In the Style of Robert Burns: Ode to a Scottish Writer

In the Style of Robert Burns:

She’s as gone as dust, brotherRobert Burns Style, Draft April 2014
If ye’ bother, man,
You’ll find her favor,
A’ changin’ wi’ another, brother-
She’s as gone as dust, man.
Try nae gither ashes,
Nor rake em’,
Try nae tell ya, man,
It’s all burnt up,
Not a page remains, brother-
Put air in yer’ hand and close it,
Don’t peak,
I’ll tell ya’, man,
It’s not there
You never had it brother-
Take it frae a jilted lover,
tae try for ‘nother, man.

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns was a famed Scottish writer and poet who lived during the mid till late 18th century. He was noted for catching the sympathies and feelings of the nation through his colloquial Scottish brogue and emotionally connected prose that struck a chord with his fellow kin. His poetry is considered romantic and ranged in themes from historical, pastoral and ballad like. Many pieces included mournful odes to women and squandered fortune- but a balladeer he was.  Here is an excerpt from a favorite ballad named, Whistle which is a summons of famous figures to a heroic drinking contest:
Unmatch’d at the bottle,
unconquer’d in war,
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea…
Roberts life was one marked for misfortune and poor health but through his brilliance of mind his writing lives on.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doom’d to wander, O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; I live to-day as well’s I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
My Father was a Farmer, Robert Burns

Read, Whistle and others @ Burns Country

Watch this great BBC documentary on Robert Burns:

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In the Style of Robert Burns: Ode to a Scottish Writer

In the Style of Robert Burns:

She’s as gone as dust, brotherRobert Burns Style, Draft April 2014
If ye’ bother, man,
You’ll find her favor,
A’ changin’ wi’ another, brother-
She’s as gone as dust, man.
Try nae gither ashes,
Nor rake em’,
Try nae tell ya, man,
It’s all burnt up,
Not a page remains, brother-
Put air in yer’ hand and close it,
Don’t peak,
I’ll tell ya’, man,
It’s not there
You never had it brother-
Take it frae a jilted lover,
tae try for ‘nother, man.

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns was a famed Scottish writer and poet who lived during the mid till late 18th century. He was noted for catching the sympathies and feelings of the nation through his colloquial Scottish brogue and emotionally connected prose that struck a chord with his fellow kin. His poetry is considered romantic and ranged in themes from historical, pastoral and ballad like. Many pieces included mournful odes to women and squandered fortune- but a balladeer he was.  Here is an excerpt from a favorite ballad named, Whistle which is a summons of famous figures to a heroic drinking contest:
Unmatch’d at the bottle,
unconquer’d in war,
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea…
Roberts life was one marked for misfortune and poor health but through his brilliance of mind his writing lives on.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doom’d to wander, O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; I live to-day as well’s I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
My Father was a Farmer, Robert Burns

Read, Whistle and others @ Burns Country

Watch this great BBC documentary on Robert Burns:

A Relic

When I see features alike yours,
I’ll stop and stare till I am jostled from there.Relic, April 2014 1
I’ll try remove the memory jogged,
When I get to this thinking-
That I could bump into you once more,
Pangs inflame my chest,
My feet swell and these legs become uneven
And those steps become unmeasured.
Certainly, you’ve never considered this,
Have you?
If you see long locks of brown,
A cherub like smile,
With red cheeks laughing,
Is there a start inside of you,
that shakes and turns to think of me?
It can be said that I still see you,
Floating through a crowd,
Always far-off,
Moving away from me,
With a blonde sheen that catches rays from the sun,
or a mouth that opens at a flitting laugh,
To reveal the whitest flax of sheep ascending,
A beautiful hill.
I pause to collect a token from what you have left.
Yes,
It stirs my heart a might tremulous,
It rattles me till I catch myself,
Blocking pedestrian traffic,
Stopping in a busy bus terminal,
Turning mid-sentence,
Staring out into nothing,Relic, April 2014 2 1
Hoping that it is you,
Who accidentally found me,
Or have searched to save me
And fill a bleakness with answer.
It can never be the case.
I’ll shuffle along,
Further away into the obscurity of the past,
To take a seat among,
Cast away relics of your mind,
Though conversely,
A relic i’ll fasten to leather,
And hang around my breast,
Like a sacred effigy,
A lesson,
An offering of penance to fate,
To have mercy on a shattered thing,
Who lost pieces of a childish naivety,
Whose pride was shorn to the quick,
Whose love burned up on a short-lived fuel.


A Jilted Lover Promotional

The Ocean No More

I have to live a life away from the Ocean,Ocean, April 2014 1 2
I’ve sold in pieces the vestments,
Worn to honor our marriage-
I’ve given the ring and all it’s luster,
The shining prize I’ve worn,
From the moment I’ve found feat,
To hold me steady,
Alas,
I’ve given that ring to another,
It hurts and grieves me sick,
That each moment I am away,
I feel the stormy lash so bitter.
No more shall I rock in your surf,
Or bask in jewels,
That sparkle all about you,
When the sun is high,Ocean, April 2014 2
No more shall I revel in your honorable tempest,
Or feign retreat from,
Your battering squall,
Alas, I am inland-
It is so damnably dry.
The only salt I shall collect,
Are the tear drops from my eye-
No more will I be with my love,
No more shall I be by her side.


A Jilted Lover Promotional

Harbinger of Despair

 I’ve puzzled over,

And have not ceased,

The wonderment of you-

How is it your right to love me,

Then leave me,

In a way befitting a thief;

To have honourably dueled,

Then mercilessly slaughtered?

As if to write a note,

On the night stand,

And slip away ‘fore,

the morning sun:

Dear Lover,

I have another,

And care to tell you naught,

For all the joy and satisfaction you have known,

was on only marginally stirred,

In me!

Revel in misery

Rake hot coals,

The warmth you’ve had,

Rests with another,

Go away,

Be off and settle alone.

Oh, wicked thing,

Cruel harbinger of despair!

Kick off my crown,

Smear mud on my face,

bruise my lips,

and cut my tongue-

All these things,

For Christ sake,

Cannot be undone.

By leaving me in the dark,

That is your absence of you,

I’ve fallen and pierced myself through,

With a sword deigned,

for those unworthy of you;

Look now how it has turned,

And in my breast.

Tell me that it’s alright.

And kneel by myside .

Pull out the sword-

Cut off my head!

And I could expire from your life,

With decency.

T’would be better,

To die with you in my eyes,

Than to languish among,

Cold, wet stone,

ebbing away lonesome…

But lowly,

and with my dying breath,

It was you I loved the best.”