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Writings and Witterings


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Frosted Web

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Lacelike cobwebs creep the hedgerows
sharp as prying spiders’ eyes,
sequin-edged and spiky shining
clear spun sugar in disguise.

Lazy hips and haws lounge
as taut twigs cringe in fingered frost,
while fluffed-up scarlet-red and round,
a robin chirps for the worms he’s lost.

Polly Stretton © 2020

napowrimo #30

So, that’s my final poem for NaPoWriMo 2020 – hope you’ve enjoyed your daily dose of my poetry – hopefully my new collection ‘Growing Places’ will be out later this year.


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Final Bow

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You were bought but a week ago,
bright and upright, blooming,
now you bow your browning heads,
like unkempt boys, no grooming.
Your fragrance, all consuming
fades away, there’s no resuming,
no comeback freshness looming,
You’re gone, no more perfuming.

Polly Stretton © 2020

napowrimo #29


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Spider Bridge

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In summer, walking Worcester Bridge,
we see a sight that makes us twitch.
Others stop and peer and stare
at spiders
dancing.

We don’t dare avert our eyes
as they spin webs to catch small flies,
but we watch and wonder,
peer and ponder
at the thousands,
or at least hundreds
of arachnids,
what a show!

Our amazement grows
at the human to spider ratio,
they cluster, muster round the lamps,
they’re busy making spider camps
on lights and pillars of the bridge
lined by trapped moth, gnat and midge. 

And big fat spiders.

Polly Stretton © 2020

Revised for napowrimo #28


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Bluebells

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English blue bluebell, harbinger of summer
bend and bow your weight in woods and shade,
drop your heads sweet mists of haze.
Dip down, dance, shiver shake prance,
chinkling and tinkling like infants’ laughter,
slender stems, slight tender tough,
fight off the advance of the Spanish Armada.

Polly Stretton © 2020

Revised for napowrimo #27


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Echoes

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In the present, from the past,
voices echo
sayings last
even when the body has gone,
what was said will linger on.
‘My mum used to say…’
‘My grannie too…’
‘My dad would have something to say to you.’
In the present, from the past,
voices echo,
echoes last.

Polly Stretton © 2020

napowrimo #26


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Faerie Folk

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They steal babies,
issue changelings,
whisk the breath from the weak and the dying,
suck on columbine, nectar, blood,
live in magical hedges in bud;
worry farmers, worry swine,
worry sheep
and creatures bovine.
With green-stained teeth,
sharp, pinlike, pointy,
bright waxed blond hair
that stands up dainty,
knuckled hands and fingers thin,
spikey nails and whiskered chins,
spite in faces, malice in eyes,
nothing can stop them;
they’re from the dark side.

Polly Stretton © 2020

napowrimo #25

 


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Spade

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My purpose is to turn the earth,
not to act as a perch
for a rust-ridden bird
made of nuts and bolts
no good for anything else.

My self abhors the chuckles
of passers-by,
they know not what I can handle:
I’ve toiled;
in soil I’ve turned;
I worked hard,

yet I was spurned
and then discarded,
now, I’m found.

Polly Stretton © 2020

Revised for napowrimo #24