#Sae's silly poems

[fatuous-frog]

When The Moon Leaves

You are the moon that I will never reach for I am just the tide I can only yearn for you, pulled by your gravity But the cloud veiled you and the dark embraces me instead, cooing me, soothing me away from thoughts of you

[scotianostra]

Thomas Blacklock the Scottish poet was born November 10th, 1721.

Blacklock was born near Annan, Dumfries and Galloway, of humble parentage, and lost his sight as a result of smallpox when six months old. He began to write poetry at the age of 12, and studied for the Church. He was appointed Minister of Kirkcudbright, but was objected to by the parishioners on account of his blindness, and gave up church on receiving an annuity.

During the 1750s he was sponsored by the philosopher David Hume

He moved to Edinburgh, where he became a tutor and published some miscellaneous poems, which are now forgotten, and is chiefly remembered for having written a letter to Robert Burns, which had the effect of dissuading him from going to the West Indies, indirectly saving his life since the ship sank on the voyage.

As Burns later recalled to John Moore, it was a letter from Blacklock in late 1786 praising the “Kilmarnock Poems” that confirmed him to abandon his plans to emigrate and try his poetic fortunes in Edinburgh. But while this story has often been recounted, scant critical attention has been paid to Burns’s reflection that “the Doctor belonged to a set of Critics whose applause I had not even dared to hope.”

The building in which he lived (at the corner Chapel Street and West Nicholson) now contains several pubs including The Peartree and The Blind Poet (the walls of which are decorated with a number of Blacklock's poems).

He died at his home, and was buried across the way in the churchyard of St Cuthbert's Chapel of Ease, now called Buccleuch Parish Church it is the oldest ecclesiastical building on the south side of Edinburgh.

Unfortunately Blacklock's fame seems to be more about his connection with Rabbie Burns, although he does get a mention in a recent "birthday" boys' James Boswell, having met the writer with Samuel Johnston in Edinburgh, the book being Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides.

The Blind Poet is best known for this verse, A Letter from Thomas Blacklock to the Author, respecting Burns.

Dear madam, hear a suppliant's pray'r,

And on our bard your censure spare,

Whase bluntness slights ilk trivial care

Of mock decorum:

Since for a bard its unko rare

To look before him.

With joy to praise, with freedom blame,

To ca' folk by their Christian name,

To speak his mind, but fear or shame,

Was at his fashion:

But virtue his eternal flame,

His ruling passion.

This by-past time, as fame reports,

The author's Muse was out of sorts,

And in some freak, perhaps in dorts,

Or ablins spleen:

She paid her visists at the shorts,

An' lang between.

But, when your sang approach'd his ear,

How fain he was, you need na speer,

The smiles of heaven, whilk nature chear,

Were never brighter:

Na sudden tide of worldly gear

Sae gars him flighter.

But lang enough, perhaps o'er lang,

I draw an auld man's feeble sang;

Yet, tho' in this ye ca' me wrang,

Perhaps na blate;

I still maun ask, for a' my thrang,

Alicia's fate.

Burns and Blacklock struck a friendship in correspondence exchanging their poems leading to our national bard Burns at one point later describe his songs as 'very silly'. Burns even wrote a poem called epistle to the Rev (Dr) Thomas Blacklock. 'Wow but your letter made me vauntie'

You can read much more about "The Blind Poet" here https://electricscotland.com/his…/other/blacklock_thomas.htm

Also a book of his poems can be found hear https://archive.org/stream/poemsbymrthomasb00byth/poemsbymrthomasb00byth_djvu.txt

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

To a Mouse

BY ROBERT BURNS

On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi’ bickerin brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee

Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken Nature’s social union,

An’ justifies that ill opinion,

Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

’S a sma’ request:

I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,

An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,

O’ foggage green!

An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,

Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary Winter comin fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,

But house or hald,

To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,

An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e’e,

On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

I guess an’ fear!

Theme of To a Mouse

The main theme of Robert Burns's To a Mouse poem is the futility of planning for a hopeful future in the face of unforeseen consequences. The speaker begins the poem by addressing the mouse whose house he has destroyed, and apologizing to her:

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie ...

'm truly sorry Man's dominion

Has broken Nature's social union,

The speaker addresses the mouse in a condoling and friendly manner, and expresses guilt. He views the mouse on an equal footing, calling himself the mouse's "poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal!" The speaker imagines that the mouse had dreamt of waiting out the harsh winter in her warm nest, and how that dream had been suddenly destroyed:

An' weary Winter comin fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro' thy cell.

As the poem continues, the narrator connects the mouse's misfortune with his own. He views the destruction of the mouse's home and plans as an example of the general futility of trying to plan for the future, which can bring terrible consequences, regardless of effort and hope. The following lines summarize the conclusion which the speaker comes to:

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men

Gang aft agley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

For promis'd joy!

The poem ends with the speaker looking at both the past and the future with dread and fear. The poem represents a moment in which, despite the harmless intentions of both parties, of the mouse which wishes to stay warm in the winter, and of the farmer who wishes to plow his field, a terrible event occurs.

The most famous line of "To a Mouse" is this: “The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley.” In other words, the most carefully arranged plans of both people and animals often go wrong.

Happy Burns Night!

[poemshubs]

Poem of the Day: To a Mouse Explanation

Welcome to Poem of the Day – To a Mouse by Robert Burns.

“To a Mouse“ is a poem written by Robert Burns, first published in 1786. The poem is a reflection on the relationship between humans and nature, inspired by Burns’s experience of accidentally destroying a mouse’s nest while plowing a field. It is often seen as a meditation on the themes of human frailty, the unpredictability of life, and the shared vulnerabilities between humans and animals.

Content

On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murdering pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ requet; I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing, Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary Winter comin fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e’e, On prospects drear! An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see, I guess an’ fear!

To a Mouse Poem Explanation

The poem is addressed directly to a mouse whose nest the speaker has inadvertently overturned while plowing a field. The speaker expresses sympathy for the mouse, acknowledging the disruption caused to its life. The speaker reflects on the mouse’s predicament and contrasts it with the human condition, particularly focusing on the theme of the unpredictability of life.

The speaker begins by apologizing to the mouse, lamenting the destruction of its home and the resultant suffering it faces. The speaker then delves into a broader contemplation of the mouse’s situation, considering the struggles and uncertainties that all creatures, including humans, face.

Themes and Analysis

Human and Animal Vulnerability: One of the central themes of “To a Mouse” is the shared vulnerability between humans and animals. The poem highlights how both the mouse and the speaker are subject to the whims of fate. The mouse, who has worked hard to build its nest and secure its future, is suddenly faced with destruction, mirroring the precariousness of human existence.

The Unpredictability of Life: The poem explores the theme of life’s unpredictability. The mouse’s carefully constructed home is destroyed in an instant, illustrating how quickly one’s circumstances can change. The speaker reflects on this unpredictability and how it affects both humans and animals, emphasizing the fragility of plans and the futility of worrying about the future.

Sympathy and Compassion: Burns’s empathy for the mouse reflects a broader sense of compassion for all living creatures. The speaker’s remorse for the mouse’s plight suggests a deep sympathy and understanding of the mouse’s suffering, revealing a connection between human and animal experiences.

The Illusion of Control: The poem underscores the illusion of control that humans often have over their lives. Just as the speaker’s plowing unexpectedly disrupts the mouse’s nest, human efforts to control or predict the future can be undermined by unforeseen events. This realization contributes to a sense of humility and acceptance of the limits of human agency.

Transience of Human Plans: The poem reflects on the futility of human plans in the face of life’s uncertainties. The speaker contrasts the mouse’s situation with the human tendency to make elaborate plans for the future, only to find them disrupted by unforeseen circumstances. This theme underscores the idea that no matter how well we prepare, we cannot fully control or anticipate the course of our lives.

Structure and Form

“To a Mouse” is written in Scots dialect, which adds authenticity and regional flavor to the poem. It follows a simple, lyrical structure, with a consistent rhyme scheme that enhances its musical quality. The poem is written in a series of rhymed couplets, creating a conversational and reflective tone.

The use of vivid imagery and direct address contributes to the emotional impact of the poem. Burns’s portrayal of the mouse’s plight is both poignant and relatable, drawing readers into a shared sense of empathy and reflection.

Significance

“To a Mouse” is a poignant and reflective poem that explores themes of vulnerability, the unpredictability of life, and the limitations of human control. Through its sympathetic portrayal of a mouse’s predicament and its contemplation of broader existential issues, the poem invites readers to reflect on their own lives and the commonalities they share with the natural world. Burns’s empathy and insight make the poem a timeless meditation on the human condition and the fragile nature of existence.

[libidomechanica]

“Some gentle muses”

Some gentle muses! The devilish     malignant with an ear in its wild race. The moon’s soft splendour     o’er the laws the lightly me, but, trowth, I care na by.     That you that thou continent.

It is no telling. The clock     strikes me dead brown, her who begin my poem. As fast as     their treble interjections, let none wanting a great wrong,     to take a city; but

he is so late? A tone of some     world? A few sad tears she needy honour, and do you shall     quench like him in; oft blind man, with seraphims the vale. Feeling     are one. Only my

Corinna’s eye? To any     sensual feast will open for that men or gods are the name     o’ clink, that white necks, bleached by time.—A sunbow’s arc above     the middle of her tides,—

adagios of islands, O my     Prodigal, complete the day, ye wadna been sae shy; for     laik o’ gear ye lightest form a friend the cape’s wet stone; the     answer to thy bliss, though

i have crimes accounted been. A     plenteous gift thou know me that second whiskey, on the roofs     and with Melancholy. Steadily as a suddenly     arrests me for ever

open is his own, and she her     selfe doth a feeble cry he said: twas but enslaved the morning     dresses whose outlet’s Dover! A people every clime,     of being taken in,

the fool ourselves into a scrape,     but I say, No! Any one things? Despised, when all these noble     language ever did through gorges unexplored since thou,     with your lover. We hae

plight than few; but the guns of     Cavalli with faire mindes resort. But whether in the best     endow’d she gave the fish or tongues of a morning, and suffer     and have but pick’d out

at his head, alone are you, all     song of praise add something indeede true Men to keep the whole     things transmission, from violently. Cling, sterling, strangle this     is something in effect

was of inflation the silly     wards will course ne’er be prince from thee I cannot hold them, Since     you kiss, thou hast graced grace is slack; now, there thy birth, and oft     the house: yet asleep. Coming

at the flood full brown came from     the abyss of all sufferings to Hallam’s Middle Ages,     ’ and one hand, and the bolts of beautie with myself as Spring,     hate sweetly than ours, a

friend they live without one peece of     love that’s out of sight, and the pony moves his stead. On the     Sea-shore sat a Raven, blind, and when though not vain the stream,     command himself come on

me which some parts run o’er, I can’t     espy in any one the Beauty beautifie your best, and     lamb. Is always petal myself a welcome inmate the     cradle wants a cradle

wants a cradle wants a cradle,     and fall dreaming ordures of amber. Or revel in     thee: the bitter springs as if in fact that conuersation     sweete, make in my stoop

and as for chastity, you’llhave     a visit from kiss to kiss. One weeps, the large domains which     makes me in my verse distills your truth. But if Love don’t, Cash     does, and thee to mee: no,

no, no, no, my Deare, let bee. A     disc of misfortune be: this wish I could our own ways     together go, but by degrees, thought our foot of his pence, this     piteous news so much love

before was wearing your pockets?     The long pursued as for chastity, you’llfind it of a     different beak could neither Johnny in his self-denial.     The pony moves his stead.

[gingerlanier]

Book Review: The One Thing You'd Save by Linda Sue Park

The One Thing You’d Save by Linda Sue Park 

Genre (or “category” from the requirements list):

            This book is from the Poetry or Novels in Verse category.   

Target Age Group:

Ages 8 and up (author’s website).

Summary:

            A teacher asks her class a thought-provoking question and records their answers in poetic form.  

Justification:

            I intentionally looked for a book in poetry form and came across this one- the question is thought provoking and stayed with me for a while. I wanted to read it to see how other people answered the question. 

Evaluation: 

For this review, I will be evaluating language, accuracy, and setting.  

The first thing that struck me about this book is how the author wrote in the language of kids answering the question: What would you save if your house was on fire and your loved ones and pets were out safely? The answers range from silly, to funny to poignant and thoughtful but through each answer you can almost hear the different kids’ voices calling out their answers. She has a great ear for writing in varied young voices. As far as the writing structure, she was inspired by a traditional Korean poetic form called sijo, which she had written a previous book on. 

When you read the conversation that happens in poem form, you hear answers from different characters and get a feel for their priorities, like the character that says they’d save the sweater their grandma knitted for them out of the same yarn that their dad’s sweater was made from, or the character that talks about taking a photo with them. There’s another kid who says he’d take his new sneakers with him but acknowledges that it might seem a little shallow compared to other answers. It never feels like Linda Sue Park is judging the characters as she’s writing them- she gives them full respect and portrays them as they are, without bias. 

The setting of Park’s book is a middle school classroom. As I was reading it, my mind filled in the silence with all the sounds of a classroom: chairs banging into desks, jewelry and sneakers jangling and shuffling, paper crumpling, a window open. The simple style of the poems and the way they flowed into each other, sometimes overlapping, left enough to the imagination so that the reader could fill in what wasn’t there on the page. 

References:

Park, L. (2021). The one thing you’d save (R. Sae-Heng, Illus.). Clarion Books.  

[boyneriver-fraser]

What’s in a name? What might have inspired Outlander’s episode titles?

To A Mouse (poem), Robert Burns, 1785

On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

          Wi’ bickerin brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee

          Wi’ murd’ring pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken Nature’s social union,

An’ justifies that ill opinion,

          Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

          An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

          ’S a sma’ request:

I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,

          An’ never miss ’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,

          O’ foggage green!

An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,

          Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary Winter comin fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

          Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

          Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,

          But house or hald,

To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,

          An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

          Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

          For promis’d joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e’e,

          On prospects drear!

An’ forward tho’ I canna see,

          I guess an’ fear!

Gif: @avasetocallmyown

Gif: @apparentlyalise

Gif: @avasetocallmyown

Photo: @cptrs

Gif: @apparentlyalise

S2E6 Best Laid Schemes…

Title Image: @knightlyss

#Outlander #Episode Title #Inspiration #To A Mouse #Robert Burns #Dragonfly In Amber #DIA #S2E6 Best Laid Schemes… #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Murtagh FitzGibbons Fraser ⚔️ #220 #080221

[stoicbreviary]

Robert Burns, "To a Mouse. . ."

As a reference for Seneca, On Peace of Mind 13.2:

This was one of those poems my father had me memorize when I was young, and I was quite resentful, and I had no idea why he liked it so much.

As with so many other things in life, I get it now.

I had to learn the Scots version, but I also include a more contemporary English rendering for those of us who are barbarian Sassenachs. ;-)

"To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest With the Plough, November, 1785"

Robert Burns

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a pannic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell- Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell.

Thy wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e. On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!

-----

Little, cunning, cowering, timorous beast, Oh, what a panic is in your breast! You need not start away so hasty With bickering prattle! I would be loath to run and chase you, With murdering paddle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes you startle At me, your poor, earth-born companion And fellow mortal!

I doubt not, sometimes, that you may steal; What then? Poor beast, you must live! An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves Is a small request; I will get a blessing with what is left, And never miss it.

Your small house, too, in ruin! Its feeble walls the winds are scattering! And nothing now, to build a new one, Of coarse green foliage! And bleak December's winds ensuing, Both bitter and piercing!

You saw the fields laid bare and empty, And weary winter coming fast, And cozy here, beneath the blast, You thought to dwell, Till crash! The cruel plough passed Out through your cell.

That small heap of leaves and stubble, Has cost you many a weary nibble! Now you are turned out, for all your trouble, Without house or holding, To endure the winter's sleety dribble, And hoar-frost cold.

But Mouse, you are not alone, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes of mice and men Go often awry, And leave us nothing but grief and pain, For promised joy!

Still you are blessed, compared with me! The present only touches you: But oh! I backward cast my eye, On prospects dreary! And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear!

[ukdamo]

At  Hame wi’ dad

An anonymous dialect poem...

When at hame wi' dad,        We niver had nae fun, sir,     Which meade me sae mad,        I swore away I'd run, sir.     I pack'd up clease(1) sae smart,        Ribbed stockings, weastcoats pretty;     Wi' money an' leet heart,        Tripp'd off to Lunnon city,           Fal de ral de ra.

    When I did git there        I geap'd about quite silly,     At all the shows to stare        I' a spot call'd Piccadilly.     Lord! sike charmin' seights:        Bods(2) i' cages thrive, sir',     Coaches, fiddles, feights,        An' crocodiles alive, sir,           Fal de ral de ra.

    Then I did gan to see        The gentry in Hyde Park, sir,     When a lass push'd readely(1) by,        To whom I did remark, sir:     "Tho' your feace be e'en sae fair,        I've seen a bear mair civil."     Then, the laatle clease they wear!        God! Lunnon is the divil,           Fal de ral de ra.

    To t' play-house then I goes,        Whar I seed merry feaces,     An' i' the lower rows        Were sarvants keepin' pleaces.     The players I saw sean,        They managed things quite funny;     By gock! they'd honey-mean        Afore they'd matrimony.           Fal de ral de ra.

    Now havin' seen all I could        An' pass'd away my time, sir,     If you think fit an' good,        I'll e'en give up my rhyme, sir.     An', sud my ditty please,        The poppies in this garden     To me would be heart's-ease;        If not, I axe your pardon.           Fal de ral de ra.

    1. Clothes   2. Birds  3. Rudely

[gwydionmisha]

Robert Burns - "To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest With the Plough, November, 1785" - Poem

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a pannic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion, Has broken nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal! 

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request; I'll get a blessin wi' the lave, An' never miss't! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It's silly wa's the win's are strewin! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin, Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, An' weary winter comin fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell- Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. 

Thy wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch cauld! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e. On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!

[poem-today]

A poem by Robert Burns

To a Mouse

On Turning up in Her Nest with the Plough, November, 1785

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty,          Wi’ bickerin brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee          Wi’ murd’ring pattle! I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion,          Which makes thee startle, At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,          An’ fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave          ’S a sma’ request: I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,          An’ never miss ’t! Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,          O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin,          Baith snell an’ keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary Winter comin fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,          Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past          Out thro’ thy cell. That wee-bit heap o’ leaves an’ stibble Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou’s turn’d out, for a’ thy trouble,          But house or hald, To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,          An’ cranreuch cauld! But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men          Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,          For promis’d joy! Still, thou art blest, compar’d wi’ me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e’e,          On prospects drear! An’ forward tho’ I canna see,          I guess an’ fear!

Robert Burns

1759-1796

[fatuous-frog]

The Moon and The Tide

Just like the tides, dear My heart danced toward your pull You, love, are the moon

[scotianostra]

Thomas Blacklock the Scottish poet was born November 10th, 1721.

Blacklock was born near Annan, Dumfries and Galloway, of humble parentage, and lost his sight as a result of smallpox when six months old. He began to write poetry at the age of 12, and studied for the Church. He was appointed Minister of Kirkcudbright, but was objected to by the parishioners on account of his blindness, and gave up church on receiving an annuity.

During the 1750s he was sponsored by the philosopher David Hume He moved to Edinburgh, where he became a tutor and published some miscellaneous poems, which are now forgotten, and is chiefly remembered for having written a letter to Robert Burns, which had the effect of dissuading him from going to the West Indies, indirectly saving his life since the ship sank on the voyage.

As Burns later recalled to John Moore, it was a letter from Blacklock in late 1786 praising the “Kilmarnock Poems” that confirmed him to abandon his plans to emigrate and try his poetic fortunes in Edinburgh. But while this story has often been recounted, scant critical attention has been paid to Burns’s reflection that “the Doctor belonged to a set of Critics whose applause I had not even dared to hope.”

The building in which he lived (at the corner Chapel Street and West Nicholson) now contains several pubs including The Peartree and The Blind Poet (the walls of which are decorated with a number of Blacklock's poems).

He died at his home, and was buried across the way in the churchyard of St Cuthbert's Chapel of Ease, now called Buccleuch Parish Church it is the oldest ecclesiastical building on the south side of Edinburgh.

Unfortunately Blacklock's fame seems to be more about his connection with Rabbie Burns, although he does get a mention in a recent "birthday" boys' James Boswell, having met the writer with Samuel Johnston in Edinburgh, the book being Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides.

The Blind Poet is best known for this verse,  A Letter from Thomas Blacklock to the Author, respecting Burns.

Dear madam, hear a suppliant's pray'r, And on our bard your censure spare, Whase bluntness slights ilk trivial care Of mock decorum: Since for a bard its unko rare To look before him. With joy to praise, with freedom blame, To ca' folk by their Christian name, To speak his mind, but fear or shame, Was at his fashion: But virtue his eternal flame, His ruling passion. This by-past time, as fame reports, The author's Muse was out of sorts, And in some freak, perhaps in dorts, Or ablins spleen: She paid her visists at the shorts, An' lang between. But, when your sang approach'd his ear, How fain he was, you need na speer, The smiles of heaven, whilk nature chear, Were never brighter: Na sudden tide of worldly gear Sae gars him flighter. But lang enough, perhaps o'er lang, I draw an auld man's feeble sang; Yet, tho' in this ye ca' me wrang, Perhaps na blate; I still maun ask, for a' my thrang, Alicia's fate.

Burns and Blacklock struck a friendship in correspondence exchanging their poems leading to our national bard Burns at one point later describe his songs as 'very silly'. Burns even wrote a poem called pistle to the Rev (Dr) Thomas Blacklock. 'Wow but your letter made me vauntie'

You can read much more about "The Blind Poet" here https://electricscotland.com/his…/other/blacklock_thomas.htm

Also a book of his poems can be found hear https://archive.org/stream/poemsbymrthomasb00byth/poemsbymrthomasb00byth_djvu.txt

[dare2tattoo]

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murdering pattle! I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion An’ fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ requet; I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, An’ never miss’t! Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing, Baith snell an’ keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary Winter comin fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro’ thy cell. That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch cauld! But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy! Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e’e, On prospects drear! An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see, I guess an’ fear! Robert Burns 1785 #mousetattoo #mouse #tinytattoos #tinytattoo #robertburns #poem #tattooed #tattooedgirls #tattoostyle #tattoosleeve #atwater #atwatervillage (at OK Tattoo) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPeenGMLCdz/?utm_medium=tumblr

[fatuous-frog]

Decaying

The soil was once fresh, before it was tainted Toxins slowly replacing all nutrition causing us to wither and sap

Our petals - once a crown of beauty to behold, shed and detached

Our leaves - once a magnet for light, crushed and dried

Our roots - once a source of aliment, rotten and malnourished

The wind carries our cries and weeps But no one cared No one heard Every man for themselves, right?

Our honey turned sour Our colors darkened No light to shed for us No nutrients to spare

The soil was once fresh Before it was tainted

[fatuous-frog]

╰─ - ̗̀✎ Introduction!

Heyooo, the name's Sae (Not my real name, just an alias)! My pronouns are He/They. I'm a transmale and very gay. That being said, this space is safe and open to LGBTQ+ people. I'm an artist (traditional) and poet, so I might post my art here! But this blog is mostly about my own mlm yearning.

Feel free to give any critism or advice! I'd really appreciate it.

My PMs and Asks are open, so feel free to slide in! (plsplspls send asks or messages plsplsplsplspls-) This is an Anon friendly blog! I don't mind as I like making new friends who have the same interests as I do. And I'm bored most of the time... hehe. Just as long as it is appropriate.

Tags: #Sae's silly poems (my poems) #Sae's nonsense (for my nonsensical rambles)

Random Facts about Me!!

Not sure if anyone cares but oh well.

Note: My interests are really random... so...

I'm from Southeast Asia!

I'm 15 years of age currently!

My favorite colors are black and blue

My current aesthetic now is dark academia/goth

I enjoy literature, music, skateboarding and arting in any form.

(I need book and music recommendations)

I'm open to any music genre as my own music taste is a mix from everything right now, and I can switch from one genre to the other depending on my mood.

I am an INFP!

I'm a huge psychology/true crime fan!

I'm an animal and wildlife enthusiast and a wormbook (as my friend says)

My favorite animals are cats, dogs, frogs, Komodos, snakes and spiders!

I'm a huge fan of anime, donghua, and any dramas (mainly East Asia dramas though), cartoons, comics/manga/manhua/manhwa and more.

HMU if you have any of these interests and we can be mutuals!

DNIs!!

Basic DNI criteria (Pedos, proshippers, etc)

Homophobes, transphobes, etc. (We're people with feelings as well, mind your words.)

PEDOS BACK TF OFF

NSFW Accs are fine but if you post NSFW please don't interact

I don't have that much to say about this. Just don't be a weirdo.

No strict age restrictions as I can be mutuals/friends with anyone older than me. Though I prefer anyone between 14-19 as I am still a minor.

╰─ - ̗̀✎Thank you for dropping by!! Intro might be updated in the future.