All 8 entries tagged Burns Night Is Alright

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February 19, 2006

virtues three

roll up roll up. the actual voice of omniscient narration
yes yes. it is burns night again, and burns means poems. it is, of course, very very late. but that is no reason to criticise it outrageously.

you larky people
this made its debut at a party in earlsdon, complete with gestures, accents, and an immense pause to look deeply and labrador-eyed into my whisky glass in the fourth verse.

yon comparison o' fightin, lasses, and whisky

i’ll muse to ye ‘pon virtues three
on fightin, lasses, and whisky
but which is best? – will we agree?
or will we dispute violently?

now fightin, there’s a noble chore
to wade, fists flailing, into war
sometimes I think I love nought more
though headbutts make the noggin sore

ah lasses, they are fine as well
and I would fain wax lyricell
though musing on some lovely belle
could take me an infinite spell

but whisky, tis a joysome drink
and best of all it helps me think
of beasties elephantly pink
before my eyelids slowly sink

to which of these should we say “aye!”
those fights are in such short supply
while lasses drain the wallet dry
and whisky fumes pass by and by

so hard to tell which one is best
though it may seem I speak in jest
may I so humbly now suggest
we strive to test and test and test

Jazz Bar

scottish hip hop. do you wanna do a jazz breakfast


January 17, 2006

McHai–ku

Writing about web page http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/My-Death-lyrics-David-Bowie/113B538411ACE463482568A20015CE46

retrospective.old mythology.new millenium
remember burns night?
learn this poem, wow your friends
brel-bowie-rashbrook
haiku.thanku?
certainly my verse
has now evolved past measure
but a charm lingers
el.la
i hear coast to coast
defiance prettily wrought
with more ugliness

Ma Death

Ma Death he saw ma’ caber throw
Through roof o’ yon pub it did go
Changin’ its flight
O foul fate o’ mine.
Ma Death he summoned foul cov youth
Scunners, Spavies right uncouth
Makin’ them fight
O foul fate o’ mine
Ma Death tol’ them o’ my one vice
A giant haggis would entice
Me tae take a bite
O foul fate o’ mine

O muckle haggis, kin o’ ma kyte
I canne help but eat thee
Angel o’ de’il
I amnae fashed
For waublin’ in ma bowl
Is Haggis

Ma Death kens tha’ I am hyte
Tae fit this Haggis in ma’ kyte
Kythin’ belly
O foul fate o’ mine
Ma Death, I’ll make a pact with ye
I cannae stop ma haggis-glee
Frae killin’ me
O foul fate o’ mine
Ma Death, I’ll lay down my life glad
If tae your list Cov Chavs ye add
Their kain guarantee
O foul fate o’ mine.

O muckle haggis, kin o’ ma kyte
Etc..

Ma Death agreed to ma mad plan
Their hides wi’ haggis I wou’ tan
Explodin’ Glut
O foul fate o’ mine.
Ma Death, a whiskey-laden draft
Wi’ deadly fire o’ vengeance craft
A Flamin’ gut
O foul fate o’ mine.
Ma Death, ma big exploding waist
Has burned and bashed yon chavs tae paste
False burberry smut
O foul fate o’ mine.

O muckle haggis, kin o’ ma kyte
Etc..

moral. imperative
wow your friends
cook haggis
toast ladies
drink whiskey


February 09, 2005

Part The Fifth

…and now our heroes, having rebuilt their fair land, must retire to their native kingdoms for the summer. The agony of their parting is forever preserved in the following verse…

Parting O’ Ways

Summer comes, its time to part
Oh, before I
Some wisdom let me impart

Sion, sir, ne’er do I forget a face,
But, oh gude,
Let me please erase

Tom, sir, of on desert trips
Flee, oh, Indian workers
As poets to unfinished scripts

Lauren, lady, gentle creature of th’ earth
Oh, remember I
Comparing men’s lacking girth

Dan, sir, paper toys of love
Oh, enticing women,
Only Kam would fit the glove

Summer comes, its time to part
Oh, nae fear
A place for all in my heart

Straight and true from the heart of Sir. Al-Lan


February 03, 2005

Part The Fourth

Our brave heroes' quest continues apace. Now, having rebuilt the fair land of Craven, they celebrate the end of their toil with a grand feast. Allow the words of the minstrel to transport you to the very banquet in which he himself joined the throng...

The Feast

Morgan, Sir Dan and all the rest,
To build a fire it twas their quest,
And all agree it was the best blaze of highest quality –
But to avoid potential arrest,
Announced a feast for legality.

With arbitarily numbered snack,
And meat of those that once went quack,
The feast began to push aback
Memory of the testing –
For none rembered all the fact,
Now twas time for jesting

Cue the minstral to appear –
The second to abastain from beer,
When news of feasting he did hear,
There was no hesistation,
And thought some say that he is queer –
Tis mere speculation.

As the day turned into night,
With Super-soakers they did fight
And Shaun did try with all his might,
To fight the rude invasion –
His room was chosen as the site
For their unplanned liason…

By the Minstrel


February 02, 2005

Part the Third

…and so it continues. Our heroes, having already survived trials and tribulations aplenty, must now rebuild their storm-broken land. This tale is primarily Tom Mor-Gane's, as he convinces his brothers to toil in the frozen soul-sapping wastes of the Craven…

Ree Bolding

On th’ Craven, On th’ Craven
Ye’se th’ land Gude lang forgot
Where amang th’ boulders an’ the rocks
Life was an untamed beast indeed

Th’ gilt-tongued Tom
He wid sicker saul,
Turned wid granite features in th’ caud
And ordered bonnie from th’ auld

Aye laddie, our hearts he wan
We’ll nae cower in th’ setting sun
And ilk e’en gie our a’ an’ mair
Our a’ an’ mair

Thee han’ that worked shanna daur shirk
For tho faces wrath of Tom
Bluid, I bid thee welcome
Meet thee, and emerge unskaithed

Sae, our work was done
And lave our tir’d limbs
Unco growth sprang forth
Blossoms till man shall greet

From the Pen of Sir Al-Lan.


January 29, 2005

Part The Second

The second part of our tale in which a bard relates the terrible tale of the black rat of Wales. An ode to debauchery, hearts broken, and love lost...

Of Cats and Rats

Siobhan henceforth known as the black rat of Wales
A man who could help float to poorest of sales
Who caused barely a stir when he took tae’ the scales
And whose blackness o’ heart had crept doon tae’ his nails.

Tae’ hem came a cat, lackin’ all feline grace
Who bore her disdain for the world on her face
They cared nothing for time and less so for place
They just wrapped themselves up in their bestial embrace.

It is true that a pair more strange ye’d nay see
Be it on these fair shores or far o’er the sea
To all those who saw them it seemed they could not be
Touched worse by the cruel hand of fates mockery

But such sin swiftly soured as the cat could not hide
The various displays of her canine side
And it started to collapse and the rat ne’r tried
To stop their foul unions swift downwards slide

The hideous yowling as alcohol spoke
The piteous moan of hearts drunkenly broke
The fast fading sound that is loves dying croak
And the black rat was left with no… kitty to stroke

And within the next day the rats smiling once more
Glad to have shrugged off the cats heavy paw
But he is long gone now and many ha’ swore
That his life will be cut short on the end of a claw.

Anon.


January 26, 2005

Part The First

As promised, here is the first part of the new mythology for the new millenium project.

Our five heroes, brave folk all, battle their way to a new abode in the fair land of McCraven, Earlsdon. On their way they encounter three terrifying bearded hags, who predict a terrible fate for the brave comrades…

Hornie Hags Scold Brave Billies o' Bold

Aye, twas a stormish fleidy necht
As billies boldy on we trechked
Like a pilbroch penned frae Bertol’ Brecht
The wind graned o’er yon plain.

Than, Hags of hornie they appeared,
Wi’ eldritch eyes o’ gleede they leered,
“O nasty crocks wi mannish beard,
My Spirit ye doth drain.”

Chorus:
O Hags o’ hornie ye appeared
As we drew our hiddlin-weird
Jingle gowlin so ye jeered
Ne’er ha’ a soul been so afeared

“Hail Billies” quo they wi’ form o’ blastie
“A clootie-child wi ettle nasty
When ye gae home, will fain harass-thee
And sure will be your bane.”

“O hags”, quo we, “go fetch yo’ shavers
We willnae listen tae clavers and havers
Brave jocks fro’ threesome crocks ne’er waver;
Yon Pliskie is in vain.”

Chorus:
O Hags o’ hornie ye appeared
As we drew our hiddlin-weird
Jingle gowlin so ye jeered
Ne’er ha’ a soul been so afeared

But whan fierce jocks reached their abode
They kenned jus’ wha’ had been forbode
A flichty girl wi’ skin o’ toad
Was gowlin’ on their pain

Yon jocks, regardin’ skin so sludgie
Bravely ran straight tae yon cludgie
So fleyed that never could they budgie
And havenae e’er been seen again…

Chorus:
O Hags o’ hornie ye appeared
As we drew our hiddlin-weird
Jingle gowlin so ye jeered
Ne’er ha’ a soul been so afeared

Translation

Yes, It was a stormy frightening night
As bold brother-in arms we trekked
Like a bagpipe warsong written by bertolt brecht,
the wind whistled over the plain

Then Hags of the devil appeared
With eldritch eyes of burning coal they leered
“O nasty old ewes with men’s beards
My spirit away you drain.”

Chorus:
O Hags of the devil you appeared
As we faced our hidden fate
Roaring, Rhyming so you jeered
Never has a soul been so scared

“Hail brothers in arms” cried they in the form of shrivelled wicked dwarfs
A devil child with intentions nasty
When you go home, will harass you
And surely will be your bane

“O hags” we cried, “go and get your razors
We won’t listen to nonsense
Brave men will not waver from three old ewes
Your curse is in vain.”

Chorus:
O Hags of the devil you appeared
As we faced our hidden fate
Roaring, Rhyming so you jeered
Never has a soul been so scared

But when the fierce men reached their abode
They knew just what had been forbidden
A frightening girl with the skin of a toad
Was howling about their pain

The men, on seeing such sludgy skin
Bravely ran straight to the privy
So scared that they could never leave
And haven’t ever been seen again.

Chorus:
O Hags of the devil you appeared
As we faced our hidden fate
Roaring, Rhyming so you jeered
Never has a soul been so scared

Original Composition and Translation: Ol-li McBrook


January 25, 2005

Burns' Night

"Ach, Tis Burns' Night, and the Laddies an' Lassies a' gath'red roond fair a' wee dram an' a spot o' haggis."

Over the next few weeks, expect a Dickensian-style serial of the great "Craven Saga." A fifteen part meisterwerk composed by a talented team of young writers, it provides a new mythology for a new millenium.

Here is a taste of what is to come – an extract from "Ma Death" – an inspiring piece that combines the form of Jacques Brel with the style of Robert Burns:

"O muckle haggis, kin o’ ma kyte
I canne help but eat thee
Angel o’ de’il
I amnae fashed
For waublin’ in ma bowl
Is Haggis."

Expect the first part of the epic very soon…


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