Polly

Writings and Witterings


21 Comments

Not Home

Before the face of all he owns
in front of times long gone
aeons of dark and dry bleached bone
behind a veil of song
all around beam rictus grins
while his expression’s stone
and rats gnaw through the black of bins
for all who are alone
he moves forward
in a flickering light
void voices on a phone
caution as his chest cleaves tight
shuffle here
shuffle there
shuffle home

Polly Robinson © 2015


12 Comments

Iris

Athenian red-figure lekythos, Museum of Art Rhode Island School of Design (http://www.theoi.com/Pontios/Iris.html)
You are a rainbow,
a golden winged messenger,
a dewey fresh faced goddess
refilling rain clouds
with water from the sea.

Speed of the wind,
with your man, Zephyrus,
by your side,
plunge into
the ocean deep,
underworld dark,
unhindered by the caduceus
staff in your left hand.

Sister to the harpies,
bring to Zeus the great oath of the gods.
Iris, with a ewer
of nectar.

Swift footed,
sure, like a storm,
see your sister’s wings
on Achilles’ heels.

Delicate herald of light
in a gossamer gown:
ruby red;
orange organza;
yardbird yellow;
green parakeet;
blue sky blue;
divisive indigo;
virtuous violet,
the realm of the rainbow is yours
always beyond reach.

Polly Robinson 2015


54 Comments

Spaced in Equality

Tonight at dVerse Poets, celebrating our fourth anniversary, Marina Sofia asks you to think of three words that mean a lot, and three words to describe things you are grateful for; my words are: Croome, curlicues, equality, and daughter, mother, language. Thank you, Marina, for the prompt :)

Here’s my poem:

Spaced in Equality

My mother would have been
singularly unimpressed
with the curlicues
in artwork at Croome
– spaced in equality –
that bit she’d approve,
the art, less so.
My daughter, ditto.
But to me,
to me,
they are the mother
and daughter of language.

Polly Robinson © 2015

With acknowledgement to https://www.pinterest.com/pin/84231455507316960

Island Pavilion, Croome, with acknowledgement to Jason Grimes of Atelier & Co via pinterest


17 Comments

Raku

I like to write to specific forms on occasion, even if they are traditional (I like a bit of tradition). Here is an Awdl Gywydd that I wrote in 2012 and published in my first collection of poetry entitled Girl’s Got Rhythm.

The Awdl Gywydd (owdl gow-widd) is a Celtic (Welsh) poetry form that complicates the end rhyme scheme by interlacing an internal rhyme throughout the poem on the second and fourth lines of each stanza. The end rhyme scheme is as follows: a,b,c,b… d,e,f,e, etc… however, the internal (cross-rhyme) can be placed in either the 3rd, 4th, or 5th, syllable position.

Raku bowls

Have a go at one…they’re interesting. Worth working at…

Raku

Crickle, crackle, raku glaze,
shattered craze of crafted pots,
bisque ware fired in burning kilns,
potters film, peel-off slip shocks.

Excitement lifts temperature,
glaze is sure to be red hot,
post fire unpredictable,
flames a miracle new pot.

Polly Robinson © 2012

Raku Fox

Raku Fox


9 Comments

Transient Sound

What’s that noise?
Overhead and to the right
a whirring, burring, buzzing –
you look for a whirligig

or

could it be a firework rocket?
In July?
At 7 o’clock in the morning?

or

have the aliens come
at last?

and

they’re as small
as
your ear.

Polly Robinson © 2015

First published in Girl’s Got Rhythm revised prior to posting


27 Comments

The Conjunction

July 1st saw a conjunction or ‘close approach’ between Venus and Jupiter in the western horizon. At the moment of closest approach, Venus was at mag -5.3, and Jupiter at mag -1.8, both in the constellation Leo. Details from In-The-Sky.org

Image © Y. Beletsky ESO 2009

Image © Y. Beletsky ESO 2009

The Conjunction

Venus and Jupiter,
kissing in the skies,
sink together slowly
before our very eyes,
bedding and bonding
way up high,
supreme mythical beings
from days long gone by.

Polly Robinson © 2015


18 Comments

No Creosote

In the potting shed
the scent of ancient creosote
wafts in heavy summer heat.
Years of grandpa, pipe in mouth,
leaning against the wall
as grandma wielded the black
brush and yelled,

‘Get back you
kids,’ followed by her gap-tooth grin.

She lives in the still-
standing walls…
no creosote now.

Polly Robinson © 2015

First published on this blog in 2014, this is a revised version – yesterday’s heat put me in mind of it.

Potting shed