Apologies to no-one. Dedicated to the lovely Liz Lochhead.
Makar ‘is Machair isnae!
An Atlantic coastal keep
A grand expanse o’ floo’rs ‘n’ gress
Nibbled by the island sheep
Oh! wad ye see the Makars face
Aw beilin’ wi’ the fury
O’ Atlantic gales crashin’ oan her cheeks
‘N’ her eyes shut tae the stoorie?
Oh! wad ye hear the Makars voice
Fae a Bardach o’ high degree
Decryin’ a’ thae hedgehogs
Cavortin’ wild & free?
Oh! wad ye ken the Makars thochts
Oan wrenchin’ oot o’ a puir weans kist
Fae her body o’ sandy soil & grit
By some archy-olo-gist?
A Presenter ‘is Precenter isnae!
He’s nae rhythm, nae rhyme ‘n’ nae verse
The nearest he’s been
tae a vision o’ God
Wis raisin’ boadies fae the merse
Oh! He’s a man o’ quartz-eyed lacrimosity
Of linguistic lacerationist bent
Of transpositional nouns ‘n’ transitional frowns
Fae an education conceived in a tent
A lock ‘is a loch isnae!
The beauty o’ a Highland scene
O’ watter, rocks ‘n’ mountains
An’ a peaceful, aqeous dream
It’s a damp, dank box o’ ancient stanes
An epic o’ mans creation
It’s built on the blood and the flesh and the banes
O’ the Navigator persuasion
An’ Scots ‘is Scotch isnae!
That welcoming amber brew
That mythical water o’ life
That warming Mountain Dew
It’s an ancient historical, aged geological, Nation
O’ people sae proud ‘n’ sae strong
That they smile and take aw thae insults
Knowin’ you’ll never know that you’re wrong.
© Eric Hamilton 2013
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