Sheena Leith

Sheena Leith was raised in the North East from whence she travelled and taught abroad for many years. She has written poetry most of her adult life, but has concentrated more on it since she retired from full-time teaching.

Poems

• A Thocht
• There's Bennachie
• Country Loon

 

A THOCHT 'At maun gie ye a sair heid. Stracht up throu' tar. Wis there ony need? The saft grun's nae far. A bittie tae the left or richt Ye'd o' won easier oot tae day licht. Life grows fae far it is an sae it maun. A body tholes the sair heid as best he can! Return to top

 

THERE'S BENNACHIE There's Bennachie we say. And we know what we mean. A landmark; a focal point you offer the reassurance of familiarity to those who set their stooks or draw the furrow straight, with an eye on Bennachie. And those who pitted the stubby legs of infancy against your sides, can find you yet. Distilled images woven with childhood's vigour into our own mythology. Yes, there's Bennachie. We know where we are. And with a foot on such firm ground we dare to mock at our own uncertainty. For even when we peer beyond gnarled heather roots, chasing elusive history, we know we’ve made a mountain out of you, Bennachie. Seeking our own identity? Return to top

 

COUNTRY LOON It wisnae easy for ony o's. Wiks o' you losin' athing an the threid o' maist things; takin' aff oot the windae across a ploo'd park in a cauld December nicht. It wisnae easy. Dubby sheen tae clean an you the loon, in fae the horse speirin' for yir mither, an her deid lang seen. Telt; yi not a fite sark for the funeral. Sine stunin' at the windae pintin' oot the bonny rose pluntit in March for yir golden weddin'’. It wisnae easy, so ye wis hospitalized in Aiberdeen. Three wards later an fowr fleer up pyjama clad; keepit fae yir ither claes fair forfochan in yir ain confusion tryin' tae win oot throu' a haloperidol haze "A'm absolutely tint," yi saes. Bit I kint fine far yi wis, an' fit yi mint. Yi wisnae a'thegither tint. Return to top