Ruminations Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Ruminations
Before I'm pitched into the grave
I want to revisit lupins by the Dee
I want to savour lilac in a lane
I want to lie with bluebells in a wood
I want to rest beside a field of corn

Before death slaps my little life in the face
I want to pick the maggots off regrets
Scrape the past away
Like sweat from a gladiator's flanks

Before I change into a ghost
I want to talk to horses about the seasons
Discuss with cows the meaning of acceptance
Compare the cruelties of humans with the family cat

I have fallen through life like Icarus
Feathers singed and melted by the sun

When I was a child
I was dusted by my mother like a doll
An object, one of many in the house

When I was a child
I slipped, skewered on a shard of glass
A cruel deflowering

Some nights my years dance round a bonfire
Thoughts crawl over a page like cockroaches

I have clattered through life
Like shoes, tied behind a wedding car

Now, I'm an old fat bumble bee,
Creeping along, wings wet with morning dew

When I'm pitched into the grave
My little days will float into the sky
Like blue balloons
To pop above the soaring flight of swifts


Homage to Haddo: Tune; Twa Recruitin Serjeants
Stroll on the dewy walks of Haddo's lands
The wildflower meadow, the great lime trees
The 2nd Earl raised the great mansion house
Here William Gordon would take his ease

This William was known as the Wicked Earl
He kept one wife and two concubines
And reared three Gordon families
Sturdy children from the Gordon loins

The Wicked Earl bought the lands of Gight
His son, George lived in the castle there
But when he tumbled from his horse
Gight learned the meaning of despair

Young Byron's mother Catherine Gordon lived
In Gight, fulfilling the prophecy
When the herons there left their heronry
A Gordon of Gight she would landless be

The fourth earl built three wondrous lakes
Became Prime minister of the land
He welcomed Victoria as a guest
And Philip Kemble of the acting band

South west he raised an obelisk
In memory of his brother, the aide de camp
Of Wellington, who died at Waterloo
Two brothers from the same illustrious stamp

The 7th Earl, a marquess, built a hall
For the community, a chapel too
A great entrance hall, with panels rare
Of Aesop's fables a bonnie view

Dip into Haddo's chequered history
In ww2 served Maternity
And far and wide in the music world
Is Haddo's choral society

Such treaures they are kept within this house
The coronation robes, the four post bed
Victoria slept in, and most bitter-sweet
A lock of hair from Scots Queen Mary's head

Stuffed birds from glass cages peer about
Birds fly past hides out in Haddo's grounds
Whole families in the play park take the air
At Haddo beauty knows no earthly bounds

The library is wood with cedar inlaid
With ivory, with Greek & Latin books
Stand ranged on the shelves like soldiery
And priceless furnishings in shady nooks

The walls of Haddo house are blessed with Art
Paintings by Raeburn, Anthony Van Dyke
The Raphael Madonna has no peer
No gallery nearby can boast the like

At Haddo you'll see Shakespearean plays on stage
Perhaps watch falconry, or archery
Hear opera, concerts, childrens' theatre shows
With craft fairs, picnics beside flower and tree

And if you delve down into history here
Lord Haddo's raid on Aberdeen was famed
He seized the provost, ransacked city homes
And was beheaded..thus his ways were tamed

Another Gordon Lord, a dreaded chief
In Covenanting times, his wealth he slid
In Hagberry pot at Gight to keep it safe
And trouble over, sought it where ‘twas hid

The diver he sent down to bring it back
Was drowned in that deep pool, oh so black
He feared to rise up empty handed, for his Lord
So fierce in wrath, had lost his precious hoard

Sensory garden, Haddo's pheasantry
Squirrel otter badger fox and deer
Bats, marsh orchids, aspen and birch
Haddo' s cornucopia throughout the year


#death