Robert Burns meets Bigfoot

entry picture

See what can happen?


THE BEST LAID PLANS O’ MEN AND TULPAS

 

Now here’s a tale, of men and mice

(Though which is which I leave to you)

Whose aliases must suffice

(And sadly must their motives too).

 

It happened one cold winter’s night

When snow lay thick upon the hills,

When Spain is hot and Scotland’s white

And all is quiet around the stills.

 

But not that night! Filled full of ale

A solitary figure staggered

Home upon his lonesome trail,

His step unsteady, features haggard.

 

The 25th, the 25th,

The time for wild celebration,

A time abandoned and outwith

Man’s cogniscence of  preservation.

 

Three miles it was to house and home,

A trekking feat, a mighty job,

And chance encounters with his own

Would not deter our hero,  Rob.

 

Avoiding man, avoiding house,

Rob strode out like a sobered Bacchus,

Ignoring every pleading mouse

And stepping over each prone haggis.

 

And then…from out the woods appeared

A ghastly figure long of gait

In front of him, so fell! so weird!

Form shimmering in a parlous state.

 

Rob stopped in time and stumbled back,

And from a distance cried aloud,

“Tak what ye will! Alas! Alack!

But just don’t hurt me, I’m no’ proud!”

 

But there it posed and there it stood,

Responding not, its body still,

Hirsute and reeking of the wood,

Considering Rob (as most folks will).

 

Unnerved, unsure of what to do,

Rob panicked & withdrew  his flask

And thrust it out, as you would do,

And cried “You only had to ask!”

 

Big hairy creatures of the wood

Are not seen as conventional.

As paw grabbed flask (as any would)

The beast went trans-dimensional.

 

Our hero Rob, quick as a flash,

Dived through the portal, reappeared

With burning hair & clothes (& flask)

Proclaiming “NOTHING steals my beer!”

 

(The rest is tale & just conjecture,

Myths debunked, no longer cogent,

Rob’s encounter now a lecture

Filled with references to rodents.)

 

Yet be assured, I heard it tell,

That Rob knew this, and knew it well….

‘The best laid plans o’ men and Tulpas

Gang aft agley wi’ mea culpas!”

◄ A poem

'UNQUIET SLUMBERS FOR THE SLEEPERS' ►

Comments

Profile image

Rodney Wood

Wed 13th Aug 2008 20:00

Great! Reads like a good, sharp, ballad. You should be pleased, very pleased with it.

Profile image

Val Cook

Wed 13th Aug 2008 16:28

Your not by any chance related to Banjo Paterson are you Stue. As your tale is very reminiscent of his style of poetry its good . I love it, more more more.---.

Profile image

Richard Brooks

Tue 12th Aug 2008 16:16

Where is that newspaper clip from?! Greta poem, reads like a folk story, It felt like a storyteller telling a tale to a group of people. Good stuff
"Big foot is a great big fella! But not even he can have my stella!"

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message