Sheena Blackhall

Gold Star - 5,467 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Sheena Blackhall Poems

961. And How Am I To Love The World Again? 2/15/2017
962. Thought Police Of Art 2/15/2017
963. Old Age (3) 10/1/2017
964. Kinaalda: The Navajo Girls' Puberty Ceremony 4/8/2016
965. 15 Selected Love Poems In Scots 8/28/2009
966. Stick Man 6/29/2014
967. The Animal Refugees 9/8/2010
968. School Journey 2/14/2010
969. Views From A Window 11/15/2014
970. Of Auschwitz (7 Poems) 2/23/2010
971. Emigration Stone 6/27/2011
972. The Address Remembers 10/11/2017
973. Of Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes (3 Poems) 2/23/2010
974. Immigrant 2/3/2015

Comments about Sheena Blackhall

  • Tom Billsborough (4/30/2017 5:29:00 AM)

    Sheena is in my view one of the truly outstanding poets on Poem Hunter. The depth of her emotions and the power of her language constantly startle me. A great poet for the Granite City.

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  • Peter Evans (2/2/2015 9:38:00 AM)

    Hi Sheena,
    We produce the local village newsletter for Portknockie, 'The K'nocker', and have reproduced many Doric poems in our editions.
    Unfortunately, our resident poet, Ian Mair, has just passed away, and we wondered if you would allow us to reproduce some of your poems.
    The one I'm looking at right now is 'The Check-Oot Quine's Lament.'
    Great poem! !

  • Richard Beevor Richard Beevor (5/7/2014 4:19:00 PM)

    Hi Sheena, love the rabbits first snow, a lovely poem, hope I can achieve such a standard one day

  • Sally Evans (6/20/2011 6:28:00 PM)

    just wanted to say what a fantastic poet Sheena Blackhall is, in Aberdeensire Scots and English. Dont actually know whether my comment went in, as I am new to this amazing site

  • Sally Evans (6/20/2011 6:25:00 PM)

    Fantastic poet in Aberdeenshire Scots and English, terrific poems: -)

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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