Sheena Blackhall Poems

Fatima thrust her breasts out, shoulders back
Her chin's held high, hand on her hip
She could be a Queen of the Nile
The Niger, the Zambesi
...

This is a thriller
There is a baby, a cyclist
There is jealousy in the massage parlour
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1.Back o Bennachie

The peesie pipes her cloudy tune
Aroon the back o Bennachie
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1.Simmer’s End: Deeside

The Dee lies smeeth’s a kelpie’s keekin-glaiss
The swallin rose-hip skirps the brae wi reid
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Mr Bleaney's room was Spartan.
Curtains, thin;
A single, bulb-lit bed
Where he tucked in
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A bat flew into my room... and I recoiled,
My arms shielding my head instinctively.
Blind, winged, blundering, mole,
It clung by a sliver of claw to a far corner.
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As a child, I loved the sacks of seed
That slumbered in the barn like slack-mouthed toads.

I'd plunge small wrists for pleasure in the amber pellets,
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On the first day she was borderline.
It was white and sunny, the Dying Room
They gave me a rich tea biscuit the colour of clay
With weak tea, served in a hospital mug.
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Where were you when Kennedy died?
Watching Hitchcock's film 'The Birds'?
Did you hear the news from a TV screen
Could you take in the words?
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A crooked log delivers a straight flame
Belgian's pipe-smoking spectacled writer
Bedded 10,000 women
With the sexual drive of a dozen Errol Flynns
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