Fishy: English Poems Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Romany: Wild Caravanning with Daisy: Jackie Henderson
Daisy tells fortunes. Sees futures
A real clairvoyant
7th daughter of a 7th daughter
She won't look you in the eye
She's reclusive and sly
A wild child, a Romany wry

She'll hitch her waggon to a whim
Don't be fooled by the heart on her door
She's got lovers galore
She'll be gone like the wind
Her scene's not planning
Daisy, queen of wild caravanning


A Very Odd Birthday: After Birthday Boy: Joe Hargan
A rider stares with hauteur from a picture frame
His horse sniffs a three tiered birthday cake

A pug glares from a slab
A cat turns his back on the whole shebang
A monkey in butler's clothes extends the grub

A horse in the gallery bows its neck in bewilderment
At this outré celebration
Held for a growly bow legged dog
With obvious constipation



The Maquette: After Mijbil Otter Maquette II: Laurence Broderick
The Scottish naturalist Gavin Maxwell took an otter as a pet & named it Mijbil.

A maquette is the ultimate pet
Ye'll nae need a hutch, or a vet
It'll bide in yer hoose
Be as quest as a moose
It'll niver bite, keech or upset
Ony veesitin friens
Be a drain on yer means
Wi a maquette yer niver in debt


Girls' Night Out: After The Bar in Ashton Lane: Murial Barclay
Peroxide bimbos
Extensions flowing,
Compare their fake tan
Eyes like venues fly traps
Flutter at each passing man

Perched on a bar stool
Like a preying mantis
Their nails like raptors' claws
Just long enough to curl around a glass
Sophisticates, pecking peanuts from a plate
Hungry for a date

Stiletto heels makes them seem flamingo tall
Ears glued to mobile phones
Hoping for Mr Right to finally call

Palma: After Passeig Des Born, Palma: Jack Morrocco
The graceful avenue of branches sway,
Under the tented canopies, all's still,
Here international travellers come to stay

Sunlight and dappled leaves here softly play,
Here, birdsong's like a dulcet madrigal
Streetlamps stand delicate as tracery

Breath in the scent of olive, mulberry,
A cornucopia where treasures spill
Lemon & almond, figs and rosemary

So what need then, for travellers to stray
When all around is guaranteed to thrill?
Long after you have flown up and away
Such days will follow you in memory


Superstitions: After Paraphernalia with Shoes: Liz Knox
Never put shoes on the table
That's bad luck's invitation
Never bring lilies into the house
You'll invite death & dejection
A snowdrop taken over the porch
Will droop like a wilting erection
Will invite death and corruption
But a pomegranate is welcome
Brings luck & regeneration!


Veggies: After Cabbages: Ewan McClure
At last! An artist who takes us seriously
I am Cabbage, a truly earthy muse
My firm curves wrapped in leaves are so creamy,
Swathed in greenery

And Cabbage, lord of the broth
Is Mephistophelean, so many inner layers
There's no end to his emerald nuances
Like the palace of Versailles
He goes on forever

And last, the trinity of the parsnips
Wearing that shorn, Benedictine look
A brotherhood in the sainted realms of vegans


Down in the Deep: After Two Denizens of the Deep: David Smith RSW
Red Octopus, sea pig, goblin shark
Sloane's viperfish, zombie worm
Stonefish, giant isopods
Horrors at every turn

Fathoms below these monsters sleep
Denizens of the deep
Who knows what hideous creatures
There in the damnèd dark
Slither and crawl and creep
The scrapings from the Ark


Groupies: After On the Road Again: Stuart Luke Gatherer
Two sad eyed groupies, zonked on skunk or ees
Slump. Between their ears, nothing but vacancies
Slack mouthed, no-hope
A generation lost, that's high on dope
Chasing the dragon's smoke
On a short rope


Country Statistics
4 lanes of cows park in the bottom field
They are having a rural meeting
Chewing over the recent weather
Such changes, winds and floods!

An 80 year old oak tree, felled by lightening
Slowly fills with ants
It's an insect underpass
A flyover for gnats
It has run out of roots
It has reached an existential impasse

In village gardens, Canterbury bells are ringing
Hollyhocks nod and wave like Sunday schools on an outing
Marigolds splash their colours like Matisse on a splurge

Between a cloistered garden
Pansies and nasturtiums
Are landing spots for Red Admirals

Bumble bees skim the runways of geraniums
Swathes of tom thumbs, clover, mint and thyme
Sweeten the quiet roads between old graves

At the Curragh
Tight as an orange my dad squeezed each trip
Ireland he squeezed dry till its pips all squeaked
Each Irish song he sang was hunted down
And last, the Curragh race course, history steeped

The Irish burr to my child's ear was soothing
Their tiny squares of fields, an emerald quilt
The race course was a riot to the senses
A blaze of colour from a rainbow spilt

All movement, horse and grass smells, neighs and whinneys
The moist air of an Irish afternoon
The jockeys silks shone in the bleary sunlight
Hooves plunged and reared. My father hummed a croon

Then they were off! We stood behind the railing
Mud flying, as each rider whipped his mount
The glistening flanks, the silks, the craik, the blarney
That's how my dad made memories that count


Ecstasy: 70 years apart

1.Upcycling: After
Suite One
The ground floor suite,
Super king size bedroom,
Dressing room
Walk in shower
Heated towel rail
Underfloor heating
Twin sinks
Finest linen
Soft furnishings, Abraham Moon fabric
Noble Isles whisky water fragrance
Living area, downstairs
8ft dining table, wooden
Double sided wood burner
Between dining area & sitting area
Two nubuck Chesterfield sofas
Two fireside chairs upholstered in ancient tartan
75inch TV, with Netflicks
A desk with charging points for laptops
Kitchen with American style fridge freezer
With constant chilled water and ice
A range cooker with induction hob
Nespresso machine, with coffee pods
Microwave, toaster
The island has a dishwasher
Double Belfast sink
With hot tap and insinkerator
Leather kitchen seating
Crystal ware and modern art works & ceramics etc etc
Suite Two, Upstairs
Super king size bedroom
Window seat for relaxing
Dressing room & table
En suite bathroom
Albert Victoria double ended bath
Walk in shower
Heated towel rail
Underfloor heating
Twin sinks with storage
Outside Area
Wonderful Highland views
A gazebo, with table & chairs
A bench surrounded by genuine granite slabs
Tasteful potted planks
A garage space & private gate
Remote controlled, for added security
Back to back with the local supermarket,
Gleaming one stop shop for all your needs

2.Upcycling: Before: 1952, post war austerity
Downstairs
Floor level window seat beside a flushing toilet
(For privacy, the window has a blind)
Dead bluebottles, legs hairy, primly crossed
Paper squares from last week's Sunday Post
(to read, and for the purpose of intimate cleanliness)
A steep, dark, wooden stairs
Reaching a creaking lobby, upper level
Spectacular view from a window
Of ferny steep CraigCoileich, home to eagles
Bedroom number one
Double bed with en suite chamber pot
Spectacular view of the face of Craigendarroch
Dark lino, one worn well -tramped fireside rug
Small fire with mantlepiece chipped mirror, wind up clock
Square table, with a plastic tablecloth
A pail with twisted newspaper fire lighters
A Bakelite radio, set to Jimmy Shand
A stove on legs,4 rings, assorted pans
A press for tins, fruit, plasters and potatoes
Calamine lotion for easing midgie bites
A dish to catch fat drippings to kindle the fire
A bucket for rubbish, most of it for burning
A plate of poor man's jam: bread slices
Spread with marg and sugar, gritty buzz
A large fat Scotty dog, named after Montgomery
With rotting teeth, bad breath and rancid farts
But brave and loyal, vociferous guard dog
Bedroom Two, Upstairs
Double bed, one single camping bed
A wall of planks, which hides much storage space
For blankets, candles, clothes, rugs, hard stuffed pillows
En suite bathroom, second chamber pot
The sink, cold water only, single tap
A basin to top & tail the family's ablutions
A bar of sunshine soap
Towels on a stand, linoleum, one large window
Alternative view of majestic Craigendarroch
The Monarch of the Glen, a reproduction
A childhood studio photo of my father,
His brother Jimmy, both in Highland dress
Their flowing sporrans reach near to their ankles
Outside Area
Wonderful Highland views
Dismantled buses, pirated for parts
A mound of cinders, still some life remaining
Left over from the local railway's use
Dandelions, a very rickety gate
The back door of the Deeside omnibus garage
Smelling of tar, of petrol, of grease, of oil
Where Fergie, Scrappy, engineers in the dark
Of the bus pits, worked to restore their metal charges

Two houses on Ballater's Viewfield Road
Same site-separate by 70 years or more
Both placed to sample Deeside's healthy air
To breath in ecstasy: simply open the door



Letter to a Dead Son
Isn't this something?
Since you left, grief drops in unannounced

First child to be born and first to die
Frost at midnight bites into my conscience

The world is full of dust
Listen: the souls are chattering in the trees
Like hurt hawks tossed in a storm
Is your voice one of those?
Why can't I hear it?

I cannot break the lock-tight walls of death
Instead, I pick through wrecks of memories

You should have reached old age
No parent should be burying a child
My atonement arrived too late
You raced through life like a tropical hurricane

When I was all at sea I cut you adrift
Your family anchor, gone
Now you're among the gods and ancient dead
No access visits home

During the night watch
After your wonderful coming
I did not see the invisible crow on the cradle
Later, you ran red lights, foot to the throttle
The dark is denser now that you have gone
And grief runs on a loop

For one sunny hour your friends stood still
Even the ones I crossed the road to avoid
At your departure, rebel, riotous boy

Down in the boneyard
May moon milk bathe you as a lover might
In the honeyed days of summer
May the psalmody of the grass
Drip sweet in your ears
Mean time, I count the days until we meet
My whirlwind, my lost son of storm and rainbow


Eddy
I knew a boy called Eddy years ago
Quite ordinary, kind hearted to a fault
Nothing he did was ever just for show

His girl was pregnant, had begun to grow
In girth. His babyseed too late to halt
Proud of this happening, he'd begun to crow

He laboured on a rural building site
Mixing cement, gray, gritty, hard as salt
Feeding the sludge, consistency just right

Into the turning blades. And then, they stuck
To clear the blockage he went headfirst in
It shook, restarted, churning man with muck

Industrial accident, the findings said
No consolation that, to Eddy, dead


A Visit to the Seaside
We're going to see the scabs of barnacle
I'm ten years old. The sea is not my choice
My nose is slowly filling up with phlegm
And twenty thousand gulls have found their voice
The stink of rotten fish that some call bracing
Is briny, and the rocks are slippery sharp
The slimy seaweed grips my frozen ankles
As friendly as the nuzzling of a shark

A pair of ragged claws creeps from a rock pool
It waves its pincers, peers through bubble eyes
The frothy foam is stained lie cappuccino
And bones of a dead haddock, wave-born, rise

The sea anemones are purple jelly
Like Frankenstein's dead liver, fringed and wet
The razor shells are scraping down my footsoles
The stinging jellyfish I'll not forget

Oh horrid, nasty, smelly, whelks and mussels
Like pods of snot within each carapace
The seaside is for birds- and they can keep it
I do not warm to Neptune's fishy race

In the Doctor's Waiting Room
We sit, spatially separate
On wiped down seats

A plastic tree or two
Stands scrupulously clean in this hygienic desert

No magazines, no pamphlets
Birds outside the windows mock Covid restrictions

Artificial light imitates sunshine
Behind anonymous doors
Life changing news is given
A sentence is handed down
Somebody swallows terror like a pill

Patients are buttoned up,
Locked down,
A DJ over the radio chatters like a jay

Racing towards the finishing line,
Stroke, diabetes, cancer
Stroke and diabetes are currently neck and neck
The rank outsider, cancer
Closes the gap