Sheena Blackhall Poems

Into the silent water, slips the silent prow
Lifting the dripping anchor over the tilting bow.

There's no star on the skyline, past the silver moon
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In the writers' farm I am free-range;
I don't want my eggs in one basket,
I want to be broody in lark's houses,
In hare's forms.
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I loved to hear him gasp with scared delight
Safe in my grasp, as we slid down the peat
Between the fir tree branches, low with cones
Close to the thundering Falls on angled feet
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I would like to tell this poem why I write,
This paper I drag my pen along,
Like a thin shadow.
The paper listens deeply.
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God only likes nice girls and tidy boys,
But you sat down with me, un-nice, no-good
In a way that nobody's parents ever would.
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Waves topple like skittles down the beach
A gecko is the room’s unpaying guest
Sinbad sailed these seas by such a moon
The old colonial bed stands on stiff legs
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It’s an October day. In Scotland, chilled by frost
The loyal robin shivers, others flee the coop.
Already Christmas tills ring up the cost
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1.The Robin(A Scots Owersett o the poem bi John Clare)

Noo the snaa haps the grun, far the wee birdies flee
Tae the but an the ben for wee crummles tae pree
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A Saltire blows on the breeze
Blue ganzies flap in the wind

The sea rocks up on the shore
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1.My Cat
My cat has a whiplash tail
a sandpaper tongue
Despoiler of bird sanctuaries
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