Dark Queen

I wrote this poem a while ago.  I’d like to say that the inspiration fro this came from some sort of gothic queen I had been reading about, but it didn’t.  The kind of person I envisage is one who waits, listens, sees an opportunity and uses situations to their own advantage.  She sits quietly

‘The Road to Domestos (with or without mop bucket)’ part 1

‘Something shifted today Something I thought I’d lost But had simply gone astray I found that I had gotten over The pale goodbyes – those white cliffs of Dover Something shifted today. I can’t go on hating And actually participating With this wall of resounding pain. No gain. Lynda M Roberts 2020 This poem was

Happy New Year!

After a fairly long hiatus, Bookstains reactivated last year. Slowly but surely, starting back in April ( no coincidence this…). Although only 18 posts (19 counting this) I remain positive, optimistic and have many ideas regarding Bookstains direction. Lots of drafts, reviews, poetry to be undertaken, including the poetry challenges which proved popular. Many of

Finding my senses (poem)

Making sense of it all

Masquerade – A celebration of the mask

Inspired by my Ghost of Christmas Past on my Echostains insta, I’ve resurrected a video I made for my art blog (echostains). It’s all about masks 😷 I have been busy  compiling another video – a celebration of masks from history, cultures and of course art.  The most prolific artist who featured a lot of masks in his

By All These Drops

One drop for the little blonde one who calls from the depths of my blood. One drop for the Bruce’s kinsman whose gauntlet thrusts from the mud, One drop for the Finnish warrrior seeking the land of the free, One drop for  the son of Glyndwr, whose war cry vibrates throughout me. These bloods I

The Hand that rocks

The silver bough, The earthworn plough That lounges idly by the wayside of this green and once pleasant land Shivers, in the sunshine, neglected The rotting fruit Lie fine art brut. A landscape fit for Covent garden colouring pave Down come the hordes, on crops they gorge And bloated fly away to different climes. Whilst

‘The Listeners’ by Walter de La Mare

One of my favorite childhood poets is Sir Walter de la Mare.  the first poem which we had to memorise at school was ‘Five Eyes’ and to this day, I still remember it line for line. De La Mare was born at Charlton, Kent, England 25 April 1873 – 22 June 1956.  He came from  quite a

I Really could sit in a chair all day

I was reminded of this poem today.  I wrote it ages ago as an experimental piece. It was inspired by  Vincent Van Gogh’s  1888 painting.  I think the original idea for the poem is that in my inertia.  I slowly morph into an actual chair!   I could sit in a chair all day, I

American Gothic and the Hot Meat Pie

I wrote this short poem years ago for a poetry competition I was running on here.  It seems appropriate to republish it today because it is the birthday of the artist  American Regionalist Grant Wood (1891-1942). Here are the other posts that I wrote about him and the Regionalists over on my  other blog Echostains