ARE YOU A SCOT by Jan Morell.

One day in the fall, I took a phone call and went to a girlfriend's party.
She spoke of a tan, red-headed man, with eyes as blue as the sea.
He came to this land, from Scotland, she said, descended from Royalty.
I searched through the crowd for this person so odd, determined myself for to see.

I found him alone and the firelight shone, through the mane on his head brilliantly.
'Tho frightened to death, I gulped in a breath, and plunged through the throng rapidly.
I'm standing before him, shaking and grim, with courage but not prudency.
He spoke not a word, solemn and bored, but took in my form carefully.

His eyebrows were spare and the hue of his hair shocked me momentarily.
But I had to grin at his freckly skin and his nose, upturned, charmingly.
My neck became tight when I beheld the sight towering over me.
So I lowered my gaze and through a strange haze regarded his hands cautiously.

His fingers were long and tanned and strong and I in my reverie
Had never beheld, a hand so well gelled, and I had to, was dying to, see.
I offered mine in a bold pantomime, suggesting a handshake from he.
He gave me a look, one for the book, and stood there as tall as a tree.

I clasped his instead. Oh where was my head, in the midst of this coquetry?
He wrapped both his around, my slim fingers fair sound, and whispered a question to me.
"What is your name?" I abandoned my game, and searched for my voice hastily.
He shot me a smile, as wide as a mile, and looked down on me wickedly.

My gaze fell to his foot, clad in a boot, with socks folded under his knee.
And I thought I would die, when the twitch of my eye, saw his kilt swaying crazily.
"Are you a Scot?" I finally shot. "I've studied your country's hist'ry.
If you are a Scot, and are proud of your lot, then blow on your bagpipes -- you surely have bagpipes! Then blow on you bagpipes for me."

A silent delay, with nought else to say, hung in the air awkwardly.
My confidence torn; "Oh why was I born?" I looked to escape gracefully.
A rumble of mirth boiled up from his girth and spilled out jovially.
He parted his lips, put his hands on his hips and his head tilted sideways with glee.

"You're a wee bonny lass, and are bold as the brass, alive with good humor and free.
MacGregor's the name and sure as the rain, I'm Scottish as Scotsmen can be.
I'll wager my plaid if you're nae the most mad and the finest wee maiden to see."
Then I heard him bellow in words clipped and mellow, the Gaelic copiously.

He bent to my face and with softness and grace, planted two kisses, then three.
And when he was through, he picked me up too, and carried me out to the lea.
He stooped to the dirt, adjusted his shirt and shouldered his blowpipes smartly.
And with gusto and pride, for the men who had died, he blew on his bagpipes -- his sad haunting bagpipes. He blew on his bagpipes for me.

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH by Linda Mackintosh.

My powers have left me, exhausted I lie
I've done it four times, for a fifth I would try
They say you can have too much fun in a day
But I am a Scot, so five times is okay

The first time was awkward, a novice was I
I'd waited so long, I was eager to try
I closed all the curtains and sat in the dark
I'd dreamed about doing it down in the park

I lighted a candle and closed both my eyes
And soon the whole room filled with groanings and sighs
I started it slowly, but gathering pace
I soon had an ear to ear grin on my face!

At last I had finished a virgin no more
With a sense of achievement I lay on the floor
The next three were easy, no effort at all
I'd found my true calling was having a ball!

Then suddenly everything stopped and I knew
I'd at last reached my limit the good times were through
It's hopeless I know, but it's all elementary
I simply can't write a fifth poetry entry!!!!

LOVE ROSE THEN FELL by Janis Bonner
aka queenofoz.

Observant Shakespeare
Recognized intrinsic attributes
"A rose by any other name"

Existentialist Stein
Said it "is".
"A rose is a rose is a rose."

Romantic Burns
Liked a simile.
Red, Red, Passionate, Red,
Like Red, like really Red
Like really, really Red
Passionate, passionate Red
Like my love
Emphatically Red
Like.
"My love is like a red, red rose."

PERPETUAL CALEDONIA by Beth.

Leaves of olive, celadon and silver
Celtic winds gently quiver
Soft rays of sunlight pour
Fluttering
Dappling
The ancient forest floor.

From whence soft murmurings arise
The voices of old mesmerize
Ancestral lines intertwine
Conversing
Laughing
Within my spirit mind.

Enveloping fragrance of the wood wild
Delicate twin flowers ever gracile
Meandering, vigorous mountain stream
Rushing
Cascading
To lands of evergreen.

Caledonia embracing my all
Answering my forefather's call
My footsteps leading me here
Blissful
Content
To always hold dear.

Introduction page to Rottentomatoes.

Poems submitted from Alexandria, Rose, Andrew and Janet.

Poems submitted from Deborah Ann Barnum, Eloise, Kathy and Peigi McCann

Poems submitted from Karen Richmond, Lynn Ennis Iozzo, Merry Gonzalves and Ruby Wooten.

Poems submitted from Kami, Kath, Lisa W, Terra and Rachel Lovern.

Poems submitted from Bonnie Anne Pinard, Bonnie Toben, Deborah, Dina, Joelle and LilyRose.

Poems submitted from Mamatish, Martha, Nicholas, Tense L. Smith and Tonya Kimble.