Sheena Blackhall

Gold Star - 4,859 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Sheena Blackhall Poems

81. The Great Boddam Cat 2/7/2010
82. The Hypothetical Tiger 2/7/2010
83. Rat 2/7/2010
84. Falcon 2/7/2010
85. Salvador Dali's Sofa 2/7/2010
86. Deflowering 2/7/2010
87. The Boar 2/7/2010
88. Toads In March 2/7/2010
89. Dead Robin 2/7/2010
90. Serpent 2/7/2010
91. Church And Still Horizon 2/7/2010
92. Sea Dog 2/7/2010
93. A Visit To Rome 2/7/2010
94. People Who Visit Woods 2/7/2010
95. Highland Village 2/7/2010
96. The Clay Speaks To The Potter 2/7/2010
97. The Psychiatrists' Safari 2/7/2010
98. Julian Petrocles Proctor-Jones 2/7/2010
99. I Believe 2/7/2010
100. The Watcher In The Grass 2/7/2010
101. Past Tense For My Father 2/7/2010
102. Ticking Clock 2/7/2010
103. The Moon Speaks 2/7/2010
104. Maternity 2/7/2010
105. The Last Hillman 2/14/2010
106. The Tiger 2/14/2010
107. Monkey, City Palace, Jaipur 2/14/2010
108. Epiphany 2/14/2010
109. On Telling A Werewolf Story 2/14/2010
110. Howdie(Scots) 2/14/2010
111. Incantation (Scots) 2/14/2010
112. School Visit Of A Scots Specialist 2/14/2010
113. Pass Word 2/14/2010
114. Sky, Sea, Beach 2/14/2010
115. Dialogue With Table 2/14/2010
116. The Horticultural Poem 2/14/2010
117. Daisy Chain 2/14/2010
118. The Veggies Response To The Vegan 2/14/2010
119. Kai Moon's Dip 2/14/2010
120. Midnight House Upon A Summer's Day 2/14/2010
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

Winnie On A Swing

Winnie on a Swing
Her feet touch the chimney
Where a crow is roosting

Her pigtail on the backswing
Brushes the grass,
Flicks away an aphid

Tick tock, an hour of play till sleep
She laughs softly.
The swing slices the air.

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