“Tae a Louse” an “Tae a Selfie”

Twa poems tellt by Sophie Stephenson, student at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, at Burns Nicht 2014

Tae a Louse by Robert Burns

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho’, faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn’d by saunt an’ sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her -
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar’s haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi’ ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whaur horn nor bane ne’er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye’re out o’ sight,
Below the fatt’rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye’ll no be right,
Till ye’ve got on it -
The verra tapmost, tow’rin height
O’ Miss’ bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump an’ grey as ony groset:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I’d gie you sic a hearty dose o’t,
Wad dress your droddum.

I wad na been surpris’d to spy
You on an auld wife’s flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy,
On’s wyliecoat;
But Miss’ fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do’t?

O Jenny, dinna toss your head,
An’ set your beauties a’ abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie’s makin:
Thae winks an’ finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An’ foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
An’ ev’n devotion!

(50 seicont innin in Gàidhlig)

Tae a Selfie by Lorna Wallace

Am lookin’ smashin; whit a stunner!
A drain ma gless doon in a wunner
An’ noo a really feel the need
Tae stert the show;
Grabbin’ ma wee phone fur snaps;
We’re gid tae go.

A summon aw ma lassies through
An’ switch the camera tae front view;
An staun’ an’ gee ma ginger loacks
A soart and fix.
We huddle roon’ an’ wait tae hear
The fast wee clicks.

A shuffle roon’ an’ change ma stance;
We dae some shoats an’ huv a dance,
A feel ma face is braw enough
Fur its ane shoot.
A stagger up and git a pal;
Am pished, nae doot.

Then in the moarn we congregate
An’ wae deep breaths we face oor fate,
An’ try tae fin’ oot whit the Hell
We hink wint oan.
A drag ma erse oot of ma pit
An’ check ma phone.

But then wan photie gee’s me fright;
There must jist no huv bin gid light.
“Git that oaf; ah look like shite!”
Ah flap an’ plead.
But a ken there’s jist nae point;
It’s oan “News Feed”.

There’s mare oanline, a look sae silly;
Am staunin’ wae a blow-up wullie,
Ma cross-eyed heid is gazin’
Intae time an’ space.
Aw shite, ah cannae quite believe
This fine disgrace.

A scrabble tae git them awa’
But hawf ma freens huv seen them aw,
An’ noo a wish a hudnae been
Sae bloody steamin’.
Here come the comments fae ma maw;
Ma cheeks are beamin’.