Corryvreckan

Pouring clear water in a silver bowl
the skryer watches a dark image form
& stirs her little wooden vessel there,
so soon the doom of Corryvreckan come!
Wait for the full moon lovely go alone
along a midnight seashore, on the beach
lie below the flood-tide mark, left hand placed
beneath the footsoles, right upon the head.
Then cry out thrice (else you’re aff with the sluagh)
‘Maister Deil tak what’s atwee dis twa haunds’
but tell none for fear, all stang and guddled,
just quivering skinless rawred flayed flesh,
an otherworld’s black-hoofed man come visit,
pluck out your eyes & impale them on thorns.

Tir-nan-Og

Mildlife ramblers in the mirror of nowhere let’s go
across heathery hillocks & moss-covered tussocks
with our scissors in a sieve, a toad’s stone, teetotum,
silver bullet, barberry, blackwaterfoot spider’s web,
milk thistle & that fabulous charm against elf-shot.
Oh, slip we this night swift as the thought of a maiden
between two lovers on a pillow of raven’s feathers,
her blue cot nocht unlyke the croce the Apostle died on.
Let me be Shellycoat, an unchancy kirk-yard raver
howks up unchristened weans & boils their livers
& you be just Jenny with the iron teeth, clouding
the moon with your koskinomancy to glamour white
as a bonnie Prince’s roses a miraculous skin so pure
the red might be seen through it as you sip the wine.

Glaistig

Wan waukrife nicht I wis up oan the Slip
And met a Green Lady wi’ petted lip.
‘Come wi’ me tae the ether stane,’ says she,
And join the Earl o’ Hell’s whigmaleerie,
Thenight’s a night likes o’ youse never seen,
Come dance wi’ me oan the Green Lady Green.’
So wi’ cutty quean I traipse doon the biss,
Up for a bosie or mibbe a kiss,
She wis glumsh, but wi’ lang aberlack hair
And een sae green scarce less I couldnae care,
A man glaickit in a wanchancy dwaam,
Yon fliskmahoy had me unner her vaam.
Noo, I had indulged in the barley bree
And wis so steamboats I could scarcely see,
And it’s true I wis woozy wi’ lager
And upon yon glack wis prone tae stagger,
Might be said tae be mildly moistified
But her meschant crew had us mortified!
There wis bogies, bodachs and a bogle,
Hellicat gillygawkies tae ogle,
(hussies in the scuddie mak ye tingle
birling all aroon a bluid-reid ingle!),
Devilocks tweetling oan their tooteroos,
Swanky warlocks lepping like kangaroos,
Auld Nick oan bagpipes in bumbee tartan,
Mephistopholes jist sat there fartin,
Reeking like dung frae the fairmer’s paddock
Or vilest bowf of a Finnan haddock,
You could sniff that guff reeking through the mirk,
And he wis devil’s deacon o’ that Kirk!
These wheeched us up intae their whirligig
(you tummled the wilkies doin’ that jig).
I danced and pranced for how lang there, God knows,
Till upon me chittered the mirlygoes.
I let go my skinnymalinky’s hand
(she wis peely-wally, but danced sae grand),
I wis thowless then, a wee bit wabbit,
Saw her physog wis a bit gash-gabbit,
Wi’ teeth as big as the Brollachan’s maws
And pale skin ice-cauld as the cashieclaws,
Fegs, all at wance it wis a rare riddle:
How come her bum become a French fiddle?
‘God save us frae hell, yir an eldritch girl!”
And straight I hear a wild malgruguous skirl
And the hale rickmatic gone, hale and hoof,
Like snaw aff a dike, leaving us nae proof,
Not a tash o’ that mad ceilidh eerie,
The hale jing-bang and their tapsalteerie,
Such ferlies happen but rarely ye know,
Are rare as a blash o’ the deep blue snow.
I bauchled hame in a spleeter o’ weet
Through a big gowk-storm, wis deid oan my feet,
Crawled stramuylert back intae my scratcher,
And as for yon lass? Don’t try tae catch her,
She’s a witch or black-pitch dark enchanter,
Ye’ll end up scunnered as Tam O’ Shanter,
Avoid yon Slip up by yonder corrie,
You’ll come back glaickit, worse than sorry,
That’s an uncanny darksome trysting place
Left me ramfeezled wi’ a big bap-face,
And pray tae Christ ye don’t see whit I’ve seen:
The Green Lady dance oan Green Lady Green.