Polly

Writings and Witterings


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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
a dead sheep carried 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… ;)


18 Comments

Frost Web

Lacy cobwebs creep the hedgerows
sharp as prying spiders’ eyes
glitter-edged and spiky, sparkling
clear spun sugar in disguise.
Lazy hips and haws lounge
as taut twigs cringe in fingered frost
while, fluffed-up red and round, a robin
chirps for all the worms he’s lost.

Polly Robinson © 2015


11 Comments

Frost–Christmas 2014

Chilled window glass
and frozen grass
glitters an aftermath
a greened smattering of snowlike stuff.
Ice sparkles blossom and blush
in the aeons of dawn, a silver flush
to put sequin stars onto blades and shards,
magical cobwebs on bushes in boulevards
listening to the birds.

Polly Robinson © 2014

Acknowledgement to www.deviantart.com

Acknowledgement to http://www.deviantart.com


44 Comments

Bear – A Found Poem

Rancid bear lingers
with Woodbine’s glow,
the ginnels of grim,
a guess, a no show.

The stink of cheap scent,
acrid smoke stains the ceiling,
mortal man shuffles bent
from six summer’s tunnelling.

Foundations rock
to their weighted layers,
our hero, stunned, shocked
a reluctant nay-sayer.

Pissed again on unoaked whiskey
still warm from the last roaring day.
No sleep, no bedrock, all too risky.
Fail as the sun fades away
to butter on the tongue.

Polly Robinson © 2014

This poem was found during a workshop exercise where we worked on descent and dissent at the OU Poets weekend in Devon. I think it fits well with the prompt from Anthony Desmond over at dVerse poets – take a look and join in…


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A Secret Mystery

J.Sheridan Le Fanu

J.Sheridan Le Fanu

After Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

A Secret Mystery

Soulful Maud wanders in solitude
thinking of the strangest attitudes,
of Dickon’s stumpy gait,
of cousin Dudley, loutish and rude,
she flees from him, escapes.
Silas: sinister opium freak,
Milly: rustic, amiable, weak,
thoughts of a marriage to Dudley reek.
Maud’s held like bait.

Madame de la Rogierre appears,
Maud appalled, recalls earlier fears,
plagued by poison intent.
Her governess of lies and spy years;
tortured, Maud’s in torment.
Dragged and driven to a train carriage,
forced to think on a hateful marriage,
knows her qualms will be disparaged.
Shock-scathed; she’s spent.

Wakes to find herself at Bartram-Haugh,
told she is mistaken by the sobs
of hollow-faced Madame,
great long nose and gobbling, cackling chops,
presence like a phantom.
Maud watches crouched in a corner, hidden.
Dudley takes a spiked hammer, driven
to smash the brains of a strange victim.
Thought it was Maud.

Polly Robinson © 2014

September 2014 marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of Le Fanu (1814-1873). He’s famous for several gothic tales and poems. In A Glass Darkly and Uncle Silas are amongst his better known works. This poem is based on the story in Uncle Silas and on the form of his poem The Stream.


4 Comments

Inkspill

Nina onlineNina is running a writing retreat online at her blog this weekend-click on the link to find out more.

Inkspill.

Why join in?

  • You will get a FREE online writing retreat for the entire last weekend in October.
  • You will receive professional advice.
  • Have an opportunity to share your work and targets with others.
  • Meet other writers and have designated time to work on your own writing.
  • It will motivate you to write.
  • A good warm up if you are considering NaNoWriMo this November.
  • It will be FUN!

AND…she’s joined by William Gallagher, Charlie Jordan and Heather Wastie.


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Void

empty shoe www.flickr.com

Empty Shoe – acknowledgements to http://www.flickr.com

A last [1]
forms material shaped
to fit

under leather,
above sole,
below bowed laces

filled by instep,
flesh and bone,
five toes

the void

unthought-of, invisible
yet visible
gap to be filled

Polly Robinson © 2014

A cobbler's last acknowledgement to:  marketlavingtonmuseum.wordpress.com

A Cobbler’s Last – acknowledgements to: marketlavingtonmuseum.wordpress.com

[1] A block or form shaped like a human foot and used in making or repairing shoes.