Sheena Blackhall

Bronze Star - 2,845 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Sheena Blackhall
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Sheena Blackhall is a writer, illustrator, traditional ballad singer and storyteller in North East Scotland. From 1998-2003 she was Creative Writing Fellow in Scots at Aberdeen University's Elphinstone Institute.She has published four Scots novellas, fourteen short story collections and over 100 poetry collections, some of which are listed here (most recent first) . Two of her plays have been televised. She has won several national awards for Scots poetry and short-story writing. In 2009 she became the poet laureate for Aberdeen & the North East of Scotland. more »

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Comments about Sheena Blackhall

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  • Peter Evans (2/2/2015 9:38:00 AM)

    Hi Sheena,
    We produce the local village newsletter for Portknockie, 'The K'nocker', and have reproduced many Doric poems in our editions.
    Unfortunately, our resident poet, Ian Mair, has just passed away, and we wondered if you would allow us to reproduce some of your poems.
    The one I'm looking at right now is 'The Check-Oot Quine's Lament.'
    Great poem! !

  • Richard Beevor Richard Beevor (5/7/2014 4:19:00 PM)

    Hi Sheena, love the rabbits first snow, a lovely poem, hope I can achieve such a standard one day

  • Sally Evans (6/20/2011 6:28:00 PM)

    just wanted to say what a fantastic poet Sheena Blackhall is, in Aberdeensire Scots and English. Dont actually know whether my comment went in, as I am new to this amazing site

  • Sally Evans (6/20/2011 6:25:00 PM)

    Fantastic poet in Aberdeenshire Scots and English, terrific poems: -)

Read all 4 comments »
Best Poem of Sheena Blackhall


I can't imagine dying in this land.
The neighbours here have doors graffiti-red
‘Why are you brown? ' another pupil asked
‘I think because my folks are brown, ' I said

Out on our landing, someone's dumped a bed
I dream in Hindi. I don't understand
The baby words in English in my school book
At games, or dancing, no one takes my hand

I miss the smells of curry, frangipani,
The steaming chai at Delhi's teeming stalls
The cooking fires. I even miss the sewers
The thieving monkeys with their chattering calls

I miss the temple incense, the bright ...

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