Progress in the Garden 2

Aw … just look what I found covered by overgrown shrubs …

Camellia

Crab Apple

They’re so beautiful …

Progress in the Garden 1

Here are some photos of our garden, sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ pics

This was what faced me first thing this morning …

Ah ~ that’s better :)

This afternoon’s task ~ our overgrown shrubbery

Gardening People

We are the gardening people,
happy boys and girls,
secateurs, we wield them freely,
stems and stalks are in the wheely …

Slugs and snails are enemies,
pigeons, rabbits: pests,
organic gardening is for us,
[though pesticides would mean a rest!]

Double digging gets earth ready,
nurturing the seeds,
using spades and gardening forks,
veg and flowers in our thoughts …

Clearing up the winter debris,
building a bonfire,
causing backache, crampy legs,
and, in the sunshine, pounding heads.

On earth and compost we are keen,
no merrier people can be seen,
because we all do gardening,
we’re happy boys and girls.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Front garden 2013

Clearing garden 2013

Garden to be cleared 2013

Goddess of Spring – Persephone

To celebrate the festival of Beltane ~ a rewrite of Persephone.

Radiant beauty,
Goddess of the spring,
Scent of the rose
Against your brow;
Fertile maid of life … and of death.

She meandered in meadows of
Fragrant flowers,
Roses, violets, hyacinths in bowers.
Seized, snatched,
Carried off,
Stolen by Hades
In a golden four-horsed chariot,
As Demeter wept.

Odysseus at the House of Death
Sees a wraith
To make one ache
For those who have been.
Persephone now 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.

Polly Robinson © 2013

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

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 (Photo credit: Degilbo on flickr)

Rondeau: Yellow

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.

A Trip on the Waterways

Written for Trip the Poem Fantastic (Poetics) at dVerse, and as it’s also Day 28 for Napowrimo, this poem takes you on a fantastic journey.

We’re going on a walk,
a ‘Words on Water’ walk,
with WLF and writers,
around the waterways
of Worcester.
A trip – not literally –
no accidents, please,
no bodies falling in the wash,
being swept downstream,
to pass through the estuary,
in Bristol, into the briny,
cold currents rushing you further
to the Atlantic Ocean
and across to visit friends
in America.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Flash Fiction

Thinking about Flash Fiction writers on Napowrimo, Day 27.

Flash: a quickly written,
smitten – writer on a mission -
short, short story,
flash fiction.

Get those fingers flashing,
brain dashing,
mind mashing,
pen writing,

brain fighting to
work a twist into
the tail – rail against
time – get it down,

get it down,
get down,
down.
Flash.

22 June 2013

Polly Robinson © 2013

Etheree: Store

Day 26 Napowrimo ~ an etheree, very romantic [heh-heh], about the garage … with thanks to Kira for the form.

A
garage
is so much
more than a store
a used bottle bank
waiting until there are
sufficient to take along
to the recycling plant at the
rubbish tip and we know that we have
done our duty to the environment

Polly Robinson © 2013

new garage / workshop setup (Photo credit: riebschlager)

The Etheree is a simple progressive syllabic verse. It is attributed to American poet Etheree Taylor Armstrong.
The Etheree is:
o a decastich. (10 line poem)
o syllabic, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 syllables per line
o unrhymed
o focused on 1 idea or subject

Triolet: For the Birds

It’s Napowrimo, it’s Day 25, and a triolet for the birds on the seed feeder was born.

Finches cling to full seed feeder,
grounded thrush pecks yellow mealworms,
pigeons play, ‘follow my leader,’
finches cling to full seed feeder,
as earth, the garden weeder, turns,
throwing worms to redbreast cheepers,
feels warmth in soil and from it learns.
Finches cling to full seed feeder,
grounded thrush pecks yellow mealworms.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Birds Fight at the Seed Feeder (Photo credit: dagnyg)

A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetramenter (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.

Little Owl

Hay Barn (Photo credit: dbnunley)

 

Day 24 of Napowrimo dawns grey and misty here in the heart of the UK.

Mist on the hay barn
hangs in the morning,
dew underfoot bathes
my boots.
Even though early,
and unusual, overhead
a Little owl hoots.

Polly Robinson © 2013

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 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)

Lyra

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 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 (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

Girl’s Got Rhythm

If you’d like a copy of Girl’s Got Rhythm, my first collection of poems, copies are now available directly from me and I’d be delighted to forward one (or more!) to you. I’ll sign / inscribe it / them if you wish ~ just tell me who it is for or what you’d like me to write ~ £5 plus £1 P&P in UK. I’ll work out the P&P if you’re overseas. Let me know where you are located and I’ll come back to you with the costs.

Lune: Dig It

Grace (aka Heaven) of Imaginary Garden With Real Toads asks for ‘lunes.’  I’ve chosen the Kelly Lune, an American haiku form based on syllables (one line of five, one line of three, last line of five; in a single stanza or multiples of same). This will also be today’s contribution to Napowrimo.

She digs and digs and
loves the soil
rich with warm compost

Polly Robinson © 2013

Steaming Tea

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 trill, 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 trumpeting
daffodils.

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

Polly Robinson © 2013

Fevers

Mysterious fevers in Malvern,
fever in Worcester, burning her up.
The brave, sombre child,
did not understand why mama went away.
She came home frail, damaged, loving, yet
unspeakably sad.

Mama lost his brother.
The other.
The one who would have been his friend.
His best friend. His closest friend. The boy who would
look out for him. Be there for him. Always.
His love in the womb extends from the tomb.

Mother’s loss and tears stifled.
She was told, ‘get a grip’ and ‘move on,’ as if to forget
were possible.
The tiny child ~ innocent ~
a babe, never in arms.
No grieving for lost babies then,
they shuffled them away and
burned them in kilns
so no-one would miss them.

The mother suffers a lifetime of loss,
with an idea of how siblings feel.
We learnt these things painfully.
Today such babes are mourned,
buried. Time moves on and
we talk of tragedies.
Not so back then.

Polly Robinson © 2013

Elgar’s Hills

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)

Tip the Windmill

Day 19 Napowrimo

We look after our feet
to keep walking
and our skin
for comfort and care;
an observation,
in wellness defined …
think of yourself,
don’t ignore your mind.

The fragile mind,
full of vim and vigour,
deserves our attention too.

By and large
it keeps in good health,
yet a day may dawn
when almost by stealth
it no longer functions in
quite the same way.
They dole out meds,
maybe something is said, that

tilts the balance,
tips the windmill,
turns the head,
away.

Polly Robinson 2013

Books

Day 18 Napowrimo prompt challenges us to write a poem that begins and ends with the same word.

Books, they line the walls,
they’re piled on the floor,
the tomes that you and I adore,
books.

They keep us quiet,
make us cry,
with wibbly words we so enjoy,
books.

We read ‘em,
we write ‘em,
fight always to keep ‘em,
books.

Covers, they bind us,
pictures delight,
chapters keep turning deep into the night,
books.

We laugh out loud,
at escapades,
thrill to chillers that talk of the grave,
books.

We learn, we yearn,
see falls from grace,
life mirrored and echoed by worlds embraced in
books.

Genres to please each tang and taste,
romance and history,
tragedy, mystery, smooth and whiskery,
books.

Fiction and faction,
biog’s and auto’s,
text books and how-to’s with lots of photos,
books.

The smell of the paper,
or flick of the ebook,
whichever we favour we’ll never be stuck
for a jolly good read
from books.

Polly Robinson © 2013