Sheena Blackhall

Gold Star - 5,284 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Sheena Blackhall Poems

41. Tree 6/14/2009
42. Bannockburn Crow 7/8/2009
43. Shoe-Case Auschwitz 8/6/2009
44. Holocaust 8/6/2009
45. Salmon Leap 8/29/2009
46. Vincent's Bedroom In Arles, Painted 1888 8/29/2009
47. The Lake 8/29/2009
48. Man In The Moon 8/29/2009
49. The Snap Shot 9/20/2009
50. Falling Asleep 1/31/2010
51. The Arching Scythe 1/31/2010
52. Rainbows 1/31/2010
53. The Pearls Of Morning 2/4/2010
54. Piano 2/4/2010
55. Stone Step 2/4/2010
56. The Dance Of Death 2/4/2010
57. The Beautiful Snails 2/4/2010
58. Tears 2/4/2010
59. Muse 2/4/2010
60. Portree: In Memorian, Iain Crichton Smith 2/7/2010
61. Steeplechase: The Creative Challenge Cup 2/7/2010
62. Brueghel's Paintbrush 2/7/2010
63. Beetle 6/14/2009
64. Multiple Haiku 8/29/2009
65. Suckling Sow 2/7/2010
66. Scotland 2/7/2010
67. House 2/7/2010
68. Oh Lovely As A Lily 2/2/2010
69. Sharing A Retreat 2/7/2010
70. Ice Cream 2/7/2010
71. Chanticleer's Wife 2/7/2010
72. Falcon 2/7/2010
73. Cows 2/7/2010
74. Gates Of St. Machar Cathedral 2/7/2010
75. Night City 2/7/2010
76. Sunday Beach 2/7/2010
77. Salvador Dali's Sofa 2/7/2010
78. Deflowering 2/7/2010
79. The Boar 2/7/2010
80. Ode To A Patio 2/7/2010
Best Poem of Sheena Blackhall

Immigrant

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 ...

Read the full of Immigrant

Wolf Prints

I write in a cold climate.
There may be a moon,
There may not. There may be snow,
There may not.
I write from need, from no-need.
I write from joy from no-joy.
My words are stones,
Skimming ancient water.
Finned poems,

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