John Neil Robertson is originally from the Isle of Skye but now living in Glasgow.  John enjoys writing poetry in his mothers tongue and finds it not only enjoyable but a great form of expression.  He is not so much involved in poetry, this is the first time John has shared any of his work publicly, everyone has a story of when their first time sharing poetry was, Johns poetic story starts here with us in the Scots Language Centre.  Not your average steriotype poet, John works offshore a lot of the time on oilrigs and dangling from ropes at high heights.  I'm sure with plenty of time inbetween shifts to get creative with inspirations from the sea and rough sea weather.  He hopes you enjoy his piece of creative writing.  

Horseless Headman

Beware the horseless headman
His tales are sung not said, 
Oor birk n dykes and fields 
It spead, 
A wretched gruesome head. 

Word had reached the village noo
Aw thrang wi cowerin dread,
Its whails wid strike a gid man dead 
The aulder yins had said. 

But now remorseless on charged horseless the village in his sight, 
His eyes blazed bright with dreadfull might, "woe is me this awfu night" 
But Set was he aw ful o glee to cast his awful blight. 

Mammies dragged their wains fae bed 
and took to ground in fear, 
The moon was high the sky was clear, 
They Huddled round and kept them near, 
Tae shield them from the headman's lear. 

A thunderous clack came doon the track
as headman struck the toon, 
"A hear ye pining unergroon come out an be struck doon" 
A cloud had crept apon the moon and headman hudnae turnt aroon, 
tae see the spear thrown by yon loon. 

Headman now apon the spear as to a door it spead, 
Impailed is he, he is nae mair the horrid cretins dead, 
Scots and geals and doon in Wales they'll tell ye this true, 
"beware the horseless headman his story's sung nae said" 

John Robertson.