Writings and Witterings



He knew.
He thought he knew, there would be
It opened up,
a black hole with white frosted spikes.
He did not witness
the evil taste, the smell
of the tainted
Instead, external aggression by
ships dragging anchors.

‘There’s more than one way,’
they said,
‘this is not a mirage.
‘Wait, it cannot be avoided.
‘excuses will be exposed.’
‘The present determines the future, but
the approximate present does not
approximately determine the future.’
‘Your time may come
‘to witness sabotage.’


Polly Robinson 2013



I’m not much of a one for putting photo’s of me on the web, but I really like this one taken at Parole Parlate. I read No Snow, Poetry Stew and Pantoum: Trust and listened to many fab performances. We had a wonderful evening.

Geoff Robinson © 2013

Polly Robinson performs Pantoum ~ Trust
Geoff Robinson © 2013


WLF Walk ~ There and Back Again

We had a wonderful day on the hills with our Poets in the Mist and a fab open mic session afterwards at The Malvern Hills Hotel ~ mega-thanks to all who contributed. There’s a full article beneath the slideshow below ~ first, here’s a copy of Gary Longden’s poem, which tells you all about our missing Poet Laureate …

‘A Laureate Goes Missing’

by Gary Longden

We’ve lost the Poet Laureate, she should be at the bench,
We’ve lost the Poet Laureate, a comely buxom wench.
She said she would be waiting, with wit and verse and rhyme,
She said she would be waiting, as we began to climb.
Perhaps she’s been absorbed in the mystic swirling mist?
Or perhaps, after a heavy night, she’s still comatose, still pissed?
She didn’t pay the car park charge – she’s pretty wild like that,
And if the parking attendant looms, she can charm him with her chat.
She wouldn’t stand for a parking fine – no official can browbeat her,
Because she uses poetic, not poxy parking metres.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Photos by Geoff Robinson

The very first Worcestershire Literary Festival Walk with poets at strategic points on the Malvern Hills took place Sunday 21st October. The event was immediately dubbed ‘Poets in the Mist’ as we all met at the British Camp car park surrounded by swirling fog. Some twenty-five walkers started the walk and followed walk-leader and photographer Geoff Robinson, bright in a high-vis jacket. They were accompanied by many dogs and followed by late arrivals, the Austen family ~ therein lies a tale.

Worcestershire Poet Laureate, Maggie Doyle, was to have been the first poet ‘strategically placed’ on the first bench as the walk commenced. The walkers reached the bench … no Maggie. Mobile phones were extracted from deep pockets but no joy; no sign of the missing laureate ~ oh dear. They decided to walk on. Unbeknownst to them, some ten minutes earlier, the Malvern Gazette photographer abducted Maggie! He knew that she was to be situated on the bench, but no, he decided he needed a clearer ‘backdrop’ and took her, bad back and all, further up the hill ~ to the consternation of a very nice man who came to tell me that they’d gone to the right up the hill as opposed to left down the hill. When the Austen family arrived, they heard the very nice man and went to the right rather than the left and subsequently got their photos in the paper :) Click the blue hyperlink to see the Malvern Gazette photo

In the meantime, I was in the car park pending the arrival of other late-comers. After a few minutes no-one else arrived and I got bored. I set off up the hills after the walkers only to be accosted by said press photographer. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I’m glad to see you! Maggie’s up there and I’m a bit worried about her getting down again, it’s slippery.’ Following a brief conflab ‘bench, bad back’ etc, I went in search of Maggie. ‘Maggie! Maggie! Where are you!’ No reply. But then! A vision! There she was walking out of the mist towards me ~ phew!

Our poet at Clutter’s Cave (also known as Giant’s Cave / Waum’s Cave) was the caped Jenny Hope sporting a hare walking stick; her poetry is simply superb and she held us enthralled ~ other passers-by stopped to listen and a birthday party group stopped and enjoyed Jenny’s reading.

In warm blue tunic and cape ~ poetical garb for sure ~ our third poet was Anglo-Saxon specialist and actor, Math Jones. Again, the walkers were held spellbound as he gave them ‘Puck in Love’ on the way up and ‘The Magic Pig’ on the way back.

The poet occupying our furthest reach, ‘Poet’s Point’ ~ actually one of the entrances to the archaic fort at Midsummer Hill ~ was Liz Hayden-Jones. Liz, an experienced walker, who had dressed for the weather, unmissable in a red and blue coat she was joined by poet Jennifer Boden with more wonderful poetry. Following a photo shoot the group walked back to find Maggie, finally, on the bench. Now it was time for The Malvern Hills Hotel, where the room was readied and waiting.

There were eighteen spectacular five-minute performances at The Malvern Hills Hotel. We had food and drink, a nice warm room downstairs just for us; a grand end to a fab day. Two of the children read their poetry, which was special. And you’ll have seen some of the poems written about Maggie’s escapades. Gary’s is repeated further up this page and here is Myfanwy Fox’s poem to be read out loud:

Lost Laureate

by Myfanwy Fox

We missed
Maggie Doyle, missed
in the mist;
there was no vist-
a. We thought she’d be pissed
off but she’d been kissed
by publiss-
ity; a tryst
ing our exist-
ing list
of poetry set in the midst
of mist
where wist-
ful missuses
might be missed
if you get the gist
I’ll desist.

‘Let’s do it again!’ I foolishly proposed, and they all went ‘Yes!’ So we’re thinking of a Midsummer Eve (21 June 2013) repeat of the walk ending on Midsummer Hill starting at 19:30, £5 each, no charge for children, all proceeds to WLF, bring your own picnic and a poem to read out loud. Hope to see you there :)


Nain Rouge ~ First Edition

A little while ago, the members of dVerse Poet’s Pub were invited to submit poems to Nain Rouge a start-up online publication showcasing urban life.  This invitation came during the celebration of the dVerse first year anniversary.  The assignment was to write a poem about city life.

If you follow this link Nain Rouge it will take you to the page entitled White Cat Publishing / Nain Rouge First Edition, click on the black and white photo and a .pdf will download, my poem is on page 23 surrounded by other dVerse poets’ work.  Great to see Gayle‘s superb poem about Boston as editor’s choice on the first page :)


Spilt Milk

Alleyway Refuge

He scrabbles in muck,
down on his luck,
a sorrowful sight,
with eyes swollen, tight
from crying
over milk
that was spilt
long ago.

He scrabbles in bins
for his things,
searches for food
in places you’d
rather avoid;
get’s annoyed
when offered help
he doesn’t want.

He scrabbles in brick dust,
crushed, flushed, stuffed
between lath
and plaster,
amongst jaws of
wood that splinters
against a darkening sky,
searching, always searching.

He scrabbles through days,
endless days,
tasteless days,
empty days,
and lays
his head down
at night
in a box,

with eyes swollen, tight
from crying
over milk

Polly Robinson © 2012


He scrabbles …
Polly Robinson © 2012


Summer Sun – a triolet

Following Catherine Crosswell’s first triolet “Pass the Parcel” back in April, I’ve been meaning to have a bash at one.  Today seems the perfect day, it’s so hot, too hot to actually do gardening [much as it needs dealing with!] – well, that’s my excuse anyway, as if I need one!

So here it is, my very first triolet.

Summer Sun

The summer sun beats down, merciless,
And the birds are exhausted with heat,
Sparrows dust bath, pigeons purr.
The summer sun beats down, merciless,
Up with sunshades, lounge, don’t stir,
A sun lotion Sunday paper treat.
The summer sun beats down, merciless,
And the birds are exhausted with heat.

Polly Robinson © 2012


Blood Diamonds

Nearly there … just this one and Day 22 to complete and I’m up-to-date!  Day 29 and I cannot find a prompt from napowrimo – oh no!  I’ll have to come up with something myself *racks brain* … OK, I have it … hope you think so too.

Blood Diamonds

November 2000 and police intercept a gang
Who plan to smash into the Millennium Dome,
To steal diamonds worth a mere
£200 million.

They intend to escape in a speedboat
On the Thames, like a James Bond film!
Conflict diamonds, synthetic diamonds,

Blood diamonds.
The monopoly is threatened.
Hidden hoarders of diamonds are scared.
Vast, is the hoard of secret diamonds,

Worth billions, yes billions.
A fall in the value of diamonds?
A catastrophe!
Ah, but we love diamonds, because they are

They are, (and we all know this),
Quite simply, a girl’s

Marilyn sang the famous song
About it
So …
It must be true …

And yet, the sadness of
Pain, politics and cruelty
Encrusts blood diamonds.

Polly Robinson © 2012

The Millennium Dome, London, UK