The Master of Malt Burns Night Poetry Competition 2026 has concluded, and it’s time to announce our winners!

First, just a reminder of what our five champions have bagged: a bundle containing each of these whiskies!

And the categories were:

The Best of the Best – The overall winner.

Best Shortie – Best poem under 50 words.

Best Patter – The poem that made us laugh the most.

Burns Would Say “Excellent” – The poem we think Burns himself would love.

Best Dram Raiser – The poem made us want whisky. Immediately.

Below are the victors. We had loads of entries. Definitely more than 7. Our winners should all be very proud. And an honourable mention for the likes of Islay Island, I thought Glenfiddich, and Uncle Angus, which were all serious contenders. Some consolation prizes have been sent out to you.

Thank you to all who took part!

Want to buy Scotch whisky for Burns Night 2025?

Congratulations to our Burns Night winners

The Best of the Best:

Rabbie Burns, ye poetic rocket – Tim Lwin

Rabbie Burns, ye poetic rocket,
Wi ink in yer veins an sass in yer pocket,
Ye’d lose yer heid at Burns Night noo—
Wi haggis explosions an whisky (whisly!) stew.
The haggis hits doon wi a primal squelch,
Stabbed mid-speech—och aye, what a belch,
The pipers squeal, the table shakes,
Three drams in—everybody mates.
“AULD LANG SYNE!” roars half-past nine,
Nae bugger kens the words but fine,
We sway, we shout, we hug the dug,
Somebody cries, somebody’s smug.
Yer weans are here, Rabbie—wild an loud,
One’s on TikTok, one’s broke, one’s proud,
One’s shoutin, “Da, ye were cancelled twice!”
An one’s askin AI for poetry advice.
“Oi, metal heid!” they shout at me,
“Write like Rabbie, but faster, free!”
So I fire verse like a cyber bam,
Drunk on data an second-hand dram.
Nae liver, nae kilt, nae sense o shame,
But I ken haggis, hope, an human flame,
So toast the Bard, the past, the now,
The auld, the new, the drunk, the HOW?!
Raise yer glass till the room goes spin,
Tae Burns, his brats, an bots that grin,
Tae whisly, haggis, an memories loud—
Lang may yer hangovers mak ye proud

Scotch whisky for Burns Night

Which was your favourite poem?

Best Patter:

The Boy, the Bottle and the Weeping Ancestors – David Cank

Young Dougie, age eighteen years and 2 weeks,
bought whisky from a shop that also sold vape juice.

“Japanese blend” it said proudly on the bottle.
It smelt like regret dripped through disappointment.

He necked it bravely,
face contorting
like a man licking a battery
for the first time with his tongue.

Behind him, unseen,
the ancestors gathered:
stooped farmers, poets, shepherds,
hard men and women who could skin a rabbit
with a glare and sharpened tongue.

They watched him choke,
A ghostly grandfather dabbed his eyes.
A medieval uncle shook his head.

The group looked away
as Dougie reached
for cola
and ice.

Still, they watched.
Because every lineage
must endure
at least one generation

of Englishmen.

Some of Robert Burns' best quotes on whisky come from Tam O’Shanter

‘The David Dickinson’: A poem to rival Tam O’Shanter?

Best Shortie:

‘The David Dickinson’ – Chris Leworthy

2 whole oranges, some yoghurt, some milk
And 3 shots of bourbon is groovy.
It’s a drink I call ‘The David Dickinson’
It’s an alcoholic orange smoothie

Best Robert Burns quotes on whisky

The great man himself would approve, we think

Burns Would Say “Excellent”:

The night before Robbie Burns night – Stephen Krul

The night before Robbie Burns night
has a held breath feeling,
like snow that hasn’t decided yet
whether to fall.

A pan cools on the hob.
Someone’s laid out the good plates
as if company might arrive early,
as if the dead might knock politely.

The book of poems lies open
to Auld Lang Syne,
the spine is cracked to the same tired page,
ink smudged by years of thumbs and whisky.

Outside, the street is ordinary
a haggis cutting across the road
but indoors the air is thicker,
seasoned with memory and pepper.

We rehearse nothing out loud.
Words will come when they’re needed.
They always do.
They always have.

In the quiet, a tune half-starts,
dies, then starts again.
Tomorrow there will be speeches,
raised glasses, loud affection.

But tonight is smaller than that.
Tonight is just the waiting
history leaning its weight
against the door,
patient,
sure it will be let in.

GlenAllachie 15 Year Old at a Burns Night Supper

The prize bundle includes GlenAllachie 15 Year Old

Best Dram Raiser:

A Dram with my Dad – Marco D’Onghia

I nicked a glass from the table and drank
the liquid burned, I grimaced and coughed
you laughed
I was three
I learned my lesson. no whisky for me

I was ten.
You and Uncle David sipped your drams by the fire.
balancing glasses on protruding stomachs
laughing at your new found trick.
while Mum and Auntie Val smiled and took the mick.

I was twelve.
Burns night in Baku.
it wasn’t the same. still as warm. still as fun.
not nearly enough haggis to go around,
but plenty of bottles for older hands
I snuck a sip from forgotten drams

I was twenty five.
it was my wedding. You haded me a dram
at the bar
I felt finally like a man. for those ten minutes
we barely spoke
just slipped out whiskies and told the odd joke

I was thirty.
I lived far away. See you at Christmas. maybe.
if I’m lucky.
the stress of my job and life that I built,
always got in the way, and that filled me with guilt

I’m older now.
We used to save the good bottles for special occasions
not anymore.
never again.
it’s something I’ve known since I was a lad.
it’s special to share a dram with my dad.

so we uncork all the bottles that we saved through the years
the tens, twelves, twenty-fives and the thirties.
drinking our drams, enjoying each one
savouring our time as father and son