Scot poet Trumps NZ Burns Award

Lorna Wallace has accomplished the incredible and the marvelous. 

The Scottish poet has won a New Zealand poetry competition with a ditty (in broad Scots) ridiculing Donald Trump.

She hopes, she says, that the poem gets read to the man himself.

The Robert Burns Poetry Competition is organized by the Dunedin Public Libraries and The Dunedin Burns Club.  A rule is that it must be written in true Burns style -- which incidentally means that you have to puzzle out some of the words.

While she can't make the cross-planet journey to accept the award, Wallace is going to make a video of herself reading the poem, which will be aired in Dunedin at the presentation ceremony.  Being of solidly Scots descent, the audience will hopefully understand it all.

The poem is called A Scots' Lament for her American Fellows (Oan their election of a tangerine gabshite walloper)

You, like thousands of others, can read it on her blog.

But I can't resist publishing it here ....

America, aw whit ye dain?!
How could ye choose a clueless wain
Ti lead yir country? Who wid trust
A man sae vile?!
A racist, sexist eedjit
Wi a shite hairstyle?

Yet lo, ye votit (michty me!)
Ti hawn’ this walloper the key
Ti pow’r supreme, ti stert his hateful,
Cruel regime.
A cling ti hope that this is aw
Jist wan bad dream.

But naw, the nightmare has come true,
A curse upon rid, white an’ blue,
An’ those who cast oot Bernie
Must feel sitch regret
Fur thinkin’ Mrs. Clinton
Was a safer bet.

So noo we wait ti see unfold
Division an’ intolerance, cold;
A pois’nous bigotry untold
Since Hitler’s rule
As the free world’s hopes an’ dreams
Lie with this fool.

Alas, complainin’ wullnae change
The fact this diddy has free range
Ti ride roughshod ow’r human beings
That fall outside
The cretinous ideals borne of
His ugly pride.

Awch USA, we feel yir woes
An’ pour oor wee herts oot ti those
Who ken this oarange gabshite isnae
Who they chose,
But jist sit tight; Trump’s cluelessness
Will time expose.

Fur sittin’ there beside Obama
Efter the election drama,
Trump looked like reality
Had finally hit:
Aboot the role of president
He knew Jack shit.

Poutin’, glaikit through this farce,
His mooth wis pursed up like an arse,
His Tangoed coupon glowin’ like
A skelped backside.
Despite all his bravado
Trump looked keen ti hide.

Let’s therefur no despair an’ greet,
Or see this outcome as defeat.
Let’s wait an’ watch this bampot
Flap his hawns an’ squirm
When presidential pressures
Crush him like a worm.

Hawd oan ti values you hold dear,
Don’t let this numpty bring yi fear,
His chants of hatred don’t speak fur
The human race.
Love will endure despite this
Oarange-faced disgrace.

So USA, in ma conclusion,
Know we Scots feel your confusion:
We are also chained ti those
Not of oor choosin’.
Stand firm fur unity will break
Through Trump’s delusion.