Polly

Writings and Witterings


17 Comments

Junk Mail

Who needs junk mail?
funk mail,
punk mail,
cards of clunk mail
stinks like skunk mail,
chunky chunk mail,
dog-end detritus,
debunk junk mail.

Who needs junk mail?
hunk mail,
gunk mail,
sofas, clothes and flunkety-flunk mail,
better when it’s shrunk mail,
downtrodden drunk mail,
don’t they know it’s fail mail?
Junk mail.

Polly Robinson © 2014


58 Comments

Twinkle

The Pleiades (1885) by the Symbolist painter Elihu Vedder

The Pleiades (1885) by the Symbolist painter Elihu Vedder

Twinkle

The Symbolist, Vedder,
thought the maids beautiful,
the seven sisters shine.
Their glittering garments
throng the skies. Stars recall
their birth on Kyllini,
to twinkle, cluster bright.

Polly Robinson © 2014

Vandana Sharma from New Delhi, India, is our host at dVerse Meeting the Bar tonight. Vandana’s asked us to write to a poetry form called “Pleiades” invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman. She tells us that “Pleiades” consist of seven lines, each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is a single word. Later, Hortensia Anderson restricted the length of each line to six syllables.

Vandana asked us to write a poem in “Pleiades” form. As an extra challenge add a reference to a celestial body (any planet, star, constellation, meteor etc) as this form has been inspired from a heavenly object.


22 Comments

Acid Velvet

Nicotiana Alata 'Lime Green' acknowledgement to crocus.co.uk

Nicotiana Alata ‘Lime Green’ acknowledgement to crocus.co.uk

Acid Velvet

Strolling the paths
of my very first flower show,
gravelled with Nicotiana alata,
zesty lime masses soft in the sun.
Salver-shaped, fresh green leaves
wave in the breeze, utter
in the border,
inflorescent cluster of flora,
tobacco panicles
of a younger summer.
Acid velvet trumpets throw
a twilight scent beloved
of city and courtyard,
pour out fragrance for fluttering moths
in cottage gardens.
And I, at my first flower show
fall in love with Solanaceae
for life.

Polly Robinson © 2014


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


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


60 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