Polly

Writings and Witterings


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


6 Comments

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


31 Comments

Untitled

Upright, shoulders back,
sitting on a kitchen chair.
Steam rises
from a white fine china cup.
Light motes
filter in the air.
He stares
at a drop of hot brown tea
cooling as it dribbles
from where his lips
touched;
it trickles stuttering down the side,
makes its way to the saucer
where a silver, tea streaked spoon
rests.
The spoon carried one
and a half spoons
of sugar to the cup,
as his hand shook
grains of sugar fell
to the table
and remained there;
round, white, slightly shimmering
on the green polka dot cloth.

Polly Robinson © 2015

 

Suggestions for a title would be welcome :)


27 Comments

Bones Under A Bridge

Tiny pile of bones
under a bridge
you were found out;
talked to the hawk,
or a murder of crows.
Maybe your first love,
the one that found you
in flagrante
set you up,
or perhaps the second
who had the pleasure
of hearing your infidelity.
Selfish, you will be alone.
The bridge didn’t help.
We will celebrate
bones ‘neath the bridge.
No one cares.

Polly Robinson © 2015