Writings and Witterings


A Quality Dilemma

Quality, quality, quality…
that’s what it’s all about,
you might think it boring,
until your work’s in doubt.

It’s not a cause of jollity
or any slight frivolity,
because in the world of quality
evidence is King.

Showing things done properly
is not a scholarly lottery,
it’s easy, easy-peasy,
so why’s it rarely done?

Polly Stretton © 2016


Hill Walk

The kit he’s got is sparse,
the hill walk is a farce,
he has no fleece,
no sturdy boots,
has not checked the weather,
doesn’t know the route,
we all walk together,
with the new recruits,
experienced walkers
guide the less astute.

And that woman,
Wendy, with pumps,
skinny T-shirt,
goosey goose bumps,
her with the bloke who has no map,
no SatNav, no wit, no mental sap,
she tries her phone
where no signal can reach,
clearly thinks she’s
on the beach.

I have walking boots, fleece and map,
my SatNav, Kendal Cake, haversack,
I’m equipped for whatever occurs
as we walk on up I overhear
him ask the walk leader,
‘How long will we be?’
‘cos his mum’s expecting
him back for tea,
and besides
Wendy’s feet are killing.
There’s reliance on those
who are willing
to carry them up the hill.

Polly Stretton © 2016


My Poems

Thought you’d like to know that my poems ‘Bittersweet,’ which made the short list, and ‘Farewell’ and ‘If You Didn’t Get This Message Call Me,’ selected as ‘Paragram Picks,’ will be included in the anthology later in the year. The theme was ‘Paradox’. See more info here: Paragram Poetry Prize. More details as they come through🙂


Fifteen Minutes Of Fame

Let’s get on a reality show
and get ourselves embarrassed
by our shopping habits
or performing rabbits,
or the way we sing a note;
maybe how we choose to bake,
or even how we sew.

Could be more
than fifteen minutes,
I have to agree with the pedants…
the point’s the same,
in any game:
fifteen minutes
of so-called fame.

Polly Stretton © 2016


An Inevitable Marriage

An update on a poem written in 2012 for Holly and Suz…

An Inevitable Marriage

A snood and a stole got talking
at a spoken-word night sublime.
They ended up a-walking out,
a-walking out in time.
Gnashing, snapping, pelt on end,
they came together,
more than friends.
The cuddly snood, a circular friend,
liked a hug, liked to spend
some time around the neck of another,
preferably a passionate lover.

Granny’s fox stole:
sharp evil teeth,
claws on paws,
felt-lined beneath
its spindly legs surround the throat.
The bite, the scratch,
the hug, the cuddle,
the hug, the cuddle,
the bite, the scratch
arrange the marriage,
the perfect match.

Polly Stretton © 2016

Entirely caused by Holly’s snood and Suz’s fur coat 05/04/2012 at Parole Parlate


The Silence of Emptiness

In the silence of my room
I hear a sob
I know it can’t be me
I swore no tears for you.

Yet a curse is no ally
against an empty bed
empty arms
where you once fit

Blinding ache
in the core
serpent bite
of bitter love
no more.

Laughing no more
trying no more
dancing no more
no more.


Polly Stretton © 2016