22 April 2014
Carol Robson loves the performance genre. She self-published her first collection Words of Darkness and Light in 2012, which will shortly be published as a second edition by Thynks Publications.
She writes poetry on various themes but is passionate on issues of gender, sexuality, ageing and disability.
Carol performed her first one hour show ‘Finding Me’ at the Ilkley Literature Festival Fringe and LadyFest Leeds in
2013. This summer she takes the show to Buxton Festival Fringe in July and Edinburgh Fringe in August.
She is one of 29 emerging Twitter poets and artists taking part in a global, collaborative poetry-art exhibition: Transformations, on the theme of Ovid's Metamorphoses. Please click on this link to the project, currently being fundraised for on kickstarter.
Thoughts of Yorkshire
Gods own country, so they tell me
Being Yorkshire born who am I to disagree
From east to west and north to south
Beautiful towns and cities sharing breath-taking views.
Roads and lanes meandering through dales and vales
Fells and Pikes looming like giants, rolling away
Remote villages and farms still here, from yonder years
Stone broken walls running for miles, showing their age.
Cities and towns were once so smudged and choking
Guarded by dark satanic mills and towering chimneys
Surrounded by mines and steely fierce furnaces
Now for many, just memories of a bygone age.
Mines and mills now so few, confined to books, songs and tales
Memories of darkness, forged in noise of thumping hammers
Men and women steely eyed and strong of spirit
Communities once so strong, so proud of who they were, together.
Regeneration abounds, sun shines through where once it never
Clear skies no longer blanketed by grey clouds of smoke
Journey through wolds, national parks and vales down to the sea
Your beautiful coastline, jagged and eroded, loved by many
North Sea constantly licking away at Gods own country, Yorkshire.
© 2011 Carol Robson
I’m Not Invisible
I shrink away from this coldness
the coldness of an ordinary day
people live – spent, moving in herds
some people moving alone, like cold dummies
self-consumed, need to be there - like yesterday
never seeing, dismissing the frailness of others
People moving along, with a fixed glare
their lives with a purpose, that we do not know
moving as robots, programmed lives
mobile phones attached to their ears
or eyes glazed upon their screens
fingers walking in rhythm to their feet
Frailness still moves among them, warily - yet always alert
keeping a sharp eye for the hunter
you’re the prey to be knocked over
by the robot that got side-tracked
the one that snarls; I never saw you
no words of sorry – makes it all your fault
I’m not invisible; I’m feckin’ real for god’s sake
I might be old - I might be disabled – so, I’m frail
Am I now, just an easy target - to be brushed aside
like it’s my fault for being in your way
so arsehole! - walk in my frail shoes for a day
experience the coldness and the blindness of the herd
get used to it – because, one day, this could be all yours.
© Carol Robson 2011
(Iphis and Ianthe)
A raging fire burned
loves flames kindled
elicited by your beauty
innocence in despair
knowing this love
betrothed in ignorance
by a loving father
unaware of deceit
by a loving mother
accepting the truth
of the prophecy of Isis.
The Gods frowning
a Sapphic love
not yet countenanced
there should not be
girl with girl.
my beautiful Ianthe
that you be man
or even I
to bring purity
for our love desires.
True love triumphs
above all foolishness
love is much more
of who has
madness to love
or to lie with
their desired bride.
Decreed by Isis
our troth fulfilled
I’m now man
rendered by Goddess
of the Gods
Yet! my beautiful Ianthe
our love transcends
Gods, Goddess and Gender.
©Carol Robson 2013
Loneliness and Isolation
You gazed through your window
watching the world passing by
sadly this was not your world
as you gazed from your void.
Your years so full of family and friends
now seemed such a distant memory
a memory that became far less vivid
only framed memories were your companions.
You didn’t want to bother your family
they didn’t seem to listen, always so busy
just a phone call would have brightened your day
taken you out, have a treat, just a visit, please.
A few hours a week your visitors appeared
a cleaner and a person with your meals
quickly gone with barely a word or smile
again long hours devoid of any other presence.
Hours, days and weeks seemed to merge into one
broken by those fleeting visitors into your prison
a prison with a view to a world that was no longer yours
a life on your own, should never have been endured.
Now family and friends are here for you
talking of bygone days, relived memories
your loneliness and isolation is now over
sadly, it took your passing to bring them here.
© Carol Robson 2012
A Love Nurtured in Blood
My eternal life flashing by
four hundred years on this earth
my ancient love the reason why
you gave me an eternal life
made me your bride in ancient times.
Three hundred years of time together
living on, as we took the blood of others
biting new flesh, draining their life forces
sharing thousands of other lives
both men and women it just didn’t matter.
Creatures of the night
we moved in shadows
centuries of blood fuelled lust
cultures and societies all fair game
folklore and legends we became.
I’ve seen men wage wars upon each other
cruel destruction - all manner of atrocities
perpetrating horrors upon each other
genocide, torture, women and children slain
then they called us inhuman.
My love now gone these last hundred years
I grow weary of this eternal life without you
my body weak with skin now scarred
tinged by flashes of sunlight
as I go back to my twilight world
Now, I no longer yearn
for the taste of fresh warm blood
I grow tired of this world,
been here far too long
alone without you my love
tonight will be my last
for as the sun rises in the morn
I will walk into its flare
flaming to ashes
now at peace
I will join you my love.
© Carol Robson 2011
Childhood, such a special time
Joyous and carefree
Free as a butterfly
Spreading your wings.
Spring and summer delights
You love to run, dance and skip
Through the fields, flowers too
Sitting by the stream, carefree.
You find a special friend
They are so kind
You meet by the stream
Again! Again! Still carefree.
Carefree no longer
You do not run, dance and skip
Through the fields and flowers
Stream is a bad place.
Not a special friend!
You didn’t want this
Frightened! You never go out
Frightened to tell.
Crying, Bad Dreams, so real
Where have you gone?
Bad Dreams follow you
In time you are here
Not the same, no longer carefree
Evil! Took something away.
Fields, flowers, stream of yesteryear
Pushed into deep dark place
Bad Dreams, bad memories
Still manage to emerge.
You never told
You think you coped
So why, do you still
Have Bad Dreams?
© 2011 Carol Robson