This Christmas we have 2 poets, A Christmas special!

Fiona Davidson wis born an grew up in Pethheid, Midlothian. Fiona luved takkin pairt in the Burns Competition at the schuil. She works in the heritage sector an is nivver comfier thin whin yaisin her ain vyce. She luvs scrievin poems in Scots, maist often aboot history or ridiculous personal incidents!

Hugh McMillan is a poet frae Penpont. His poetry has appeart in mony places, in Scotland an elsewhere. His buik aboot Scots History, Whit If, wis published by Luath in 2021. He edits for Drunk Muse Press, owerseein buiks recently oan the braw Scots poets Willie Neill and Josephine Neill. He edited ‘Best Scottish poets’ for the Scottish Poetry Library last year an is a judge for the Saltire Poetry Awards. This year Luath will publish ‘Diverted to Split’ his tenth full collection.
Smaller poetry projects hae been centred oan the heestory a culture o Dumfries and Galloway an hae aften involvt workin wi Hugh Bryden, a collaboration that has won the Callum MacDonald prize twa times.

Christmas (caird) Time
or The Maist Wunnerfu Time Ae The Year?! 

By Fiona Davidson

It's gitten tae that time ae year 
- the time ma husband dreids.
acause he ends up at ees work
wi glitter oan his heid!

It's time tae mak oor Christmas cairds
(the time comes roond sae sin)
sae time tae clear the table fir
production tae begin.

Oor time's spent sortin, cuttin oot -
it's jist like Groondhog day.
Oor time's spent sortin, cuttin oot -
it's jist like Groondhog day...!

As time gaun's oan, thir's nae space left
except fir cups ae tea.
Come denner time, we need tae eat
oor denner oan oor knee.

It's time fir Christmas music, bit
ma husband, tae stey sane,
says, "nae It Must Be Santa or 
ye're makin oan yer ain!"

Time's mairchin oan - we're nearly din,
there's cairds piled up a'where.
"Richt, that's time up," ma husband says,
"A'm no daein ony mair".

It's time tae git them in the post,
we've feenished jist in time.
Neist time we micht jist buy them -
it'll save a lot ae time!

Yows Cam Doon at Yuil

By Hugh McMillan

Oan Yuil E’en, yows cam doon tae Dalgarnock,
for muckle events were tae be talkit thru.
It wis yon rarest o things: a parliament o yows,
an they haed wannert doon the hills frae as far as Auchenlone,
Glenkens in the west, blackface an cheviot maistly,
though ithers an aw. The yows blethert till the gloamin:
there wis much tae concord. They decided no tae bomb Iraq,
notin that the Awassi yow, a breed active frae Israel
tae Syria, ken nae borders.
They greed no tae allou the security services
access tae their personal info,  an propaled
a nuclear free zone frae Thornhill tae Clatteringshaws.
Efter that in spite o daursayin their atheism,
the yows sang saftly thegither for oors,
mindin that in the doucest moments
o religious iconography, frae Mesopotamia tae Palestine,
yows hae aye been present,
as the midwives o peace.