Polly

Writings and Witterings


Leave a comment

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 June?
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


10 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


16 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


5 Comments

not sorry yet

Meadow Run Away

four-year-old legs pumping running away
ma shouts after me ‘come back’ sister wails
ma is livid i pushed the bowl downstairs
this is how she sees it it is my fault
a tall ten-pint goldfish bowl three goldfish
i run down the meadow behind our house
it is hay-making time yellow grass scent
and dust tickle my nose and make me sneeze
sneeze stops me for long enough she catches
me i have glanced behind in my run and
seen her struggling with my little sister
but ma is grim-faced and determined that
i will be caught and punished it was an
accident i tripped knocked into the bowl
which bounced down each stair fish flying water
arcing the finest mirrored droplets splash
the sound of breaking glass tinkles downwards
she comes out of the kitchen babe on hip
and roars ‘nooooo’ i flee out the open door
my legs pump i feel my heart i hear my
breath coming jagged i smell the hay i
sneeze she catches me she screams thrashes me
and at each step thrashes me again all
up the meadow back into the house she
is crying hot angry tears me howling
mortified indignant rebellious
an accident i sob my jaw jutting
i am but four-years-old not sorry yet

Polly Robinson © 2012

‘not sorry yet’ was written in 2012 and published in my first poetry collection ‘Girl’s Got Rhythm‘ which was reprinted 2014.


2 Comments

About ‘The Wait’ & ‘The Roar’

I was fortunate enough to have some of my poems published in ‘The Wait’ and will certainly consider submitting poems to this year’s ‘The Roar’ – all the more worthwhile because ‘every penny our poets make goes directly towards fighting cancer.’ Follow this link for details:

About ‘The Wait’ & ‘The Roar’.


17 Comments

Bluebells

Castle Coppice near News Wood, Malvern Hills

Castle Coppice near News Wood, Malvern Hills

Bluebells

Bluest blue bluebell, harbinger of summer
bends and bows under dainty weight,
in shady dells delicate slumbering
melodic mass, merry mist of haze.
Dip down and dance,
shiver in scented puffs,
chinkling and tinkling like infants’ laughter,
slender stems, slight, tender yet tough,
fight off the advance of the Spanish Armada.

Polly Robinson © 2015

‘One of the wonders of our spring’ on BBC Radio 4 ‘World at One’ today reminded me of my poem ‘English Bluebells’ written in 2012 and published in my first poetry collection ‘Girl’s Got Rhythm‘. This is the 2015 version.


18 Comments

Midsummer Eve

Acknowledgement to worcesternews.co.uk

Acknowledgement to worcesternews.co.uk

Midsummer Eve

She is Sabrina, wending through Worcester,
gestures: splashes rock
in moonlight on windborne scents;
cow parsley, whispering waters,
her shadow caught by the clan.

Paths millions of years old
age around smooth muds
trodden by man.

She snakes through four counties,
visits the fairest cities,
leaves her sister to landscape
purple hills and golden valleys;
she never strays far
from the haunts of men.

All this we know as we hear her
swooping and dancing, see eyes close
romancing and glancing at words
to celebrate the place in which we stay.
It’s midsummer – midsummer eve.

Polly Robinson © 2015

To celebrate Midsummer Eve, this poem is written prior to tonight’s midnight walk around the River Severn – 10:30 meet at the Cripplegate Park entrance nearest Worcester Bridge – there will be performances!