Fur Sheila Templeton, Bard

She wis a heich wumman,
Heid an shouders in mony wyes
Abune the lave. Poetry wis her need
Aywis weel rigged oot
Born in Aiberdeenshire
Kennin the Doric leid

She wirkit weel wi ithers
Screived in baith Inglis an Scots
She raxxed oot in wirds tae the warld
Sharin her inmaist thochts

Here’s frae her poem Vilomah
(Sanskrit fur agin the natural order):

‘I win oot i day an bocht tulips
Skirie reid an yalla. She likit them
I hud tae trim the eynds, mak them fit
-an buy a spleet new vase.
The auld een wis roosty. Did ye ken
There’s speshul shops fir stuff like aat?
An I mindit tae tak a bottle o watter
-the kirkyaird tap’s nae wirkin.
I think they lookit okay
As if onything noo cud iver be okay.’

The poetry scene in Scotlan’s the puirer fur her passin
Mony will miss thon skeely bard, her wit, her passion
Takk frae the poems she screived, a rowth o lessons

Sheena Blackhall