart fill wi' love, as hers will the same.

May the words that ye vow be for e'er.
May yir lives be guid, honest and trew.
May unhappiness visit ye ne'er
In the things that ye say and ye do.

When your heart was first touched, like a floo'er by the sun
The magic o yir romance had only just begun.
Ye've reached anither milestone oan yir path, The Lover’s Way.
So we celebrate the gither, on this yir waddin' day.

[Kingetter]

Its good to have some Burns on here - maybe someone might add some from (dare I mention his name?) that feller frae Dundee?

[squidge]

ooh Kingetter i will tell him you said that lol - these arent Burns they are by my partner - Robert the Bruce - he gets called that cos he is a medieval battle reenactor who plauyed Robert the Bruce at a recent event to celebrate the 700th anniversary of The coronation of said king.

My Bruce writes in English and in Scots and has had several individual poems published in both books and magazines and a small collection published in an anthology. Ill add some more of them over the next few weeks

[Kingetter]

ooh Kingetter i will tell him you said that lol - these arent Burns they are by my partner - Robert the Bruce - he gets called that cos he is a medieval battle reenactor who plauyed Robert the Bruce at a recent event to celebrate the 700th anniversary of The coronation of said king.

My Bruce writes in English and in Scots and has had several individual poems published in both books and magazines and a small collection published in an anthology. Ill add some more of them over the next few weeks

Hehehe - Great stuff. More please.

[Sporran]

Squidge, I enjoyed your man's clever poems. Sounds like you do indeed have another Robert Burns on your hands - perhaps we should call him Rabbie the Bruce aka the Battlin' Bard!

[Kingetter]

Squidge, I enjoyed your man's clever poems. Sounds like you do indeed have another Robert Burns on your hands - perhaps we should call him Rabbie the Bruce aka the Battlin' Bard!

Just call him round - like to 'meet' him!

[golach]

Oh what a sleekit horrible beastie,
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie.
Just as ye sit doon among yer kin,
There sterts to stir an enormous wind.

The neeps and tatties and mushy peas,
Stert workin' like a gentle breeze.
But soon the puddin' wi' the sauncie face,
Will have ye blawin' all o'er the place.

Nae matter whit ye try tae dae,
A'bodys gonnae have tae pay.
Even if ye try to stifle,
It's like a bullet oot a rifle.

Hawd yer bum tight tae the chair,
Tae try and stop the leakin' air.
Shift yersel' frae cheek tae cheek,
Pray tae God it doesnae reek.

But aw yer efforts go assunder,
Oot it comes - a clap o' thunder.
Ricochets aroon the room,
Mighty me, a sonic boom!

God a'mighty it fairly reeks,
Hope I havnae pooed ma breeks!
Tae the loo I better scurry,
Aw who cares, it's no' ma worry.

A'body roon aboot me chokin,
Wan or ! two are nearly bokin.
I'll feel better for a while,
Cannae help but raise a smile.

"Wis him!" I shout wi' accusin' glower,
Alas too late, he's just keeled o'er!
"Ye dirty thing!" they shout and stare,
I don't feel welcome any mair.

Where ere ye go let yer wind gang free,
Sounds like just the job fur me.
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's perty,
Ower the sake o' wan wee ferty!!!
Anon

[Kingetter]

Ony mair o they?

Maybe that one's unique?

[Kenn]

Little Willie dreshed up in best new Sunday sashes
Fell into the fire and was burnt to ashes.
Alas although the room grows chilly,
I have n't got the heart to poke poor Willie.

Little Willie in a bore,
Nailed his sister to the door.
Mother feeling rather faint
Said "Willie don't spoil the paint!"

Father on hearing the children scream
Dipped them in the stream.
He remarked on drowning the third
"Children should be seen NOT heard."

I think these are attributed to Edward Lear.

[Gleber2]

Early to rise,
Early to bed,
Makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead.

James Thurber

[acameron]

I must go down to the sea again,
the lonely sea and sky,
I left my vest and socks there,
I wonder if they are dry.


Spike Milligan

[j4bberw0ck]

A Port Shoem, by the Speverend Rooner*

I've a gouse and harden in the country;
An ace I call my plown.
A treat I can replace to
when I beed to knee alone.
Caterfly and butterpillar perch on beefy lough,
And I listen to the dats and cogs as they mark and as they biaow.
Yes, wature here is nunderful!
There is no weed for nurds,
While silling by my windowflutter
Biny little turds.

(*a.k.a. Monty Python)