Caroline Fowler

A THING o’ BEAUTY?
Weel, pollyfilla fills the cracks
o’ wrinkles on ma broo
Thin silver threids upon ma heid
Far gowden hair aince grew.
’Ers nithin beats a twa three dabs
o’ richt strong super glue
The very dunt for keepin
Shooglie falsers in ma moo!
Ah’ve haen tae taen tae shuvin in
yon… ‘chicken fillets’ noo
For nature startit heidin Sooth
n’ gie near oot o view!
A badly need mair beauty sleep
Nae jist an ’oor or two
Am up at scraich o’ day tae wash
Ma face in sparklin’ dew!
Dist mak a diff’rence? Nae one bit
it’s jist the same aul me…
Ower mony fowk get soo-kit in
Wi th’ products on T.V.
Ah’ve tae clart on umpteen lotions
…..nae fae a beautician
I’m laden doon wi Chemist’s bags
Full o’ ammunition!
There’s creams for my Rosacea
Ach yon’s nae a bonny sicht
It looks nae bad hoo-ivver
In th’ middle o’ th’ nicht!

 

TAE A HERRIN: (In the style o ‘To A
Mouse’ by Robbie Burns)

Wee, slith’ry, shiny, ily beastie
Oh fit a bonny, silv’ry breastie
Ye need na sweem awa sae hasty
Aye frantic’lly roamin’
Oor boaties nets are sure tae catch ye
Fan feastin’..at..gloamin’.

Ill-trickit craiturs ye maun be
In shoals ye choked oor caul North Sea
Fae Shetland doon tae Yarmouth quay.
Oh, little did ye ken
Ma bonny ‘Silver Darlins’
Ye’d meet wi briny eyn.
Peer fishies… sharp knives hid ye hack’it
Sixty a meenit…packit, stackit
Yon fisher lassies, gutted, saat’it
Barrels full’t ~ tae the breem
Quines, clooties row’t roon fing-errs,
chappit
Hard work, wis life’s young dream.
Still…quairter watters furls frothy foam
Ye shimmer, glimmer, noo free tae roam
Still..fisher-men fish, wi nets div comb
Ilka boatie skippered
Wee herrin, tho yer smoked or cured…yer
Weel…n’ truly…kippered!

About the Author

Fit like? My name is Caroline Fowler, a Buckie quine. Huntly Writers hiv kindly taen me alow their ‘creative wing’ fyle the Buckie Blethers are haein a wee break. (I jynt the Blethers in 2010 findin writin poetry tae be baith cathartic n therapeutic). Hiv been interested in Doric since a bairn, keen tae keep learnin aboot oor ain Mither Tongue, nae realisin it wid lead tae takin pairt in sic a variety o things. My poems cover the hale spectrum, fae licht hairtit richt throu tae anes that micht gar ye greet.