Sunflower Session – Belfast Saturday 5 August 2023

BEAUTIES DRESSER

Beauties dresser fu oo space,

Store awa wi’ian thon place,

Memrie, thocht, an lessen gat,

Readie fae thon comin day,

Facts an figures fade sae fast,

Name oo folk they niver lasts

Wi this loas a pooerfu thing,

Memries noo begin tae sings,

Jigs an reels they prance aboot,

Vivid colour, finest sheen,

Mysries oo tha gret unseen,

Pictures dance wi’ian mae heid,

Loost ian thocht tha special kind

Gathered frae tha near an fair,

Thochts they scatter tae combine

Connection gi’n fae’iver mine,

Mindin place an time an smell,

Day apon tha which thay feel,

Close yer eyes ye see theim clear,

Hear tha soond an hauld them dear

Plaisures held wi’ian yer thocht.

Neurons pull ain empty plece

See tha face an knaa tha kind,

Thra back tae tha time an scene,

Reach fae name ait wull’nae cum,

Retreat wi’ian yer wits agin,

A million jigsaws ale dumped oot,

Jist til build tha perfect yin,

Bot ale tha folks aroon ye see,

A jumbled mess naa fit fae theim,

Like seer sat apon tha hill,

A sage, a fraud ait gies a chill,

Tha glory aif tha dance ye seek,

Deficient wourds begin til speak,

Scarce enough tha glories streak,

Noo ait ale appears sae weak,

Faered fae’iver wourds til speak,

Bended low wi heid ian hands,

Glories knowed bot stil unspoke,

Pain an misery ian thy stack,

Ye canae recall tha basic facts,

Sae greyness ais tha life ye’ll hae.

SISYPHUS WHUT YE DAEIN THA MORROW?

A sit doon ian even tyme,

An draw tha day intil maesel

Tasks oo life they nir seem lighter,

Fae freish ait dawn they raise wi me.

So, Sisyphus whut ye daein tha morrow?

Yince mair thut stain oo sorra heavin.

Bended back, an muscles achin.

Agin ye press til natures sumit.

Is thut stain tha dawnin sun?

Is thon hill yer plaice oo livin?

Is yer toil tha fact oo bein?

Cud blessin dwell wi’ian yer daein?

Mae labour cums wi risin’ sun

Thistle, thron an sweat oo brew,

A hae mae hill, bot nir sae certain,

It flits, an change bot alwyes hurtin.

Push an shove wi ale yer might,

Burn wi fire ais inchin’ ainward.

Slightest glimpse frae neer tha tap,

Wi rest an sleep ait starteth aver

Le’sure fills tha richman pooket

Blind tha mind til’ hanest brawlin’

O’ dance an leap tae fut oo hillock

Fae noo wi joy mae burden beareth.

CAILST HANS

Wi cailst hans

Stepped tae tha fire

An hauled tha metal oot,

Tha heat bae hardly felt atal,

An little harm ait did.

Saft hans noo came

Tae dae tha same

Thay grasped tha mental strang

Thein air ait stank wi sizzlen fleish

An burned theim tae tha bane

Fae many yeirs

Thon cailst hans

Lang suffered frae tha pain

Fae yince wur saft an gantle ta

Bot growed til grasp their pain

CRUMBS

Gowl, an shout, an strut aboot,

Ye think yer voice bein heeded,

Dant trick yersell til such a thing,

Fae ye wull nae bae heeded,

Wrang tangue,

wrang class,

wrang stratosphere,

Ye dinnae fit their mould,

Naw take yer blessin whut ait is,

Crumbs aff yer masters table.

FRAE ZERO HOUR TIL ZERO CHANCE

Frae zero hour til zero chance

Ripped frae school befaire a chance

Depth aa mockery ain yer lips

Facade the ainly thing ye’ll gie

Tutors fees ain fear aif trips

Filthy lucre stretch yer wits

Nourish mind wi dummy tit

Fae wisdom can’t be heavin sent

Weekend morn ain playin’ field

Ten score aa quid fae sportin kit

Nay talent shaped apan the street

Fae ye ir here till pay oor rent

Crept the sense aif hopelessness,

Bleakness noo imbibed wi’ian

the lungs fill aip wi tary bile

An chock the body wi a smile.

Taucht tae study, taucht tae cram

Afforded plece frae family freen

Afford tha plece wi’oot a wage

Till heat the hoose, ere fill tha car,

Till feed yersel, ere buy the books

Thought that niver cross yer mind,

Thoughts thut niver leave oor heid

Frae zero hour til zero chance

SCUIL-HOOSE

Dreich thon day that A set oot,

An set ma fit wi’ian scuil-hoose

Oh curse’d place, yin gaol hoose fraucht:

Lured in, knocked doon, an niver taucht.

Sealed ma doom fae nae cut oot

Victim o mae time an lot.

Sally nir ma buttocks got

Bot achin heid wud aye be got.

Wi pooerfu speid faa ain mae face

Sprachle doon cud nir get aip

Tried yer best bot petered oot

Ye wark mair haird bot stannin still

Wourds ain page cud nir bae got

Thein shameful whalin alwyes gat, 

“Stand til yer feet, red oot tha wourds.” 

Inside yersel’ ye die yince mair. 

Glent oh liecht tha final day 

Sprint oot tha dair an nir be back. 

Duist A shock frae aff mae fut, 

Bot sting ian tail ait nir ends 

An cursed loas ait clingeth ain 

Wi darkest heart boss ask oo thee, 

Thon very thing ye dinnae hae. 

Dextrous hans nothin tae thee, 

Nir wisdom gait ail by yersel 

Wi wistful glance ye naw lak back 

Yer doom was fixed sae lang ago