Sheena Blackhall Poems

1. The Puddock

The puddock hunkers on his hurdies
Sittin on his dowp.
...

(for Dr. J.D.Gomersall, Centre for Psychotherapeutic Research, Sheffield)

The morning sun has risen oer the hill
And dawn is golden, pale as sifted wheat
...

The cello slits on her nose release a melodious moo.
Her copper pelt is soft as a maidenhair.
Spittle sits in the silky folds of her mouth,
Like seeds of milky dew.
...

It warms the cockles of the heart,
Morecambe Bay. Kiss me Quick
The summer bus- trip- tourist paradise.
...

The Irish Soldier
Edward Marshall is my name
Ireland is my nation
Leeds is my dwelling place
...

She bedd at the Slocks of Carvie
Nor' Wast o Morven Hill
A giantess o a wumman
A witch wi a witch's skill
...

Alice, a wife who was frigid
When her husband approached became rigid
Till he thought that she'd thawed
When she hissed and she clawed
...

I was ten when I married
Just after my periods started
I was a woman now, my father said
...

It's not just any old hill walk
You can't turn up in a pair of old boots,
A rain coat and sun glasses
...

After the marquee dance I crossed a field of frosty turnips
My stilettos cobbling on the rutted furrows

The taste of a farm boy's kiss
...