Burns Night 2025 Poetry Competition Winners

1st place: Untitled

Come quickly, winter,

Do not dwell,

In the fecund spring or long summer days,

As hot as hell. 

Blow, bitter winds,

Blow the birds from the air,

Swirl and bluster brutishly.

Do not play fair. 

For what use a man who cold

Cannot endure?

His heart, his grace, his soul, his guile, 

Much the weaker for,

The courage that deserted him,

So cruelly at the door. 

God made the nithering winter,

A murderess’s rage,

Cast upon this floating earth,

A bitter war to wage. 

But man, he made the whisky, 

The visceral-burning gold,

To fight winter’s onslaught, and

In armies of drunken kin, 

And in joyful song,

Drive away the cold.

2nd place: Untitled

Three parts, the humble dram has shown

Together greater than alone

Entwined create, with wide regard

Elixir of the Scottish Bard

First: Water, H2-eau de vie

A purer start their couldnae be

Winds its way throughout the land

The terroir’s chance to show its hand

It lays with barley for a while

Where malted grain asserts its style

A waft of peat, a hint of smoke

To quench the gout of bolder folk

And third, the magic of the yeast

Turns pungent mash to fiery beast

Filtering through steadfast still

As stock and steam enforce their will

Yet three alone tell half the tale

And only with a fourth prevail;

To bless this dram with all its glory

Time and cask must tell their story

Heed then, the wisdom of the malt!

For every bond that’s worth its salt

Blends friendship, love and care together,

Rewards with time, and lasts forever

3rd place: An Ode To The Dram

Through mists of the Highlands to glens ever smilin’,

Ma heart’s been beguiled by a drink so divine.

In the glow of the heather, through foul or fair weather,

The warmth of the whisky has ne’er left by our side.

Though scholars may ponder over books they grow fonder,

And poets wax lyrical ’bout moonlight’s soft shine,

They all could be wiser, and far  merrier risers,

If only their wisdom was found in a casks line

So stick to the dram, lads, it’s better than jam, lads,

For drownin’ your sorrows and liftin’ your cheer!

It’s bold and it’s braw, lads, the nectar of gods, lads,

There’s nae finer brew than Scotch whisky, my dears!*

What warms through the cold? What’s richer than gold?

What’s smoother than silk, yet with fire in its soul?

What makes people unite, through day and through night,

And keeps Scotland’s pride in a well-seasoned bowl?

It’ll make the shy sing, make them dance and do flings,

Give courage to hearts that are heavy with grief.

And what keeps the piper playing on an all-nighter?

Oh, wasn’t it whisky that brought him relief?

So stick to the dram, lads, it’s better than jam, lads,

For feedin’ your spirit and sparkin’ your flame!

It’s strong as a stag, lads, and worth every hang, lads,

Oh, raise up your glass to old whiskeys grand name!

4th place: A Highland Toast Gone Wrong

In a croft on a hill near a Highland burn,

Old Dougal sat with whisky to spurn.

“”To Scotland!”” he roared, with a dram held high,

And the cows joined in with a hearty cry.

But Dougal, no master of balance or grace,

Stumbled and fell on his weathered old face.

The whisky went flying, the glass hit the ground,

And a silence fell over the cows all around.

“”Ye daft auld goat!”” his wife did shout,

“”That’s twenty quid’s worth ye’ve just poured out!””

The cows looked aghast, as if to agree,

For even they knew – that’s blasphemy!

Dougal got up with a sheepish grin,

“”Ach, lass, it’s nae crime tae start again!””

He grabbed the bottle, poured out a new share,

And toasted once more with a devil-may-care.

But as he turned to the cows to boast,

He knocked her pint clean off the post.

It splashed in the mud, her temper took flight,

“You’ll be sleeping wi’ the cows in the byre tonight!”

5th place: Shattered Love

It was whisky that bought us together.

 The first time I sampled Rhodsdhu,

She cradled my drink through the evening.

Our futures together- I knew!

The scent of her breath was exalting,

  her curves were the talk of the bar.

She exuded a sparkle beguiling.

She quickly became my North Star.

Our lives simply melded together.

She stood at the end of my arm,

Holding the drink that we loved so.

My oasis of memory and calm.

We travelled the nation together.

Sampling the malts of our land.

From Bladnoch to Kirkwall we journeyed,

always her light close to hand.

It was whisky that lead to our ending.

One fiery night up in Renfrew.

The bar was positively heaving,

Then in stepped the Tullamore Crew.

I was sipping my first Glengoyne eighteen,

admiring her well balanced form.

Behind us rose a commotion,

beyond that roared a great storm.

I cradled my love close beside me,

as the Crew turned on one of their own.

Then ‘Strammie’ McGill lurched against us.

From my arms my beauty was thrown.

I clawed at the air as she tumbled,

hurtling into the mass.

But there on the slate she lay shattered.

-My cut crystal Glencairn tasting glass!

But that’s not the end of my story.

The owner had witnessed my plight.

She poured me a stiff Tobermory.

– We wed that very Burns Night!

6th place: Untitled

Fur a’ that Burns is lang since deed, his words still echo through ma heid, enough tae hae me follow his lead an’ wricht some words sae fair. 

If only I had half his skill, tae bend the words aroon ma will an’ wricht an’ wricht them doon until I couldnae write nae mair. 

Then find I’d written sic a poem that thoosands o’ folk the words wid know ’em, aye maybe then I’d be able tae show ’em that poetry’s nae sae hard. 

Weel that wid jist be sic a tale, an’ trying that I’d surely fail, an’ jist be a peely wally pale impression o’ Burns, oor Bard!

7th place: Untitled

The old farmer was merry 

The crops were all in.

The cows looked on in delight 

Cos to drinking he’s bin.

He toasted the crop and he toasted the cows.

Then he toasted the lochs and he toasted the clouds..

His whiskey is good it put fire in his belly 

He didn’t even care that his feet were still smelly.

But his wife was quite cross at the mud all around 

There was more in the kitchen than there was in the ground.

She slaved over the stove to make him his food 

But now he just says he’s not in the mood.

“Stop your drinking, you fool, or you’ll be out in the barn”

But the farmer just laughed and replied with a yawn 

“Oh lassie I’ll sleep wherever you say, 

But please don’t ever take my whiskey away”

8th place: Ghosts, damned ghosts

Ghosts, damned ghosts, he murmured, 

As the wind knocked the dunnage door,

And the storm blew shadows at the windows

and across the dusty floor.

His cap lay on the barrels, 

his torch hung from a beam, 

each bung was cast aside

as he worked his craft unseen. 

Until his bag was full to bursting, 

And he sloshed with every step, 

His dream a dram by the fire

before he climbs the stairs to bed. 

But not tonight, he knows, 

there’s a thousand barrels left

and he needs to dip them all

before he even thinks of rest. 

A thief? A burglar? A smuggler?

You can call him what you dare

But to some he’s a dusty angel

Taking his rightful share.”

9th place: The Notes

“Read the notes on the bottle my fellow.”

“Damp cardboard, cigar ash, a blended medicine cabinet but quite mellow…” 

“You havin’ a laugh?”

“Mixed together in an old tin bath…”

“You’re pulling my leg.” 

“A hefty sprinkling of nutmeg…” 

“You’re messing about.”

“Traditional, creamy Irish stout…”

“You’re telling me porkies”

“Scratchings, ham-hock and damp corgis…”

“You’ve gone barking mad!”

“Salty seaweed but just a tad…”

“You’re surely taking the mick.”

“All swirled around with a cinnamon stick…”

“That’s it, you’ve gone too far”

“A Milky Bar, the smell of tyres on a vintage car…”

“Some of these are starting to jarr”

“The aroma of freshly applied roofing tar…”

“Just stop wasting my time.”

“The jammy taste of a fine French wine…”

“You’ll tell me owt.”

“All wrapped up in a new leather coat.”

“Are you making this all up?”

“Well, that’s what it says, decide for yourself, just give it a sup.”

10th place: Winters hope

My arm, I can’t feel my arm, I awake in panic

It’s cold, so cold the air freezes my lungs,

Not nearly time to wake to the morning of manic

The day has yet to come

The blistering sun hasn’t winked at the ground

Before the bells of my alarm ring aloud

And I awake to darkness and gloom all around

For North I live with the eternal cloud

Yet breakfast beckons to begin the day

But first to wake up with a warm bitter brew

Before the toil of work begins its play

And the clouds part by the suns red hue

Though miserable all this may seem

When the day ends, she is there to greet me

With a warming touch and golden gleam

Her velvety layers roll like waves on the sea

When she’s done I turn to a beautiful auburn

With her sweet smells of chocolate and fruit

Her taste so close I’m in anticipation to learn

There’s tales about her incredible repute

And so comes to an end the dreary day

In a haze of liquid suns I own

The cold sets in as my foggy thoughts stray

Fading away in this wintry home