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Be prepared for a huge amount of Benedict Cumberbatch and Sherlock fandom here.

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Posts tagged poetry.

WANT TO SEE YOUR OWN SHERLOCK STORY IN PRINT?

sherlockology:

SHERLOCKOLOGY AND MX PUBLISHING HAVE TEAMED UP IN SUPPORT OF THE UNDERSHAW PRESERVATION TRUST, TO OFFER FANS AN OPPORTUNITY TO HAVE THEIR VERY OWN SHERLOCK HOLMES SHORT STORY PUBLISHED IN A BOOK!

WHAT IS THE BOOK?

The upcoming book, ‘Sherlock’s Home: The Empty House’ is to be a collection of short stories and poems centered around the Sherlock Holmes canon characters and for the benefit of the Undershaw Preservation Trust.

The aim is to give aspiring writers with an interest in Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle, the opportunity to see their writing in print, while primarily raising awareness for Undershaw.

Read More

Oh hells yes.

Ode to a Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
You pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’need
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reeking, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an’ strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive
Bethankit hums

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash
His spindle-shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle

Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!

Benedict Cumberbatch reading Ode to a Nightingale ›

Delicious ear-porn. Listened to this before going to sleep last night, it was so lovely.