Polly

Writings and Witterings


14 Comments

The Wait Poetry Anthology – poetry for a cause

My copy of The Wait Poetry Anthology has arrived! I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see poems from my friends and fave bloggers, Alex Malcolm-Carr and MarinaSofia plus 97 other wonderful poets. ‘Mrs Smithfield’ is rubbing shoulders with some ace poems.

product_thumbnail

George Sandifer-Smith has edited this collection of poems and the proceeds go to Cancer Research – a worthwhile cause that I’ve supported in many ways for a long time, as a member of the LitFest team, as an individual, and as a Rotarian. Starting with ‘A Crimson Smile’ by Faisal Al-Doori and moving though to finish with ‘How I know I need a biscuit in the afternoon’ by Katherine Stansfield, these, plus the ones in between, are more than worth a read.

One of my dearest friends is currently seeing oncologists because her cancer has returned. What can I say? I join with the Worcestershire Breast Unit Campaign and others: ‘Everyone knows someone’. We must keep helping and supporting. We just must.

Thank you, George and the team, for this compilation. I understand that an e-book will be available at some point, but for the time being, here is another link with information about how to purchase the book online.

Everyone should have a copy – brilliant poetry for a brilliant cause.


36 Comments

Tight Bouquet

Autumn (1)

Now, as yesterday’s
tight bouquet
opens and fades,
we are present.

The autumn hips and haws,
once perfect red
almost orbs,
crinkle with small black daubs.

Tomorrow,
lines craze from crinkles,
daubs join in the blot
of relentless rot.

Even yesterday,
the bouquet
was not as tight
as we thought.

Polly Robinson © 2014

A bouquet seen in the corner of my eye put me in mind of yesterday, today and tomorrow, embracing all sorts of connotations—linking this to MarinaSofia’s fab prompt at dVerse poetics—head on over there and post one of your poems.


18 Comments

Persephone

This is the latest version of my ekphrastic poem about Persephone.

My Sweet Rose (or The Soul of the Rose) John William Waterhouse

My Sweet Rose (or The Soul of the Rose)
John William Waterhouse

Persephone

Radiant beauty,
goddess of the spring,
scent of the rose
against your brow’s wing;
fertile maid of life…and death.

Seeds of the fruits
of the field.

She meanders in meadows
of fragrant flowers,
roses, violets, hyacinths in bowers.
She’s seized, snatched,
carried off;
stolen by Hades
in a golden
four-horsed
chariot.

And Demeter weeps.

Odysseus at the House of Death
sees a wraith
to make one ache.

Persephone
becomes the curse of dead souls.
Men distrust her six months here,
six months there.

It is said:
“This is no deception sent by Queen Persephone,
this is the way of mortals when we die.”

Feel the horror queen’s light breath.

But wait!
A kindness yet,
to let the souls return.

Springtime Goddess of Rebirth -
mystery initiations -
sudden depressions give way to the mysteries,
a better life,
a different fate after death.

Repeat to the beginning,
seeds of the fruits
of the field.
All shall return.

She is the painted winecup,
she is: life and death,
wife, daughter,
innocence, wisdom,
death and rebirth.

And she stole the beautiful Adonis!
Oh yes!  A psychopomp…
with pomegranate seeds

and blessings
for wisdom and tranquillity.

Death
is not evil
’tis a cycle
for good.

Repeat to the beginning,
seeds of the fruits
of the field.
All shall return.

Polly Robinson © 2014

Featured Image -- 11285


17 Comments

30 Copies Sold On First Day? Sweet!

Polly:

Delighted to see that ‘The Wait’ anthology is out – one of my poems in this publication – for the best of causes, cancer research.

Originally posted on The Wait Poetry Anthology:

Extra extra, read all about it – the book of poems you wonderful poets or poetry enthusiasts bought or contributed to sold 30 copies on the first day. 

View original 101 more words


19 Comments

Yummy Mummy

Yummy mummy sitting
in a traffic queue;
child’s hands over ears.
Tell me who
wouldn’t cover eardrums
when the car is jumpin’,
reverbs echoin’,
tyres and chassis bumpin’.
Poor little kid,
her ears bleedin’.
Poor, poor mama,
she’s not heedin’
the needs of her kid,
she wants to be funky
with her white blonde hair
and her music skunky.
Of course, it’s hip-hop,
or call it what they may,
this was what hit me
on a walk today.

Polly Robinson © 2014

Yummy Mummy car Acknowledgements to stevenjones.blogspot.com

Yummy Mummy car with acknowledgement to stevenjones.blogspot.com

Yummy Mummy www.iwantthatsign.com

Yummy Mummy with acknowledgement to www.iwantthatsign.com


61 Comments

Great

War…nothing great about it.
Great smokes. Great blokes
smile as they march to fight,
wave for the cameras;
excited, naive,
their stomachs heave.
Marching, marching.

War…nothing great about it.
Great coats, great jokes,
the loss of great folks.
Figures
on a sheet.
Telegrams neat.
Marching, marching.

War…nothing great about it.
Divide and conquer, divide the spoils,
divide the family, divide the nation.
Women thrust white feathers
at those who do not fight.
Boots unfit for purpose
—our boys’ plight.

Polly Robinson © 2014

For MarinaSofia’s prompt at dVerse Poets Open Link Night