Poetry in the Days of Pestilence

I've decided to abandon my old blog 'Dark Mutterings in Drumsleet' for temporary technical reasons and start a new one for the next wee while. My intention is to post videos on it every day of me gibbering shite about poetry and reading two poems a day, one of which will be ma ain. Who knows how successful this effort will be? No me, that's for sure.

Although I've got work to do - the Holywood Trust book, and the anthology for the spirited and clever writers of Dumfries Academy- it seems I'll be spending time in the Peoples Republic of Penpont and not going abroad in society so this project will be a welcome diversion from thinking about the pub and ALSO, poetry is a comfort in hard times as I've often said, sometimes seriously.

Keeping me company in this venture will be two cats, two weans if they ever get sent home, and five bottles of Malt.

People who I've been less than two metres away from recently have already been bored silly by my 51 poems in Scots about Scottish history and I may read a few of these in the upcoming days but I think I'll launch this blog with the one about the plague. See you soon.

Whit if thare wis Public Safety Advice oan the Brent-New Pestilence o 1348?

If ye hae been fair awa 

or hae met onyane traivellin 

frae a kennt hot-spot 

ie Asia Minor, the Crimea, 

Genoa not Venice 

an ye begin tae shaw 

the followin signs: 

Myld filever, 

spreckle-lik spots,

pechin , 

byles in the oxters

an if it isnae possible locally 

tae thraw a jew

or a humphy-backit wummin 

doon a well, dinnae fash -

adopt the following meesures:

buy or mak a mask wi a big beak 

an bide cosy in yer hoose!

Thare is nae evidence 

the disease spreids tae pets 

sae dinnae fret aboot yer rottans , 

looses, golachs, sclaturs 

or mites they will be jist braw.