…of my kitchen. It’s a galley kitchen, so you’d think it wouldn’t take much ‘designing’, but, because of alcoves, butchers block etc, it has taken some arranging. The new one should arrive in February. I – can’t – wait. 😄🤣
T’was the night before Christmas
and, in our house
nothing was stirring,
no rat, bat or mouse,
but mousse made appearance
and trifle with cream,
it’s Christmas eve,
time to fantasise, dream.
The tree is waiting
for baubles and balls,
holly and ivy
deck up the halls,
home is so…homely
at Christmas
and neat,
with carpets fresh vacuumed
and dusting complete.
Parsnips, potatoes,
sprouts and fine wine,
sherry and cabbage
and walnuts sublime;
bacon and turkey,
pudding and snow,
pigs in their blankets,
tree lights all aglow.
Christmas memories of bygone years,
look to the future,
enjoy a few beers.
Polly Stretton © 2018
Some lovely memories from 2013 – friends enjoying a special day 🙂
Was ever anyone so blessed? So many lovely people at the Christmas Fayre today. More pics to follow of the Black Pear Press launch 🙂
This gallery contains 27 photos
My favourites came in cubes:
Pineapple, Kola,
and other boiled sweets
like toffee crunch
loose in quarters,
weighed out from glass jars
lining the sweet shop shelves.
Square quarter bags
and two ounce triangular paper cones;
right at the base,
where small fingers could firkle,
there lay the sugar
and slivers of sweets,
a delight on the fingertip,
on the tongue.
A memory so sweet
it makes the mouth water,
has lasted as long
as sherbet fountains
and liquorice sticks,
gob stoppers and bubble gum.
And Hallowe’en
brought cinder toffee
and Blackjacks
to stain your tongue.
Polly Stretton © 2013
Published by Silver Birch Press ‘MY SWEET WORD’ Series: Halloween Edition (2013)
Shabby pile of bones
under a black bridge.
You were found out;
talked to the hawk,
or a murder of crows.
The shapes in white body suits,
blue overshoes,
said ‘unmistakable odour,’
‘caustic’ was overheard;
forensics disclosed
burned flesh.
Maybe your first,
who found you
in flagrante,
set you up,
or the second, the witness,
incredulous,
who could not bear
to believe.
Selfish, faithless,
you are alone.
The black bridge won’t help,
it mocks;
celebrates bones,
Coeur Noir,
parched bones,
bones never to be grieved,
beneath the bridge.
Polly Stretton © 2018
Tuesday 18 September and it’s the Annual General Meeting of Worcester Writers’ Circle. This is the evening that Circle officers are elected for the coming year, reports are produced for last year, subs are paid, food and drink shared and a good time had by all.
If you’d like to come along and perhaps become a member of the circle, please email secretary@worcesterwriters.org.uk Come and see if we are what you are looking for…guests are always welcome.
The annual subscription is £18.
Cutting Back the Tayberries
In her head, Granny hears Satie’s Gymnopédie No.1,
the CD Grandpa bought her.
She is pruning the tayberries away
from Galloway Beltie cows.
The stalks beginning to brittle.
She sits on a stool to garden.
She shuffles back to her bungalow
with tiny feet that shrink over time.
Time for her tot, whisky and ginger ale,
with not too much ginger.
She sits on the patio, her back supported,
sips her drink, watches the sun fading.
Edwin Stockdale’s debut pamphlet, Aventurine, was published in September 2014 by Red Squirrel Press.  He has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Birmingham with Distinction and is researching a PhD in Creative Writing at Leeds Trinity University.
