From the East Coast of Ireland to the Lowlands of Scotland,
a well-trodden path,
Grandma going to Whiteinch Baths,
to do the family laundry,
And to take my Auntie for a swim,
the black and white photos look a bit grim.

She mispronounces certain words.
When you put your dinner in between some bread,
she'd look at you, dead, and say,
"If yis waanted sangwhiches, I'd have made yis sangwhiches!"

And, "you're very pass-remarkable,"
I think it means you're quick to comment on others,
my Mother's also from Glasgow,
and doesn't know why Grandma speaks like that,
so this isn't just me being a Sassenach,
or a daft English ****.

25th of January is Burns Night,
serve the neeps, tatties, a glass of fizz,
and of course, some Haggis.
Some say offal's awful,
but I just can't get enough of the stuff.

A firm favourite of our clan is a creamy dessert named Cranachan.
Topped with berries and a splash of whiskey,
you can guarantee a thumbs up from me.

The ancient family tartan is red and blue,
then there's the family crest too,
a knight with a shield under a tree,
I think it represents gallantry.

I sometimes wish I had a proper Scottish name,
like Hamilton, Douglas, or McCain,
don't suppose it matters,
at least I can understand the patter,
(that means joke or language.)

A saying about saving your coins,
"Mony a mickle macks a muckle,"
always makes me chuckle.

"Does it, aye?"
is a very dry reply,
used to take the **** and can be easy to miss.

When my Mum was younger, the family liked to roam,
but when she visits Glasgow,
she says it feels like home,
her voice even changes when she's on the phone.

Sounds English most of the day,
then my Auntie calls, and she's on her way,
"Haud ye weesht!" when she picks up the phone,
that means be quiet,
but you wouldn't have known,
that isn't her normal speaking tone.

Scottish family,
some are distant to me,
but through my parentage,
it's nice to have the heritage.

Here’s a wee yin for his birthday
The hale world’s hae’in his supper
Time for a poem or a song
And a wee whisky chaser

Enjoy Rabbie’s supper
Wi that big sonsie face
And neeps and tatties
Wi nae stomach space

Every toon in Scotland
Every pub that he’s been in
Telt some odd stories
About his kith an’ kin

Telt them in auld Scots
It’s the language that he kens
If he’s got a beer in haun
He’ll pit doon the pen

Socialising wi’ pals
Whisky, beer and song
All the things to be enjoyed
An’ that cannae be wrong

They call him the bard
But he’s just a man
Wi some great stories to tell
And as many as he can.

Jumpstarting outstanding undertaking...
bringing jouncy, spectacularly crafted,
nuanced, zesty, noteworthy, creatively
spirited enlightened written poem.

This raggedy man doth inconsolably weeps
kept rudely awake whilst disobedient sheep
incur wrath of Little Bo Peep, she lambastes
protesting courtesy rambunctiousness being
future mutton chops with "haggis and neeps"
though hungry enough to eat a horse, yours
truly - me cannot afford mouth watering heep
meager stacked coins no higher than antheaps.

Yes, I still rant and rave at crooks who won
built and trussed up trust minting yours truly
for all his worth inescapably zapped all cents
of mine labeled as easy prey, branded til time
of his done on Earth immemorial prodigal son
absolute zero (the big goose egg) zilch wifely
survivor benefits nixed in other words... none
meaning, she will no longer address me as hon
mortality gussied up as grim reaper will anon
be taking aging beetle browed foo fighter to
(elysium) elysian fields after tomb morrow.

Red hot poker faced beggars me to seek wage
perhaps being ventriloquist's dummy & bring
about Renaissance of the once renown
Vaudeville (comedy without psychological or
moral intentions, based on a comical situation:
a dramatic composition or light poetry,
interspersed with songs or ballets) stage
door opening revitalization second decade
of twenty first century veritable newage
social media platforms displaying homepage
only more egalitarian than storied Gilded age.

Major blunder blinded insight compromised,
jeopardized, sabotaged novel storied wealth
scam artist affected my sought after demise
courtesy weapons of mass destruction stealth
bombarded, fooled, lobbed..., psychological
manipulation upended marred mental health
hacking away byte size raw bits of gray matter.

Discover re: visa vis yielded me mastercharge
amplified ohm my dog, what in tarnation did I
unwittingly bring about pennilessness wrought
truth out there and trust no one equals lessons
(courtesy Mulder Fox Special Agent and one
of the two protagonists of Fox science fiction-
supernatural television series X-Files) taught
(think unlucky duck) professional quackshot
commandeering, guiding, lying, ravaging...
(albeit convincingly) me to withdraw money,
what amounted jackpot stripping away leaving
yours truly bereft of financial buffer - naught
one red cent barely able to afford one kilowatt
only natural light utilized to power just barley
my gofundme page titled implacable ill fate
battered treasured wealth.

Aye, an evening grand we gather 'round,
Wi' friends an' laughter so profound.
A festive night tae celebrate,
The bard whose tales do captivate.

Wi’ haggis, neeps, and tatties fine,
An’ whisky bold, a taste divine.
The voices raise in jovial song,
To Robbie Burns, the night belongs.

We toast the lassies, hearts aglow,
Their beauty rare, as pure as snow.
And dance we do with joy and grace,
In honour o' his cherished place.

O’er candlelight, tales rich an’ warm,
Of love an’ life, nae storm can harm.
In friendship's glow, we fondly turn,
To celebrate our dear Burns’ charm.

So let the evening ne’er be spent,
In sorrow’s grief or heart's lament.
For Robbie Burns, a toast we raise,
In joyous cheer, his name we praise.

Slàinte Mhath!

goose flesh and seal meat
a handful of fried grasshoppers
some chilli powder (hot)
and salt, of course
big Tbone steaks
mutton and lamb
chicken and duck
haggis and neeps
a grand plate of offal
in the mists of time
cannibalism.