The Haggis

Seen on dreary foggy days,
Across the glens the haggis play.
On Tuesday hunts with guns and hound,
They follow tracks left in the ground,
For 3 legged haggis raid farm and field,
Stealing sheep and oatmeal. These pests found in burrows and digs,
Look a little like baby pigs!
I assure you they aren’t half as sweet,
But in Scotland they are great to eat!

Desperately trying to get caught up, this poem comes from The Untold Stories of Scotland.

I know today is meant for J, but I fell behind due to juggling hospital visits and I’m due to start a new job on Monday. Very up and down time so a little cheating on the challenge is necessary.

My best friend once told me haggis were three legged creatures. I am incredibly gullible but I am not that bad, yet I still wrote this rhyme.

This is my H poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

The Grock

The Grock is not said but sung,
For the ‘R’ must roll right off the tongue,
There have been many stories said,
That he’ll grind your bones for his bread.
That he steals the sleeping out their room,
And takes them to awaiting doom. For Grock came from way up high,
When the beanstalk fell from the sky.
But be glad that there is only one,
For half the North would be gone!

Ok so I’m cheating a little to get caught up. But really this is where the rest of my a to z has come from. On a trip to Glasgow I was alone in a hotel room for a night and my mind wandered. The Untold Stories of Scotland is the result of such wandering.

Now I know alot of my followers have come across this poem, and the one I have coming up for H, but one of the great things about doing this challenge has been the amount of new visitors. And I’d love to share these little Scot inspired verses with them too.

This is my G poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

The Foreign

Across our land from East to west,
We built a great walled defense,
From the foreign who live beyond divide,
Of whom we do not speak their kind.
With thirst of blood and human flesh,
We stay behind our safety fence.
But when we cross, to our back it looms,
The wall becomes our grave and tomb.

This is my F poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within. You may want to read a couple other poems in my challenge to get the gist.

This one comes from the story of Hadrian’s wall, and the fear of those that lurked beyond it. It’s hugely inspired by The wall in the game of thrones series and books, but it’s our wall and we had one first!!!

Lady Etal

In the ancient towns of Ford and Etal,
A fable whispered throughout the people,
Of lovers on 2 sides of war,
But brought together by love they bore,
Her father, sir and Etal’s Lord,
Sent his daughter to castle ford,
And said the man she wished to wed,
Was enemy and he’d take his head,
But to her father, she begged and plead’
Till he finally then agreed,
Bring him here at the hour of four,
And bring him to the castle door,
But when they met and kissed her cheek,
The gates closed and arrows unsheathed,
Where they stood in lovers arms,
And murdered by her fathers armed.
Whose ghost are seen in their embrace,
Trapped between the murder gates.

This is my E poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.

During a school trip to Ford and Etal, many many moons ago. I was told this story when visiting one of Northumberland’s many castles. The trouble is I don’t remember which castle it was. But basically we were told of a woman who fell for her father’s enemy, due to the shame she caused the family she, and lover were murdered trapped between the portcullises. Now whether it is true, I’m unsure but it makes a cracking story!

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.

The Crags

A Crag a name that’s often given,
To some may know as witchcraft women,
Who live amount the Cheviot hills,
Brewing teas and making spells,
The oldest crag of ninety nine,
With scratty hair and eyes blue blind,
She has for ailments a drinking potion,
For fertile wombs and bones t’ broken,
For seeing things she has a gift,
As the future she can oft predict,
In times of trouble and times of plight,
And when the moon is mostly bright,
They take their baskets and walk the wood,
Whispering chants and casting good.

This is my C poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.

The Crags of Northumberland are sort of cliffs, up near Alnwick. But I thought they sound more like witches of the woods.

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.

The Broth

The Broth, the deadly winds that howl,
And reaps a many thing so foul,
Misty, thick and foggy Breeze,
Seasoned with the salt of seas,
Carries with it snow and sleet,
And blows and beats the north of East.
So bitter wind it sting the bones,
Stealing breathes and nipping nose,
The broth is not a hearty meal,
But a wind so cold and hard as steel.

This is my B poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.

A broth is a kind of soup, made up of peas barley and lentils with a whole load of veg in it. Often ate on New Years Eve, and on cold days. The weather up in Northumberland has been so bad lately, this is where the idea of the Broth wind has come from. A wind so thick and foggy, almost like a soup.

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.

The Braves

Standing just at one foot tall,
Guarding keeps and castle walls,
The tribe of which the moat is hold,
Are littles like the garden gnome.
With spears in hand, align in rows,
Await to stab intruders toes.
These tiny brave, soldiered men,
As old as which what they defend,
The wars have gone a battle ghost,
But still the braves defend their post.
Their joints they’ve seized and turned t’ stone,
Til a day may come to fight for home.

This is my B poem for the A to Z challenge.
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com

My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.
The idea of The Braves came to me when I was writing The Untold Stories of Scotland and it never came to anything until now. The idea is a small army so old they have turned to stone, or gnomes. We have alot of castles up in Northumberland, and even more Braves.

My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.