Polly

Writings and Witterings


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Tim

A singer / songwriter brought back to mind by a meeting with friends…thanks Holly. My tribute.

Tim

Vietnam heroin
changed his life,
held in thrall
–white evil.
‘If I were a carpenter’
Woodstock.
No one
there
will ever forget
the haunting
perfect cut gem,
from a wondrous
poignant
pen.
OD.

Polly Robinson © 2015


17 Comments

Hear The Dance

Background music,
‘for company,’
to me, that is
–cacophony–

But listen,
really listen,
hear the words,
feel the melody, impact, rhythm:
heart bursts,
eyes shine,
body sways,
mind fills
and tingles neck’s nape.
Dance takes shape.

♩ ♬ ♩ ♬

Polly Robinson © 2015


28 Comments

Familiar

Potatoes:
first earlies, small and new,
later ones stored for the winter.
Clay and earth
turned to tilth,
rough handled spade
leaves splinters.
Apples ripen
and are wrapped
in newspaper
staining fingers.

In the cellar
down stone steps
the clatter of heels.
In the cold,
breath freezes.
The dog in its kennel,
head on paws;
looks from under brows
then moves eyes to the side,
as if to say, ‘Go away.’

A place of lacquered music boxes,
globes, clocks, a box of matches:
laughter, anger.

High praise and low
days are common.
Rows end in tears
and gladness.
Familiar.

Polly Robinson © 2015


48 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)


27 Comments

Bones Under A Bridge

Tiny pile of bones
under a bridge
you were found out;
talked to the hawk,
or a murder of crows.
Maybe your first love,
the one that found you
in flagrante
set you up,
or perhaps the second
who had the pleasure
of hearing your infidelity;
selfish, you will be alone.
The bridge didn’t help.
We will celebrate
bones ‘neath the bridge.
No one cares.

Polly Robinson © 2015