Len Pennie is an up-and-coming poet worthy of your attention. Her focus on feminism and celebration of the Scots language give her poems both a wonderful playfulness and a frank, honest look at the world around us. She is also a brilliant performer of her work with a growing online following, and we hope you enjoy this taster from her first collection, Poyums.

Poyums
By Len Pennie
Published by Canongate

I’M NO HAVIN CHILDREN

I’m no havin children, A’m gonnae hae weans;
an ye’ll can ask whit A cry them, no what are their names;
an they’ll be gettin a piece, no a wee packed lunch;
an they’ll be haein a scran, no having a munch;
they’ll fanny aboot, they willnae waste time,
an when they scrieve their wee poyums, A’ll mak sure they rhyme.

A’m no havin children, A’m gonnae hae weans,
who’ll be gowpin an bealin when they’ve goat aches an pains;
an instead of don’t worry, A’ll say dinnae fash;
instead of stand your ground, dinnae take any snash;
ma weans’ll be crabbit, no in a bad mood;
and they’ll greet, no cry, when their day isnae good.

A’m no havin children, A’m gonnae hae weans,
wae a prood ancient language crammed in their wee brains;
an whenever life tells them their English is bad,
A’ll tell them the hassles that their mammy had,
an A’ll say ma maw’s words till the day that A’m deid:
Ye’ll be awright, hen, ye’ve a guid Scots tongue in yer heid.

Watch Len perform I’m No Havin Children

I’m no havin children- a poyum by Len Pennie (youtube.com)

LITTLE GIRLS

The little girl stands on a knife-covered ledge,
Dancing till blood starts to drip from its edge.
She’s been licking her wounds since the first time she bled,
Getting judged for each thought she commits in her head.
She’s been starving herself since she started to eat,
Connecting the dots of her heart’s every beat.
She’s been swimming from fishermen hiding their net,
And running from wolves that deny they’re a threat.

And the men chime in, ‘Silence girl, don’t make a fuss,
I’d never do this, it’s not all of us.’
To drown out her sorrow, the male chorus sings,
‘It’s only a few, you’re imagining things.
You’re making this issue seem worse than it is;
It was only a comment, a gesture, a kiss.
It was meant as a compliment – please take a joke,
Don’t bite the hand groping you, savour each poke.’
And the girl learns the axis on which the world spins
Is powered by people who relish their sins.
So, she keeps her head down and she learns how to live,
To be quiet and not take much more than they give.
Cause the fragile knife edge she must constantly walk
Dictates every word she’s permitted to talk,
Each mouthful is measured, each glance not too sly,
Lest she melt off her wings just from touching the sky.
And she’d love to exist as the person she knows
Lives inside of her mind, but her agony grows.

As she slowly but surely resigns herself to
Being smaller and using far less than they do,
Being meeker and not taking up too much space,
Being careful to always remember her place.
But the little girl vows that the curse will be broken,
She’ll break down the barriers, leave them wide open:
For the daughters of little girls you wouldn’t hear;
For the children of women you silenced with fear;
For our mothers we’ll sing till the screams rip the air;
We are the little girls you couldn’t scare.

Watch Len perform Little Girls

Little Girls- A poyum by Len Pennie – YouTube

THE MUSE

Gin A scrieved ye, they’d cry me a liar; gin A sung ye,
A’d be telt A’m wrang;
A poyum wid seem convolutit, an ye sure wouldnae fit in a sang.
Yer image wid bleed through ma canvas, an charcoal wid smudge
oan yer hert;
A cannae find words the way you can; A wouldnae ken whaur
tae stairt.
A sat doon tae scrieve ye a poyum, an A didnae ken whaur tae
begin,
Ye’ve scribbled aw ower ma sketchbook – maisterpiece wae the
lines coloured in.
The poetry breenged out ma coupon, the leid flew awa fae ma
tongue,
Cause A dinnae hae words tae describe ye; the wee sang ae oors
lies unsung.
A dinnae hae words fur a sonnet, when ye’re here A ken not
whit tae say;
Ye’re infinity aw in an instant, worth much mair than some auld,
cheap cliché. A am bound by the words that A’m lackin; ma poyum’s aw A hae
tae give, But A cannae find words tae write ye, no lit you can mak poetry live.
And yer haunds craft sic beautiful music, and ye capture ma soul
in a sang,
Yer harmony played oan ma hertstrings, and ye write like ye’ve
never been wrang.
I hope ye enjoyed ma wee poyum; it’s no much but it’s aw that
A’ve got;
A could scrieve till aw words loose their meanins, dae ye justice
A simply could not.
So, A’ll gie ma wee hert tae the paper, fill the page wae the
words that A choose, Ye’ve inspired much mair than a poyum, noo ma smeddum cries
you its new muse.

Watch Len Perform The Muse

The Muse- a poyum by Len Pennie (youtube.com)

ADDRESS TAE THE LEID

Fair fa your honest, sonsie face,
wha hinks ae Scots as a disgrace!
A leid that’s meant fur lesser hings,
No there tae lairn:
A leid well-kent by mony fowk
That does nae hairm.
Ahint keyboards the wee troll hides;
Abuin yer soul the hatred bides;
Yer words are nocht but draps ae rain
Agin ma heid,
Taks mair than dubs aw filled wae pish
Tae droon me deid.
We ken the rot yer souls contain,
Wan single leid within yer brain;
A look upon ye filled wae shame,
But dinnae fash,
The Scots leid maun strive oan in spite,
Ae aw yer snash.
Then, word fur word, Scots willnae dee:
Ma time and tongue aw A can gie,
And gie it aw A will until ma final breath.
Oor poyums will be said by bairns
Lang past wur death
Is there that troll wha sneers in shame,
Or cries me mony a hatefu name,
Or seeks tae cause me muckle pain
Fur whit A dae,
Looks down wae sneering, scornfu view
On whit A say?
Poor devil! See him ower his screen,
His grammar neat, his English clean,
He fechts fur country an fur queen,
But doesnae see –
If abdy’s gonnae look his way,
It isnae me!
But mark the chiels wha speak the leid,
Wha ken it’s livin, never deid,
An ken it’s fit fur aw the time,
No special days;
An sees the puir wee hypocrites,
Oan 25ths and Hogmanays.
Ye Pow’rs wha’re wae me every hoor,
Gie me smeddum that ye cannae smoor,
Auld Scotland wants nae linguaphobes
Wae a hatefu heid;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Follae ma leid.

Watch Len perform Address Tae The Leid

Address tae the Leid- a Poyum by Len Pennie (youtube.com)

Poyums by Len Pennie is published by Canongate, priced £14.99.