Poems From The Tv's 10th Birthday Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Forensic
The book of Xi Yuan Lu (Washing Away of Wrongs) ,
Was written in China in 1248

The writer was Song Ci, director of justice, jail and supervision
He lived in the Song dynasty.

Song Ci had ways to uncover
The reappearance of injuries on dead bodies, in bones,
Using sunlight and vinegar under a red-oil umbrella

He could calculate the time of death,
Allowing for weather and insect activity
He could tell what suicide was or fake
He could tell who had drowned or been strangled
He could tell who'd been murdered,
Or died by unfortunate accident

Where was someone like him?
When Betty Hadden, aged eighteen
Stepped out gaily with two sailors
In chilly Aberdeen harbour
On a Wednesday one December,
Betty Hadden, fish gutter, waitress, shiftless
Shoplifter, feckless, party girl?

Her arm was found amongst seaweed, like so much jetsam.
Severed at the elbow
Twine was tied in a granny knot at her wrist
A cruel bracelet
Her body was never found.

Her arm was preserved in a jar
Held at Mariscal College,
Used as a prop during lectures upon police work,

Later, her arm was flung out
As surplus to college requirements




Torgalater
The braes are emerant green wi fern
Up tae yer hochs in heicht
The yalla skylich's in the sheugh
Wi wannerin willies bricht

An erne hings abeen the clouds
Far Abergeldie stauns
He is the King o aa this airt
Aye even Gordon lans

The Dee gangs reeshlin ben the glen
The life bluid frae the braes
Torgalater wi scentit breem
The waucht o simmer breem


Veesions frae a Heilan Burn,1986
Warm June, the Simmer Solstice in Glen Gairn
Inbye a fermer's caravan, bairns sleep
The Day's bin theirs, dookin in peaty puils
The Nicht is mine, I steer tae hear tods creep

A stride awa, the burn rins skinklin bye
Sauchs boo their branches, murners swypin graves
I wyde intae the watter, skirts held heich
An dowp upon a steen, amid the waves

This night in Tomnaverie doon the Dee
The Druid stanes haud vigil like masel
Lippenin tae derkness, seelences an souns
The sweesh, the sweel, o watter, steeked harebell

A swippert troot kerplunks ooto a puil
The splash in meenlicht mirrors starnies glent
The meen's fite, eildritch face luiks waesome doon
Myndin o ferlies doon the years She's kent.

The Gregorach o Dalfad frae the Black Brig
Left fur Culloden. Ooto twenty fower
Sax men survived, cam back tae birssled hames,
Glen Gairn Gaels, wracked bi Drumossie Moor

An nae a single myowt did the meen gie
Ower Flodden,ower the Gordons on the Kwai
Ower Mary Queen o Scots aneth the Aixe
Ower Vikin warssles on the isle o Skye

The watter rinnin by gurgles an skirps
A hoolet skreichs,bean-nigheboos in state pro. ben-kneea
Washin the cloots o Gregorach lang deid
The Past's awa, sicht thochts evaporate

This is the meen that watched Van Goghgae gyte
The meen abune the clachan o Chagall
The meen that Rousseau pentit ower his cyard
The meen that wis wud Nero's funeral pall

The branches o the birches fusper saft
Like widlan luvers sharin secrets swete
A wyver knits her moosewabs in the derk
A futterat pammers by on fleein feet

The flooers are blin, their heids are hingin doon
The ghaistly ivy lowses fleein bats
The burnie's straikt wi siller in her hair
The troots lowp heich as sequined acrobats

Warm June, the Simmer Solstice in Glen Gairn
Inbye a fermer's caravan, bairns sleep
The Day's bin theirs, dookin in peaty puils
The Nicht is mine, her glamourie rins deep


The Cam-ruadh
The Cam-ruadh wis an archer in Braemar.
His stature didnae exceed five feet in heicht
He'd jist ae eye, bit could see tae hit a midgie
Fur thon ae ee wis blessed bi byordnar sicht
His feet wir flat, his shanks wir unca bandy
Bit nane could beat Cam-ruadh at a lang race
In character, Cam wis a man o deeds
A luik o tod, cuddie an wasp shawed in his face

This aiblich lived an deed at Aldmhaidh byCluny
In saxteen fortyfower fin Argyle men
Caaed ‘Cleansers' spulzied the Aberdeenshire Heilans
Causin wae in mony's the Deeside Glen

The Cam, wi his winnerfu pouers o archery
Heard a pairty o Cleansers come up frae Cromar
Hid spulzied Isla an Glenshee cruelly cleansin
An slain the miller's sons in thon smaa war

A Cleanser raised his sword tae slay the miller
A twang wis heard, Cam's aim wis faist an keen
Syne arra eftir arra slew the raiders
He killed nae twa, bit a total o eichteen

The ither Cleansers fled, left flocks an herds
They'd reived frae honest Deeside cattlemen
An swore that they'd be back tae thrash the archer
That killed their kin upon thon bluid-steeped glen

Ae unca rainy mornin nae lang efter,
The Cam was herdin his neebors flocks an herds
Rowed in an orra plaid, aa tatterwallops
Spikkin awa till hisel in brukken wirds

Twalve Cleaners chappit Cam upon the shouder
Thinkin he wis some gyte auld dottled cyard
He played the pairt, tuik tent o their bows an arras
They lauched at him, this body sae ill faured

‘Tell us far this Cam bides', the Cleansers telt him
‘An ye can hae a bow, wi arras tae'
An fin he'd gotten the weapons that he wintit
He shawed the Cleansers fit his virr could dae

‘Hae mercy on us, ' skreiched the Cleanser's chieftain
‘We'll leave Deeside an winna return again! '
Thon's foo he rid the glens o orra reivers
An saved the lives o mony decent men


Fear na Bruach: Man of the Braes
Fear na Bruach,Man of the Braes wis skeely
He wis ane o bonnie Prince Charlie's best sawbanes
His parents sent him tae Italy, studyin medicine.
Fin he cam hame, they wir happt bi kirkyaird stanes

The famous Cagliostro fa hid trained him
Screivedhim a letter, unca fey tae read
Sayin he'd had a veesion o a serpent
Fite in colour, that crept each noon tae feed
An drink frae a well at the boddom oCoire Chronie,
The Corrie o Echoes. Cagliostro said
Tae gie it cream, catch it, an sail tae Palermo
An Fear na Bruach did as he wis bid

In Italy, the wizard Cagliostro,
Ordered his student tae kill, an byle it up
In a cauldron, bit nae tae sup the bree o't
Bit Fear na Bruach sneakit a cannie sup

Bluidhounds chased him, he lowpt an struck a tree
He wis bumbazed fin a yett in the tree sprang wide
He crept inbye, bedd seelent aa day an night
In the meenlicht, steppit oot frae its widden side

He catched a boat as it sailed ooto the herbour
An hame he gaed, a physician o great pouer
An while he lived he cured aa fowk that fand him
Until his hinmaist day, his deein oor


Twa Laments

1.Things I should hae dane
I should hae nursed ye
On a cloud fur a cradle
I should hae showdit ye
In a bouer o hummin birds
I should hae bin a dream catcher
Catchin yer widdendremes
I should hae rowed ye in
Swan's doon, rose petals, gowans

First born, could I reel back time
In a hairt beat I'd dae it
Bit I canna an couldnae
An oh, foo I've larned tae rue it!


2.Doon in the Eird Hoose
Doon in the Eirde Hoose
Ma son has gaen
There are stanes on his broo
There are stanes on his een

Masel like an auld dry stick bide here
The years pass by on ma deid loon's bier

The pink flooerin gean will turn tae black
Afore that he'll rise an I win him back
Pyson will soor the luvin cup
Afore the cauld mools gie him up

Doon in the Eirde Hoose
Wyte fur me
Thegither we'll bide till eternity


Blood Ties
Near the fit o the Cairngorms
Bi Fealaar twa hunters sleepit
In a hidden airt weel happt bi wids
In a hut, in shaddas steepit

Intae the bothy a vampire crept
It sookit them baith o bluid
An sae the hunters becam the prey
O a son o the Divil's seed!


Three Drummers
At a neuk o Embro'sRoyal Mile
An the Sooth Brig sits Tron Kirk
Wauk cannie bye thon eidritch airt
In the jeel o the dreich pit mirk

For the Kirk has a secret tunnel
That rins neth the Castle waa
An the story's telt, on a quaet nicht
Ye micht hear a drummer caa

Fowk say the laddie's heidless
An its jist his drum that's heard
Since Oliver Cromwellfocht the Scots
Wi musket fire an sword

An whyles in the streets o Embro
Fin the towrists weir awa
Rat-rat-tat cams the ghaistly drum
Frae aneth the Castle haa

In Aiberdeen, the Royalists
Merched into the toun ahin
The michty Marquis o Montrose
Raisin a warlike din

He sent a messenger on aheid
Wi a drummer bi his side
Demandin the toun's surrender
At the heicht o his pouer an pride

Somebody shot the drummer,
The laddies drappit deid
An Montrose lowsed terror aroon him
The streets ran reid wi bluid

An three years eftir the killin
Wis't because o the drummer loon?
The plague won intae the city
An it struck hunners doon

Awa in Cortachy Castle
Near Angus, Kirriemuir
A drummer haunts the biggin
His daith wis coorse an sair

Fur he lued the Leddy o Airlie
An the Leddy she lued him
Bit fin her guidman kent o this
The drummer's Weird wis grim

In his ain drum he wis stappit
An flang frae the castle tap
An he cursed the Earl an his kinsmen
Syne deed fin he made the drap

Three eildritch Scottish drummers
That wauk the line atween
The deid fowk an the leevin
Wi anely their ghaisties seen


Twa Hames / Two Houses.
Built in1869:15 Albert Terrace, Aberdeen
Built circa 1830-66: The Shack, Viewfield Road, Ballater

The town house of my family froze in time
I looked out onto cobbles, gas lights, church
The coal man still delivered sooty sacks
The chilly grates held smoky jetty rocks

The piano in the music room shone bright
The veggie man called with his shire horse
Great, gentle, whisker-mouthed, with yellow teeth
My mother scooped its droppings for the roses

Our garden had old hollyhocks and thistles
Hydrangeas, Tom Thumbs, chives to pull and cut
High crumbling walls to shield our privacy
A garden seat to soak the sunshine up

And there were wooden shutters behind windows
And fire guards, with poker, shovel, tongs
And prints of Highland cattle, Highland lochs
And many knickknacks from Victoria's empire

We'd chamber pots and laid linoleum
And oriental brasses and coal scuttles
A mangle and a pulley for the wash
And crocheted chair backs, fine embroidered lace

A grandmother, two children, parents, dog
A cover for the table, fleecy lined
A heavy safe to hold important papers
A gas mask, first aid kit from world war one

It was as if Victoria still ruled,
As she had done when granny was a girl
When clippers sailed the seas to ply their trade
And farthings, coppers, shillings weighed in pockets

The Shack wis hame aa simmer, whyles wikkeyns
An inside lavv set boddom o a stair
A timmer stair that raise up tae a lobby
An twa wee rooms. The kitchie, beds, wir there
Front windaes luikit oot tae Craigendarroch
Back windae saw Craigcoileich ower the Dee
The kirk clock chimed the oors, oor toast wis buttered
Baith sides, or sae it seemed, wi ecstasy

Here aabody spakk in oor family leid
Doric an kent, wi nae fantoosherie
An ilkie meenit I ran wud ootower
The knowes, the queen o aa that I cud see

A hame neist door tae paiddlin puils an bandies,
O heather braes, o deer an erne that flew
Abeen the prods o Lochnagar I'd wanneret
A magic airt o warmth an simmer dyew

Twa hooses, an ae hame. I bedd in baith
Bit jist ane I'll takk wi me tae the grave