The Seely Howe (English Poems) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Late Holiday, Ballater

August, a dog sleeps two doors near my room
One flopped ear like an envelope's cream flap

The barley-field lets loose its braided hair
I breathe in pine, through sun motes dancing gold
Now the wood's sighing sweeps down like a mist

I am back in my childhood village, my healing place
staring up at the hill with his face of oak

People pass, anonymous, unknown
Only the hills, the river and the earth
Acknowledge me, as one who has shared their days

In the Druid hollows, a bird pipes out a coronach
Where did the years go, those light-foot leavers?
The rowans, scarlet red, droop heavy now
Like blobs of blood, their branches thin and trembling
Dying, they give birth to the catkin season



Let's Pretend

I am re-inventing your childhood
Let's pretend your bedroom
Was specially painted blue
With mobiles, night-light, music
Fit for a prince.

Let's pretend
You only cried if you fell
And never from fear or grief.
That everyday adventures were always nice

Let's pretend
You never held a gun
Were blooded before you were ten with your first kill
That you never cowered from the belt
Or ran away, stayed up till the wee tired hours
Child-gambler, playing daddy for pennies
Eight turned twenty one

Let's pretend that mummy
Wasn't a sponge of tears
That leaked out messy and useless,
A wreck with no brakes or gears

I am reinventing your childhood.
Let's pretend that mummy
Didn't give you away
Believing the lie that the Nanny State knows best

Intelligent, musical, quick,
A natural leader and athlete, the teachers wrote
But all those early apples withered on the bough
Counted for nought

I am reinventing your childhood
Indulge me kind ghost
And all those other ghosts
Who walk that bitter track
On torn, bleeding feet

The Past is gone away, beyond pretending
Ah, could I take it back!


Amuse Bouche: Finlay the Callander Cat

Finlay the cat is a poetry buff
He purrs through a spiced villanelle
He arches his back, if you're not to his taste
He meows at a slab of Rondel

If doggerel's on offer he picks at his paws
A haiku's his best Amuse Bouche
But sonnets, and ballads, found poems and odes
He swallows them down with a whoosh

Finlay the cat is accustomed to thrills
He watches his mistress spin honey
Like a dervish…the nectar that's culled from the hills
Sits in jars that are twinkly and sunny

Not a lover of hens, how he laughs when one flies
Off to plop like a plumb in the grass
As he watches a poet's attempts to retrieve
It while drenched to the giblets, alas

He will sprawl on a chair, lift a curious eye
On poets, with striped socks or none
Wearing retro, or Celtic, or post-hippy garb
As they read in the midgies and sun

Finlay the cat is a legend to all
He'll dispense the occasional nip
If his neighbour nods off in the mids of a verse
And a glass of wine's threatening to slip

His fur is the furriest, purrs are the best
He's the mascot of poetry dos
A Scottish Renaissance cat, down to his tail
With his whiskers and velvety trews


Kings of the Cobbles

Skateboard pirouettes and tips
Cracks like nuts the shoppers' shins
Baseball cap on back to front
The mad assailant strikes and grins

Cyclist pumping hairy legs
Mows down strangers, scares grandmothers
Bombs through green man's flashing sign,
The healthy option? Not for others!

Buggy - mummy pushing babe
Like ninepins, folk are toppled over
Shoves past queue. Her bum on bus
Takes up two seats, a cow in clover

Silver surfer wields her Zimmer
Boadicea on the warpath!
All should respect the elderly
Zimmer shover causes bloodbath


The Idols

Who do you idolise? Chaplin or Dali?
Madonna or Elvis? Or Mohammed Ali?

Leonardo da Vinci? The Beatles? The Who?
Stravinsky? Beethoven? Gandhi? Or Lulu?

What makes you worship them? Jealousy? Pride?
Or a feeling that you could be them if you tried!


The Old man from Dunoon

A lusty old man from Dunoon
In the sun, wooed a clippie from Troon
He lost his bus pass
When they romped in the grass
He walked home by the light of the moon


Pet Shop

Would you like an alligator
For your swimming pool?
Or a sloth to keep your toes warm
Or a vampire bat that's cool?

Would you let a monkey
Enjoy your trampoline?
Would you let it make your breakfast
Spread your toast with margarine?

Have you got nosey neighbours?
Why not buy a tall giraffe?
It'll spit into their barbecues
And give your kids a laugh

Maybe you'd prefer a porcupine
To keep as a foot scraper
Or a floppy jawed retriever
To fetch home the morning paper
I think an elephant would be
The grandest type of pet
When it rains, I'd sit beneath her
She would stop me getting wet


The French Poodle

There was a French poodle called Jean
Who crawled into the washing machine
When the drum was on spin
She flew round like a Ginn
And came out like a skinned runner bean


What Every Woman Wants

Chunky Mrs Chatterley, bursting from her coat
Chases after chocolate like a jet in flight
Chunky Mrs Chatterley, what floats her boat
Is Mars Bars, Toblerone and Turkish Delight

Pammy Barrecuda in her kinky boots
Peroxide blonde, she is desperate for a man
Red skirt flying like a matador's flag
Hungry for a lover who can fill her can

Purple Widow Pimberely, knickers in a twist
Purple Widow Pimberley down on her luck
Purple Widow Pimberley, permed and crimped
Looking for the dream of an easy buck


Tsunami (a Pantoum)

Floundering boats of asylum seekers
Displaced nationals, frightened, lost
Drowning children all at sea
Terrified flood of male war-fleers

Displaced nationals, frightened, lost
Waves of Moslems, swept off board
Terrified jungle of male war flee-ers
Crocodile welcome with cactus teeth

Waves of Moslems, swept off board
Crocodile welcome with cactus teeth
Seismic shift of cultural change
Tsunami of refugees. What's the cost?

Seismic shift of cultural change
Floundering boats of asylum seekers
Tsunami of refugees. What's the cost?
Drowning children all at sea


Apocalypse

Can be sung to the hymn tune ‘Jerusalem-
And did those rigs in oceans deep,
Poison the life force in each stream?
And did man's greed prove Nature's death,
And pleasant fields be no more seen?
And will the skies drop acid rain,
Over our ancient suffering hills?
And will all creatures pay the price,
As Man's corrupts and coffers fill?

Bring us the Wisdom to cry Halt;
Bring us the sense to stem the flood:
Bring us the power to save the world
Bringing an end to wars of blood
Midst darkening skies and climate change
We have destroyed our planets gifts
Give us the power to tilt the scales
As oceans rise and desert shifts


Urban Gorilla

Fox is an urban guerilla.
She is taking up arms against her persecutors
Her type of warfare is irregular
Fast moving sorties into gardens

Her strategy is to outsmart humans
To feed her family, save her way of life

She is villified in the press as a savage,
A bandit, an outlaw, a child of Satan

She suffers harassment, ambush, seige
The bloody campaigns of hunters,
Stalkers, predators, architects, builders

Forced to take refuge in suburbs
To furnish the basics for her boisterous cubs,
Fox must be resourceful
Be on guard against snares and traps

Fortunately, she hasn't mastered
The finer points of shouldering arms
Of setting mines and dropping acid rain


Whee!

What's life for if you can't go Whee
Like a jet or a supersonic bee
If you can't throw caution into the air
Like confetti over a Yeti's hair
Get on your bike and soar downhill
For the Hell of it- Isn't it such a thrill
To see the world with a zip and a zee
Like a blizzard of candyfloss gone whee!


The Corporal's Son

The corporal's son was handsome, drank Blue Wicked,
Was loyal, loving, blighted and betrayed
A legend to his friends, a lady's man
Sang like a nightingale.There was no happy ending
Too early, Mr Death knocked on his door
He has crossed on Charon's ferry, become a shade