Day 20 and here is a poem about Edward Elgar’s inspiring hills for Napowrimo.
Around the corner
from Elgar’s house,
I see his favourite hills
every day.
Malvern,
where the skies rise
from the hills that
he found inspiring.
Polly Robinson © 2013
English: Malvern Hills in June 2005 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I think of feet tramping and treading waved hills,
Of stories, songs and poems stone tracks inspire,
Of creatures great and small that shout and trill,
Of men and myths of monsters, faeries, giants.
A million years and more, they’ve stood to brood,
A vale eruption, ridgebacked, raw and proud,
They beckon, call upon us to intrude,
And haunting bluebell oceans trumpet loud.
Yet when I climb those verdant slopes once more,
To see the valleys spread out far below,
T’will be like searching for an ancient shore,
That seeing through a spyglass cannot show,
The light and shade illuminated when
My eyes are dim and I shan’t come again.
Polly Robinson © 2013
Posting on dVerse poets for Open Link Night with Brian, Week 80.
Malvern Hills: Bluebell wood (Photo credit: English Journeys)
Frowsty ferns and frosted hay,
Hints of darkening damp decay,
Dank smouldering fires,
Smokey blue Shires.
A dog’s yap ricochets
Across archaic
Byways.
Buzzards ride, sway,
Swoop on small prey.
Fanthorpe and Auden
Write of Malvern
Hills echo poets
With Elgar’s discern-
ing ear.
Polly Robinson © 2012
Brian’s prompt about people this week at dVerse reminded me of the two guys who used to run the car park in Deansway next to the old police station, opposite the college … when it shut down an archeological dig took place in the late 80s ~ they excavated traces from Romano-British times ~ the car park was no more and in its place today is a department store.
Archeological dig in Deansway, Worcester, late 80s
In Worcester car parks,
not long ago,
men gave tickets out,
you may know.
Before the days of
infernal machines,
demanding money
and giving no change,
in Deansway next
to the old cop shop
there was a well-
known parking lot;
Let’s talk about the
ticket guys,
The long and the short of it,
they were wise,
They were patient with the
parking gits,
One would pace, the
other sit,
They’d pouches to put
money in.
One man was stooped,
bespectacled, thin.
His compact comrade helped
him out,
They were there in all weathers,
snow, ice, drought.
They waved their arms
to guide us to
The space that fit
for me and you.
Wonder what they’re
doing now?
The old car park has
changed and how!
In Worcester car parks,
not long ago,
men gave tickets out,
you may know.
Polly Robinson © 2012
Land of the Dripping RainLand of the dripping rain,
Home of the robin,
Where foxes run and play
Suburbanly,
Grey sea and rocky shore,
I have been here before,
England, my England,
England, my England,
England, my England, green.
Polly Robinson © 2012
Such a happy morning in Worcester UK as the Olympic Flame carries on towards Cardiff – so many smiling, waving people lining the streets following a wonderful event last night at Worcestershire County Cricket Ground – an iconic event celebrated in style with a great sense of community spirit.
The Olymic Torchbearer in Worcester UK
