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-- 09 March, 2006 --

The Onion Woman

Pink public smile, brittle, paper thin
Wraps around her onion-self.
A spray of bitter juices set free
By a moment's knife edge
Brings tears to the eyes and
Leaves sour memories on the tongue.
Revealed her inner self lies
In coils, like small, blind worms.
No crisp sweetness here
Only slowly greying decay -
Life's disappointments

© Robyn Smith 2006

It has been some time since I have written a poem. This one was inspired by a prompt from the Writerspark Yahoo group in which we were asked to write something that included or was inspired by the word "Onion". After 3 or 4 revisions, this was my effort.

Posted by robynls at 7:13 PM | Comments (7)

-- 19 May, 2005 --

Magnetic Poetry - Artist set

magpoetry.gif

Magnetic Poetry is a box of frustrating, annoying little magnets with words on them that you put on your fridge door. When moved by the muse, the tiny little magnets can be shuffled around to create poetry. On a roll, you find that the next word that came into your head isn't among the remaining magnets so off you go on another tangent. Some of the poetry is lurid, some of it passionate, some just downright silly. After the novelty wears off, the magnets just sit there, until some wit decides to arrange them in squares and rectangles that make no sense whatsoever.

This afternoon, between Parent/Teacher interviews, I came across the official Magnetic Poetry web site where, low and behold, you can play online. Now boredom being what it is, I had to give it a go and here is my effort. Proves that any idiot can ... well, make an idiot of themselves.

Posted by robynls at 6:22 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

-- 08 May, 2005 --

Mother's Day 2005

Lost

Last night I dreamed you were a soldier
You went to battle and were lost
I cried for missing you

This morning I knew you are not a soldier
You're at home and you're alive
But I still cried for missing you

Posted by robynls at 8:56 PM

-- 26 September, 2004 --

The Fisherman's Woman

Foam pushed from the bow
Another day chasing the shoals
In the pre-dawn silence
Towards the pinking horizon
He steers his boat across the bar

Her hands wash dishes while
Open window curtains shiver
Plants thrive in pots for her
Eyes always turned to the sea

Calm waters are
Her constant prayer
Afternoons of unheard chat
Reality blurred in unreality
Indigo shadows stretching
Time in slow motion
Yellow sunset, alone.

Posted by robynls at 10:53 AM | Comments (4)