Polly

Writings and Witterings


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Dandelion Faeries

Dandelion faeries blow in the breeze
dancing to the tune of Croome,
murmuring mystical movements.

Ripples run
in rivulets and rings
and the dandelion faeries
tiptoe in time in a timeless haven,

swimming in the air,
splashing in sunshine
and shallows:
dainty dandelion fae.
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Polly Robinson © 2015


57 Comments

Shrine

Husband, signalman, he’ll be home soon,
carrying the noon whiff of Brasso-clean levers,
fusty yellow dusters, faintly grey.

Soft golden cloths
–red-thread blanket-stitched–
shine the upright handles.

He covers every angle,
a bright mirrored shrine.

Polly Robinson © 2015

My father was a signalman. So this week, as dVerse Poetics ask us to write about trains, this poem came to mind – a sort of homage to my dad. Hop on board.


15 Comments

Hooked on Chatterton

Spare half an hour to enjoy this programme, I’m hooked! Here’s a link to the BBC iPlayer for the documentary about Chatterton: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b05z5hc0/thomas-chatterton-the-myth-of-the-doomed-poet

My pamphlet, a series of poems: Chatterton is available as an eBook click here! The limited print first edition is sold out, but wonderful that it’s available on Kindle and other platforms–thanks Black Pear Press :)
Chatterton BBC4 Broadcast 15th June 2015


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I’ll Be Watching This…

BBC 4 Chatterton Documentary 8.30pm Monday 15th June 2015

Michael Doble of The Thomas Chatterton Society kindly sent me this link as he knows of my interest in, and pamphlet of poems about, Thomas Chatterton.

I’ll be watching on ‘catch up’ TV as I shall be out that evening with LitFest :)

Chatterton BBC4 Broadcast 15th June 2015


29 Comments

The Journey

Riding from the far North they came
through snow and sleet and sheeting rain.
Ice formed behind them, frosted, cracked
red dragon scales, in parts, looked blacked.
On wings sheer clipped, their fire breath quenched,
onward, moving South, they went.

Flying ahead of the sunset West:
werewolves; sprites in fiery vests;
pixies pointing ears to learn
where coal black jackdaws crash and burn.
There is no place to hide.

Then from the sunrise in the East
the faerie queen on bounding beast
the size of which sees grown elves weep.
They hear her voice so light (though deep)
control the slavering ride.

Inch by inch from the dry drought South
a dead sheep carried in its mouth
the Kraken, skin scabbed, wracked and ripped
scouts for the havering[1] hare who nips
at the frail fingers of sylvan wamblers[2].

Polly Robinson © 2015

This poem will mark the start of my ‘World of Fae’ compilation of poetry and prose. One day it will be complete :)

My thanks to a friend who helped me to amend one of the lines – appreciated.

[1] Act in a vacillating or indecisive manner – talk foolishly
[2] Something that moves unsteadily or with a weaving or rolling motion


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Tim

A singer / songwriter brought back to mind by a meeting with friends…thanks Holly. My tribute.

Tim

Vietnam heroin
changed his life,
held in thrall
–white evil.
‘If I were a carpenter’
Woodstock.
No one
can forget the haunting,
perfect cut gem,
from a wondrous
poignant
pen.
OD.

Polly Robinson © 2015