Polly

Writings and Witterings


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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


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In the Dark of the Moon

A reviewed version from the dark side for dVerse poets 2nd anniversary, where Tony Maude asked us to write to a previous prompt we missed. Sadly, I was too late to join in the dVerse fun … hey-ho! Here it is anyway:

A dark tale of the waning gibbous moon,
the one that lurks in the darkness tonight.
Brow louring, eyes glowering,
glittering red pinpricks emit from the pits;
the pity of the city wrapped in
the evanescence of the smile
it smirks
at those who lurk
below.

They that shirk light on the earth,
in the shadow of moonshine,
that work to earn
a place in noir histoire.
They that taunt and haunt the
crooks of alleys, capes folded, who
lay in wait for those with stumbling gait,
who’ve imbibed a jar
or two …

They wait with needles,
keen sharp knives,
those who shiver and shrive themselves
to the priest
of the dark; who leave their mark,
a fusty tang, a taint of dung, blood-letters who
think of mortality only
as banality, forgetting that death
comes to all, and it’s only
a fall away.

Polly Robinson © 2013

20110718 Waning Gibbous Moon

20110718 Waning Gibbous Moon (Photo credit: Degilbo on flickr)


26 Comments

In the Dark of the Moon

The final day of Napowrimo, and the mood darkens with the waning gibbous moon …

A dark tale of the waning gibbous moon,
the one that lurks in the darkness tonight.
Brow louring, eyes glowering,
glittering red pinpricks emit from the pits,
the pity of the city wrapped in
the evanescence of the smile
it smirks
to those who lurk
below.

They that shirk light on the earth,
in the shadow of moonshine,
that work to earn
a place in noir histoire.
They that taunt and haunt the
crooks of alleys, capes folded, who
lay in wait for those with stumbling gait,
who’ve imbibed a jar
or two …

They wait with needles,
keen sharp knives,
those who shiver and shrive themselves

to the priest
of the dark; who leave their mark,
a fusty tang, a taint of dung, blood-letters who
think of mortality only
as banality, forgetting that death
comes to all, and it’s only
a fall away.

Polly Robinson © 2013

20110718 Waning Gibbous Moon

20110718 Waning Gibbous Moon (Photo credit: Degilbo on flickr)


24 Comments

Rondeau: Yellow

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Day 29 at Napowrimo and I’m talking a rondeau of ‘yellow’.

In tones yellow, golden sunshine,
Coneflower, yellow, celandine,
Dazzling sunflowers, detailed lobes.
New York taxis, Buddhist monk robes,
Goldcrests fly in forests of pine.

Traditional, from cow urine,
Now food colouring’s Tartrazine.
Songs of a pretty Texan rose,
In tones yellow.

The sweetened gold of dessert wine,
Bradley Wiggins’ jersey design,
Saffron and rapeseed in the nose,
Yellow bellies courage propose,
Wild heretics in capes recline
In tones yellow.

Polly Robinson © 2013

A rondeau is written on two rhymes with fifteen lines, using the first part of the first line as a refrain. The form is created from three stanzas: a quintet, a quatrain and a sestet.


28 Comments

Ghazal: Will’s Birthday

The sun shines brightly, the birds sing in tune,
today’s Will’s birthday, celebrate the day.

Elsinore, and Francisco’s at his post,
today’s Will’s birthday, celebrate the day.

Polonius hides behind the arras,
today’s Will’s birthday, celebrate the day.

Ophelia scuttles out to the meadow,
today’s Will’s birthday, celebrate the day.

An elevated skull greets the soft light,
today’s Will’s birthday, celebrate the day.

Today is Will’s birthday, celebrate the day,
and Polly will make the tea, as they say.

Polly Robinson © 2013

This was long thought to be the only portrait ...

This was long thought to be the only portrait of William Shakespeare that had any claim to have been painted from life, until another possible life portrait, the Cobbe portrait, was revealed in 2009. The portrait is known as the ‘Chandos portrait’ after a previous owner, James Brydges, 1st Duke of Chandos. It was the first portrait to be acquired by the National Portrait Gallery in 1856. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


37 Comments

Lyra

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Napowrimo, Day 23, and it has to be about the Lyrid meteor showers. As it’s in the form of a sonnet, and today is reputed to be Shakespeare’s birthday, it also fits with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads prompt  :)

Tiny specks of light, hip-hop through the night,
itsy tails and trails, a kick for eyes that see.
Lyra shows her faces – mini traces -
while the gibbous moon beams with shadowed hope.
Lying on the grass, the cool of moist green turf,
staring at the night sky, waiting for a glimmer,
wrapped up warmly, earthlings view the heavens
and think ‘eternity’ and things ethereal.
The annual Lyrid meteor shower peaks – throws
glimpses to those waiting far below – shows
the watchers that it is so worth the wait,
the wait, for tiny specks of light that dance.

The patient watchers are entranced, and know
what it is, to see splendour in their skies.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Lyrid Meteor Shower

Lyrid Meteor Shower (Photo credit: David Kingham)

This photo is a close representation of what I saw tonight, though there were more. It took a while for my eyes to get used to the night sky, but after a time the twinkling became ‘trackable’ and these tiny specks became evident ~ marvellous ~ a true wonder. Click on the image to see it more clearly :)


66 Comments

Steaming Tea

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Day 21 Napowrimo, at dVerse Poetics Claudia is talking of springtime. And on the ‘Imaginary Garden with Real Toads‘ they’re focusing on World Earth Day, 22 April 2013, for their open link Monday.

Frost
surprises
on fewer
mornings.
Beneath clarity: a sky of
blueness mirroring springtime
in a slew of white
feathered streaks.

Birds tweet, trees bud,
cyclamen leaves peek.
Lambs shout to their ma’s.
Soft, soft, the
wood pigeon calls.
Oh, and the daffodils,
the daffodils,
the glorious yellow trumpeting
daffodils.

As my tea steams
in the chill morning air,
I look around
and my face creases,
at work
waiting
to begin.

Polly Robinson © 2013