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POEMS BY JOE
CORRIE
SCOTTISH PRIDE
It’s fine when ye stand in a
queue
at the door o’ the ‘Dole’
on a snawy day,
To ken that ye
leive in the bonniest
land in the world,
The bravest, tae.
It’s fine when you’re in a
pickle
Whether or no’
you’ll get your ‘dough’,
To
Sing a wee bit sang
o’ the heather hills,
And the glens below.
It’s fine when the clerk says,
"Nae ‘dole’ here for you!"
To proodly turn,
and
think o’ the bluidy slashin’
the English got
at Bannockburn.
Listen
to "Scottish Pride" in Real Audio read by Marilyn Wright
IN HUNTER’S BAR
Standin’ in Hunter’s Bar ae
nicht, gey fu’,
A man crushed through the crood and
searched my face,
"Guid Christ! "‘he
stammered oot," and is it you?"
I shook his hand, but him
I couldna trace.
A thick-set man wi’ wide and empty
e’en,
And big cheek-banes ; a scar upon his broo;
A greasy jacket, fastened wi’ a
preen;
And ragged breeks—his kness baith
shinin’ through.
"Ye dinna ken me — eh ! — D’ye
no’ ha’e min’
O’ Aggie Broon?" At the mention o’ her
name
I seemed to sober a’ at yince. —"
Aye, fine
Ye ken me. — I’m the bloke wha stole your ‘flame’."
And for a month his words swan in my
brain —
"She’s deid, of course—died wi’ her seeventh
wean."
Listen
to "In Hunter's Bar" in Real Audio
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