Polly

Writings and Witterings


37 Comments

Valediction

I see you in the sky blossoms:
lapis lazuli, cloudy pearls;
in laburnum chains,
lime links and leafy swirls.
And the sunshine’s silvery golden show.

Think of days like today
when the sun shines as if it’s July.
I remember you, my friend,
and the times we spent
together.

Polly Robinson © 2015

My friend lost her fight with cancer last Friday – posting this in memory of the most generous, kind and wise woman who has left us too soon.


46 Comments

Earache

A poem for two voices – remembering a trip to the Canary Islands at this time of year :)

Earache

‘Oh! My ears hurt. My ears hurt.
It’s the wind that blows
over the oceans,
ruffling my clothes,
but worse than that,
even though it’s warm,
in my ears there’s an ache going on.’

‘Yes, I know, my dear,
the pain is intense,
you’ve been telling me
for hours, ever since
we got to this island
so far from our home,
but it is warm, dear,
and wherever we roam
at this time of year
it’ll always be true
that wind in your ears
will trouble you.’

‘But it’s making me blue
and this is not why we’re here,
they promised good times
full of sunshine and cheer.
The ache in my ears
is making me anxious.
Forgive me my darling
for being fractious.’

‘Well, the sunshine is here,
such a lovely day,
something to smile at
while we are away.
Perhaps you’ll feel better
if we go inside?
Though I’m sad if from sunshine
we have to hide.’

‘Ooh, look! A hat stall! Look my dear!
I’ll get a tea cosy to cover my ears
and take the ache away.
We’ll stay outdoors, our time won’t be ruined
by a mistraly breeze or worse that’s brewing.
Warm though it is, I can’t be doing
with pain in my ears, I’m only human.’

‘Ah, do not distress yourself
buy the hat,
in moments all will be swell.
You may have pain
in your ears, my dear…
But my ears ache as well!’

Polly Robinson © 2015

In response to a dVerse prompt by Grace aka Kathleen Everett – dVerse is open to all, have a go! :)


16 Comments

Faintly Curled

Four raven wings
framed by the pale
of dawn mist sorrow
swoop from the tower,
troop over lawns
watching prancing unicorns
paw the ground,
kick up sweet-smelling dust
and prepare to lock horns.
The birds caw and wish away
all ills of a mortal world;
after a year and a day
their wishes lie still,
faintly curled.
On the tower, wings of lead,
four raven wings spread,
as unicorns scent the air.

Polly Robinson © 2015

This poem was my response to tonight’s WWC prompt ‘Two Ravens’– it was to be for children (no age stipulated)


1 Comment

Flash Fiction Competition 2015

Polly:

The Fourth Flash Fiction competition is open – give it a go – open to all!

Originally posted on Worcestershire LitFest & Fringe:

  • The 2015 WLF&F Flash Fiction Competition is now open
  • Closing Date Friday 24 April 2015
  • Send us your flash fiction maximum 300 words
  • Up to three submissions
  • Entry fee: £4 per story or £10 for three
  • For rules see below
  •  Judges: Calum Kerr and Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn

The Flash Fiction Winners will be announced at the Festival Launch event Friday 12 June 2015

There will be a celebratory launch of the 2015 anthology later in the year

With thanks to our sponsors for 2015:

Simply Lets logo 4 web

We’re looking for Flash Fiction of fewer than 300 words to be submitted to us before 24 April 2015.

Competition now open. Payment details below.

Competition Rules

  1. Closing date is 24 April 2015.
  2. The maximum word limit is 300, not including the title (no minimum).
  3. You may send up to three entries.
  4. Submitted pieces must not have been published or performed elsewhere, must be the entrant’s…

View original 633 more words


6 Comments

Hare, Fox, and Owl

A hare a fox and an owl
met at the crossroads,
‘Come,’ said the fox, ‘show
me where we must hide
from the hunter.’
‘Oh,’ said the hare,
‘we don’t need to hide,
the hunters don’t seek
hares.’
‘Who, who,’ said the owl,
‘said they did?’

Polly Robinson © 2015

An update to a 2013 poem.


62 Comments

The Journey

Riding from 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
carrying dead sheep in its mouth
the Kraken, skin scabbed, wracked and ripped
scouts for the havering hare who nips
at the frail fingers of sylvan wamblers.

Polly Robinson © 2014

Reposting this especially for Poetics: Snowed Under, Iced In, Cosying Up – not sure about the ‘cosying up’ bit though… ;)