Scots Online — Veesitor's Beuk
Name: Kenneth McLaughlin 2006-10-29
Email: kenneth.mclaughlin@free.fr
Hamepage:
URL: http://
Airtit bi: Juist comin ower it.
Airt: Grate
Its a boot time we saw some scots oan the net. Whit aboot teaching it in Scools.am soary aboot the speeling bit am riting phoentically (shoold that be wit a F). The scunners in Parlement tolk aboot oor culture bit they think that its a wee bit backward to speek in oor oan tongue
Name: jimk47 2006-10-28
Email: jimk47@hotmail.co.uk
Hamepage:
URL: http://
Airtit bi: A Sairch Ingine.
Airt:
Ah'm a bit disappointed at the ower abundance o doric an lallans ah feel that the sots o the cities particlarlie that o the west central belt is still seen as less authentic than the ithir dialects o the language
Name: Teresa Miksch 2006-10-25
Email: mixfam@gci.net
Hamepage:
URL: http://
Airtit bi: Juist comin ower it.
Airt: History of English
Our professor, Dr. Jennifer Ritter, asked us to visit your sight as part of our homework for our History of English class. We will begin studying Scots on Thursday, October 26, 2006. We live in Alaska and attend the University of Alaska Anchorage. Thanks for a wonderful site.
Name: Reet Ernits 2006-10-15
Email: reet.ernits@mail.ee
Hamepage:
URL: http://
Airtit bi: A Freend.
Airt:
Keep going, fellows, with your auld prood Scots! I love all people who are trying to keep auld customs and languages alive. My Estonian language is a small language, too,so I understand you really. I am a big fan of Scotland;if you do well,I´ll be happy.Scots Wha Hae!
Name: Sabrina Feld 2006-09-28
Email: sabrin_fel@ecosse.com
Hamepage:
URL: http://
Airtit bi: Juist comin ower it.
Airt:
Hello to all of you in bonnie Scotland! Cannot speak a word of your language, but to say hello I have left you a poem. A Hand at Poker I’d married a preacher – A man of little faith. Come chapel he’d lay me down the law prior putting his blessed hands on me: his favourite old girl. But I worshipped him – this vested god! Leaving me another morn no rent for us wicked. Watered milk down his kids, washed donnies dried up on bested drawn blinds. Curse me the day I’d leave. Tender to his thrice born, polly up my grate, even swear my head in the oven. Till six – and the homecoming. Patient with the dinnies. Thanking of all we’re ‘bout to receive. Pounding cages, silent running. Sung aloud as we’d lock arms together – stirring up tea stained ambience permeating our airless room. Night. Outside the tempest, inside the heart’s thunder. Storming, cast over. Much doing ‘bout nothing. Future always would have. Lives a’ready outlived, instancing of things to come. Leaving me for another morn, things dark in our family. 2am. Lying a’rest. Settee laden with depthless stares at pink and blue balloons hogging the lampshade ceiling. Kids in jamas on the porch - son of fits; a girl too gay to roam the rows ‘n’ bothers. Cups of piping char spilled up the blinds. Storm at the back door – god in the kitchen. Red neck rage. Give the dog a bone. It just flew across – living to coalhouse door! Char fell to floor. Front door, gaping – knowing! Three steps beyond, carting angels past courtroom houses, hidden neighbours darkening streets. Eyes rummaging for curtains drawn, bodies wading through accusing floods. Scrambling the ivory safe clock tower, refuge ‘neath war torn worn stone. My crying angel voicing he’ll take care of me. Don’t yo worry me love, better off without him. The rows ‘n’ bothers. Think I’ve killed him this time. I’d heard tell the sirens came flashing all night-time – six of ‘em turned outside - tight-fisted with the coppers. Carted him off did them. I’m best shot of him. Jus’ me ‘n’ the kids now in powers’ charity home. No rent for us wicked, space in which to breathe. Dog’s in a home. None more god almighty pursuing our every move. Vacuuming the tatty rugs. Gaming on the Pools. Our old place is so empty now - without him. By Sabrina Kirsty Feld. Yr 2 The Creative Forum