Poetry

[Sennacherib]

[ansuchin]

[Sennacherib]

[Demon of Undoing]

[Ibrahim]

[Demon of Undoing]

[Sennacherib]

[Ibrahim]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Demon of Undoing]

Damn .

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Sparky]

A Happy Burns Night to you all - I'm away fae a haggis - and a nip.

Address To A Haggis.


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 o' 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 you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke 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 ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody 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 mak 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!



An updated version:
The Chieftain o’ the puddin’ race,
In history now takes its place
Wi’ delicacies fondly kent,
Their tenure on our menus spent.
For Haggis has usurp-ed been
By Scotia’s ain nouvelle cuisine.
Our pallid, plooky faced complexion
owes much to this august confection.

It helps you work, and rest, and play,
“Aye, right!” the dieticians say.
So, anxious to resolve the matter,
We fry it in deep fat, wi’ batter.
For have we not, since we were weans,
attacked our arteries and veins
wi’ sweeties, crisps and all things fried?
Our hunger never satisfied,
we cry for seconds, even third yins,
despite the pleas of cardiac surgeons.

And pity we the fool who eats a…
saveloy or deep fried pizza,
when there amongst the pies and fish,
resplendent lies our National Dish.
As much a part of Caledonia
As midgies, rickets and pneumonia.

So all guid Scotsmen, spread the word,
Proclaim the carbohydrate turd.
And from the land of kilts & cabers,
go forth, evangelise your neighbours.
Cycle near and drive your cars far
All hail, the glorious Deep Fried Mars Bar!

[Ibrahim]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Marcus]

[Demon of Undoing]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Sennacherib]

[Tinker]

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” -Albert Camus