The Cloud Spikks English Poems Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
48 skin tags the surgeon was pleased to excise
Like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon cut down to size

Like the burls on a tree trunk, the tree's response to stress,
Or the conkers on horse chestnuts wearing their Autumn dress

Seborrheic keratoses and liver spots, unwanted gifts of age
And deep etched wrinkles, come with Time's turned page

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were pruned on a regular basis,
Ladies, the same should be done to necks and faces



Listening to the night
Listening to the night
I hear the soft whoo-whoo of the owl

Soft as the pad of a fox's paws on snow
So mellow, it thrums in my inner ear

It resonates on my night soul
Like a tap on a stretched drumskin
Gentle, gentle, barely touching the surface

My wild self, rusty with disuse,
Tingles, rises to my skin
Like the stirring of invisible wings


It's Wednesday.
It's Wednesday. Two drowned sisters float into the news
It's Wednesday. Students have blocked our parking space
It's Wednesday. It's not like breakfast at Tiffany's
It's Wednesday. I think John Clare would have liked Wednesdays
It's Wednesday. A solitary robin sang on our rowan tree
It's Wednesday. Snowdrops bloom in our garden
It's Wednesday. Cruise ships berth in the city's new deep harbour
It's Wednesday. A low plane shines like a falling star
It's Wednesday. I long for the scent of lilac and honeysuckle
It's Wednesday. My ears hold the echoes of bee-speak
It's Wednesday. Its children are full of woe
It's Wednesday. A burglar cried crocodile tears. The judge said No cigar
It's Wednesday. Tanks roll across the world
It's Wednesday. Adverts gate crash news film of wars

The Liberty Bodice
The liberty bodice had rubber buttons
Fashioned to preserve warmth

Worn over the vest
To retain the modesty of nipples
On the prepubescent girl

A juvenile form of corset
Without the whalebone stays
My granny wore.

Mother said stomaches must be contained
They need to be supported
Like plants in a greenhouse

She said that the big C was on the way,
Change was a mystery yet to arrive
And that big girls didn't sit on daddy's knee
And no more hugs, like I was a pariah

At school, handstands were banned
Because boys would see our knickers
And only bad girls flash their navy undies

There was no sex education in the fifties
I believed that dandruff was human seeds
I wriggled away from boys
With flakes of skin on their shoulders

Mother said women held the thin red line
Because boys couldn't help themselves, poor dears

So when one spring day I bled
I knew I was dying, that my insides were broken
Surprised that the sun stayed up in the sky
That girls around played skipping on the grass