Polly

Writings and Witterings


38 Comments

Chasing the Moment

I wish to paint
in the finest water colours.
…and to walk
then soak in a scented bath for hours.
I’d like to dip a brush
into the essence of wild flowers
in that instant, the moment,
that chases the lightest of showers.

Polly Stretton © 2016


6 Comments

Michelangelo

First line from ‘The Munich Mannequins’ by Sylvia Plath – it always put me in mind of Michelangelo, I’ve never forgotten reading ‘The Agony and the Ectasy’ – need to read it again now…

Michelangelo

‘Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children,’
sterile, frustrated, it comes to decay.
Michelangelo wept when he found perfection,
took up his hammer to do it away.
None stayed his hand as he lunged at his David
breaking his heart on that cool summer day,
birthing his talent
the last chip was chipped off
the warm marble block with its dust sweet bouquet.
Perfection,
deception,
confection of lies.
Conception of lies.
He did it away.

Polly Stretton © 2016


6 Comments

Ode To Coffee

thecoffeeshop.co

Image by turmkaffee

Ode To Coffee

Coffee tastes best freshly roasted,
flavour dulls as weeks go by;
you can’t beat fresh roasted coffee,
which most markets cannot supply.
The smell alone: delectable,
the difference, clear to taste,
with coffee beans
from the best in the world
take time – don’t drink in haste.
Brazil, Peru, Columbia,
Costa Rica, to name a few,
they all grow fragrant coffee beans
especially for you.

Polly Stretton © 2016


8 Comments

Ulysses

Ulysses and the Sirens_Herbert James Draper

Ulysses and the Sirens – Herbert James Draper           c. 1909

 Ulysses

Lashed to the mast
of a ship,
he wouldn’t do the wrong thing.
Lilting, seductive, the sirens
would not induce him,
would not lure him
to the rocks.

He knew
that willpower can be used up.
Instant gratification,
long-term reward,
curbed emotions reduce physical strength.
Like a tank of petrol,
willpower can run out.

Polly Stretton © 2016


9 Comments

Acid Velvet

Nicotiana alana - lime - anniesannuals.com

With acknowledgement to anniesannuals.com

Acid Velvet

I stroll gravelled paths
at my first flower show,
zesty lime masses soft in the sun:
Nicotiana alata.
Salver-shaped leaves
wave in the breeze, utter
in the border,
a flutter of inflorescent flora,
tobacco panicles
of a younger summer.
Acid velvet trumpets throw
a twilight scent;
chime of colour beloved
in city and courtyard,
fragrance pours for moths
muttering in cottage gardens.
And I, at my first flower show
fall in love with Solanaceae
for life.

Polly Stretton © 2016


13 Comments

Pity Of The City

Full Beaver Moon – 25 November 2015 (always in November) The time of year to set beaver traps before the big freeze, to ensure a supply of warm winter furs. It’s suggested that the name Full Beaver Moon comes from the fact that the beavers are now actively preparing for winter. It is sometimes also referred to as the Frosty Moon or Hunter’s Moon.

worcester full moon by cathedral - worcesternews.co.uk

Full Moon beside Worcester Cathedral – photo acknowledgement to Worcester News worcesternews.co.uk

Pity Of The City

A dark tale for the baleful Beaver Moon,
the one that sky-lurks tonight:
face lours, eyes glower, glimmering
light emits from pits;
the pity of the city wraps
an evanescence of a smirk
in the murk,
hunting
below.

Shades shirk light on earth;
moonshine works to earn
noir histoire.
Tauntingly haunting crooks in alleys,
capes folded, in wait
for a stumbling gait,
imbibers of a jar
or two…

Ghouls wield needles, knives,
shiver and shrive
to priests of the dark;
leave their mark,
a fusty tang, taint of doom; bloodletters
think of mortality only as banality,
forgetting that death comes to all…
and it’s only a frostbitten
fall
a

w

a

y

 

Polly Stretton © 2015


36 Comments

The Girl In The Chair And Her Protégé

She’d cupped a small bird in her hand,
born this year, feathers silky soft,
she encouraged flight, held it aloft,
so warm, so weak, it trembled.

She wheeled her chair along smooth garden ways,
a feather dropped, wafted soft.
The bird stayed in the hayloft.

Quietude, rest and warmth worked their magic,
the creature stilled, silently calm,
the scented hay seemed to act as a balm.

The gentle gauche girl returned the next day,
no drama, the bird had flown away.
The girl in the chair and her protégé.

Polly Stretton © 2015