Scots Hoose FAVOURITE POEMS PowerPoint

Favourite Poems
by Robert Burns
Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
And sae the Lord be thankit
by Sheena Blackhall
Fowk say that ye are fit ye eat
Sae ca-cannie fin chawin yer meat
Swiss rolls an paninis luik daft in bikinis
An petticoat tails hae nae feet!
by JK Annand
I dinna like hail tatties
Pit on my plate o mince
For when I tak my denner
I eat them baith at yince.
Sae mash and mix the tatties
Wi mince into the mashin,
And sic a tasty denner
Will aye be voted ‘Smashin!’
by Alison Fitt
Eh’m a pizza, a magic pizza,
Bein stuck in the freezer’s a scunner –
So eh grew twa legs an oor ago
An fae Tesco Eh did a runner.
Eh’ma pizza, a gaen-mental pizza,
Eh’m skitin doon the street,
An giein a muckle cheesy grin
Tae the dumfoonert fowk Eh meet.
Eh’m a pizza, a please-mehsel pizza,
Eh can dae whitiver Eh like –
Fleh wi cheese and tomatae weengs
Or gae dancin doon a dyke.
Eh’m a pizza, an oan-the-rin pizza,
The polis are efter me –
But they needna think that ony o them
Are haein me fur thir tea.
Eh’m a pizza, a thumb-yir-neb pizza,
Eh’ll tell them tae git loast.
Oh jings – Eh’m a puggilt pizza noo –
Eh’ve stertit tae defroast!
by JK Annand
When doukin in the River Nile
I met a muckle crocodile.
He flicked his tail, he blinked his ee,
Syne bared his ugsome teeth at me.
Says I, "I never saw the like.
Cleaning your teeth maun be a fyke !
What sort of besom do ye hae
To brush a set o teeth like thae?"
The crocodile said, "Nane ava.
I never brush my teeth at aa !
A wee bird redds them up, ye see,
And saves me monie a dentist's fee."
by JK Annand
Nessie the Loch Ness Monster
Wad seem to be gey blate,
And doesna like the scientist chiels
That come, and sit, and wait.
But gif ye want to see her
Pretend ye dinna care,
Keek oot the corner o your ee Ye'll see her soomin there.
She'll wiggle-humphie-waggle,
She'll goggle wi her een,
Syne disappear ablow the loch
Like she had never been.
A DUG, A DUG by Bill Keys
Hey, Daddy, wid ye get us a dug ?
A big broon alsation ur a wee white pug ?
Ur a skinny wee terrier, ur a big fat collie?
Aw, daddy,get us a dug. Will yi ?
Whit! An' whose dug'll it be when it durties the flerr,
An' wets the carpet and messes the sterr?
Its me ur yer mammy'll be tane furra mug.
Away oot'n play. Yer no getting a dug.
But daddy thur gi'en them away
Down therr at the RSPCA.
Yu'll get wan fur nothin, so ye will.
Aw. Daddy, get us a dug, Will ye?
Dji hear um? Oan aboot dugs again?
Ah think that yins goat dugs'n the brain.
Ah know whit yu'll get: a skite oan the lug
If ah hear ony merr aboot this bloomin dug.
Aw, Daddy, it widny be dear tae keep
An‘ ah'd make it a basket fur it tae sleep.
An‘ ah'd take it fur runs away ower the hull.
Aw, Daddy, get us a dug. Will ye?
A doan't think thurs embdy like you:
Yi could wheedle the twist oot a flamin' corkscrew.
Noo! Get doon aff my neck. Gies nane a yur hugs.
Aw right. THAT'S ANUFF. Ah'll get yi a dug.
Aw Daddy. A dug. A dug.
by Sandy Thomas Ross
The auld broon troot lay unner a stane,
Unner a stane lay he,
An he thocht o' the wund,
An he thocht o' the rain,
An the troot that he uist tae be.
A'm a gey auld troot, said he tae hissel,
A gey auld troot, said he,
An there's mony a queer-like
Tale A cuid tell
O' the things that hae happened tae me.
They wee-hafflin trooties are aa verra smert,
They're aa verra smert, said he,
They ken aa the rules
O' the gemm aff by hairt,
An they're no aften catched, A'll agree.
They're thinkin A'm auld an they're thinkin A'm duin,
They're thinkin A'm duin, said he,
They're thinkin A'm no
Worth the flirt o' a fin
Or the blink o' a bonnie black ee.
But A'm safe an A'm smug in ma bonnie wee neuk,
A'm safe an A'm snug, said he,
A'm the big fush that
Nae fusher can heuk,
An A'll aye be that - till A dee!
by Robert Bain
There's no a clood in the sky,
The hill's clear as can be,
An' the broon road's windin' ower it,
But - no for me!
It's June, wi' a splurge o' colour
In glen an' on hill,
An' it's me wad be lyin' up yonner,
But then - there's the schule.
There's a wude wi' a burn rinnin' through it,
Caller an' cool,
Whaur the sun splashes licht on the
An' dapples the pool.
There's a sang in the soon' o' the watter,
Sang sighs in the air,
An' the worl' disnae maitter a docken
To yin that's up there.
A hop an' a step frae the windie,
Just fower mile awa,
An' I could be lyin' there thinkin'
O' naething ava'.
Ay! - the schule is a winnerfu' place,
Gin ye tak it a' roon,
An' I've no objection to lessons,
Whiles - but in June?
by JK Annand
Mum cries me a slaister,
Says naethin could be waur
Nor mellin sand and water
And slaisterin in the glaur.
When I'm aa glaur and slaistert
And clarty as a tink
Mum maks a graith o soap suds
And plops me in the sink.
Syne when I'm washed and tidied
And clean as clean can be
My Mum gies me a cuddle
And maks me chips for tea.
by Jill Bennett
A poem, huh
Ah could eat a poem
Tak a bite
Get ma teeth intae it
Rattle it roond ma gums
Chew real slow
Spit a word oot
Kick it alang the street
Play keepie-uppie wi it
Heider it
Bring on a substitute
Score a goal
A poem, huh
That's the game
A canty wee lassie cried Menzies
Speired, "Dae ye ken whit this thenzies?"
Her Maw, wi a gasp,
Reponed, "It's a wasp!
And ye're haudin the end whaur the
by Matthew Fitt
Fireworks aff the Castle
Bairns in the library
Cans o Irn Bru Goin
Fitbaw in the playgroond
The snaw blaws in fae Norroway
And nips your TAES, TAES, TAES
We go skitin on wir sledges
The rain comes doon in buckets
Your teeth is sair fae sweeties
You’re oot wi pals and aw the time
But when awthin’s wrang and no goin right
Jist go and tell your MITHER
When awthin’s wrang and no goin right
Jist you coorie in wi MITHER
by JK Annand
Ma mither says that we hae mice
That open air-ticht tins
And eat her chocolate biscuits
And cakes and sic like things.
Nae doot it is an awfy shame
That mice should get the blame.
It’s really me that ripes the tins
When left alane at hame.
But jings I get fair hungert
And biscuits taste sae nice
But dinnae tell ma mither
For she thinks it’s the mice!
BEASTIES by Helen Cruickshank
Clock-leddy, clock-leddy
Flee awa' hame,
Your lum's in a lowe,
Your bairns in a flame;
Reid-spottit jeckit,
An' polished black e'e,
Land on my luif, an' bring
Siller tae me!
Ettercap, ettercap,
Spinnin' your threid,
Midges for denner, an'
Flees for your breid;
Sic a mischanter
Befell a bluebottle,
Silk roond his feet Your hand at his throttle!
Moudiewarp, moudiewarp,
Howkin' an' scartin',
Tweed winna please ye,
Nor yet the braw tartan,
Silk winna suit ye,
Naither will cotton,
Naething, my lord, but the
Velvet ye've gotten.
Street Talk by JK Annand
There was a rammie in the street,
A stishie and stramash.
The crabbit wifie up the stair
Pit up her winda sash.
“Nou what’s adae?” the wifie cried,
“Juist tell me what’s adae.”
A day is twinty-fower hours, missis,
Nou gie us peace to play.
“Juist tell me what’s ado,” she cried,
“And nane o yer gab,” cried she.
D’ye no ken a doo’s a pigeon, missis?
Nou haud your wheesht a wee.
“I want to ken what’s up,” she cried,
“And nae mair o yer cheek, ye loun.”
It’s only yer winda that’s up, missis.
For guidsake pit it doun.
by Mary Campbell Smith
Whit wey does the engine say Toot-toot?
Is it feart to gang in the tunnel?
Whit wey is the furnace no pit oot
When the rain gangs doon the funnel?
What’ll I hae for my tea the nicht?
A herrin’, or maybe a haddie?
Has Gran’ma gotten electric licht?
Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?
There’s a hoodie-craw on yon turnip-raw!
An’ sea-gulls! — sax or seeven.
I’ll no fa’ oot o’ the windae, Maw,
It’s sneckit, as sure as I’m leevin’.
We’re into the tunnel! we’re a’ in the dark!
But dinna be frichtit, Daddy,
We’ll sune be comin’ to Beveridge Park,
And the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!
Is yon the mune I see in the sky?
It’s awfu’ wee an’ curly.
See! there’s a coo and a cauf ootbye,
An’ a lassie pu’in’ a hurly!
He’s chackit the tickets and gien them back,
Sae gie me my ain yin, Daddy.
Lift doon the bag frae the luggage rack,
For the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!
There’s a gey wheen boats at the harbour
And eh! dae ye see the cruisers?
The cinnamon drop I was sookin’ the noo
Has tummelt an’ stuck tae ma troosers
I’ll sune be ringin’ ma Gran’ma’s bell,
She’ll cry, ‘Come ben, my laddie.’
For I ken mysel’ by the queer-like smell
That the next stop’s Kirkcaddy!’
MAVERICKby Sandy Thomas Ross
I dinna like Miss Maverick
This cushion's for her heid
I'm jumpin aw ma weicht on it
And noo Miss Maverick's deid.
Ye're deid, ye're deid, Miss Maverick
And never mair ye'll say
I dance like a hird o Ayrshire kye
On a mercat day.
I'll pit ye ablaw the sofa
Ye're deid and yirdit baith
An never mair ye'll miscaw me Ye've drawn yer hindmaist braith.
by JK Annand
The circus cam to our toun
And settled on the Green;
They heistit up the biggest tent
That I hae ever seen.
And there for twa-and-saxpence
He let me in to see
Some acrobats up in the ruif
Dae henners on a swee.
Pownies danced the cha-cha,
Monkeys rade on bikes,
They even had a fitba match
For teams o mongrel tykes.
The best turn in the circus was
The clown in baggy breeks
That gart me lauch until the tears
Cam rinnin doun my cheeks.
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