Writings and Witterings


Ten Pound Poms

The skyline of the Sydney central business dis...

Crowds line

the docks in

the nineteen fifties,

Waiting to sail to

a new land, they’re thrifty;

They’ve paid just a tenner to

get on the ship

And want a lot

more than just a round trip.

A land called


arouses their dreams,

They think with

nostalgia of Britain, it seems.

Passports in hands, papers

in luggage,

They yearn for

the new world,

 new life,

new mortgage.

They spurn

the old world, the doled world, the cold world,

They are excited,

celebrating …


Citizenship promised after

only one year,

And warmth, their skin,

bones, eyes become


Some will be famous in

due course, perhaps,

The new life that beckons is

free of all traps,

And they dream of fame on

 the stage or in


The future is bright and

there will be betterment,

The scheme


 to other nations,

Many, it seems,

seek a change of


‘Please stay for two years or

refund the money,’

This is the land

of beer

and dunny.

Going to work in a new place,

With a

new face,

Without trace,


Polly Stretton © 2013

The new structure for this poem came out of the Arvon residential I attended in November 2012. I think it rather effective and would value your comments. It’s also posted to dVerse poets tonight as it’s about new beginnings, just right for the New Year.


Mindful Writing Challenge ~ January 2013 ~ Small Stone 1

Every January, Satya and Kaspa of Writing Our Way Home challenge us to write small stones thoughout the month. As Satya (Fiona) says ‘This simple mindful writing exercise can be life-changing.’

To write a small stone we simply pause, open our senses & record what we see, hear, taste, smell or touch.

Here is my first small stone for 2013:

Pink ink blink wink think
Picture scripture black on white
Squat splot blot hot shot

Polly Robinson © 2013

From memoirsofmarie.com

From memoirsofmarie.com


Old Bony Face

Mumified male head. The face is partially cove...

The face, the face, old bony face,
The one that’s oh-so-hard to trace,
A ghoulish grinning gapped grimace,
Jaw-rattling laugh reverberates.

The hollowness of deathly gates
Close the year that passed away,
‘You won’t be rid of me,’ he said,
‘I live on in your memory.’

Polly Robinson © 2013