Deborah Robinson
Bio
I'm new to the 'writing for real' scene. Previously, I've kept my poetry and writing under wraps in a fancy notebook, but now I've decided to give it a proper go!
I hope you enjoy my work.
Thanks, Deborah.
Stories (60/0)
Worship.
The Summer Solstice is a wonderful and exciting time of year. The earth begins tilting back towards the sun, and we enjoy the longest day of the year. Light triumphs over darkness. Warmth triumphs over cold. And we feel great; energetic; positive. Our health is better, and so is daily life. Colour is everywhere. Nature is busy. Bees hum, birds sing and butterflies visit flowers. In celebration of the Solstice, I wrote this poem.
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Poets
Queen.
We are more aware of bees probably now more than ever. We realise that we are to blame for their decline, and that only we can stop it. Few of us really get to observe a bee hive, and only bee-keepers get access to the secret life of the hive. I wrote this poem about the life of the 'Queen.'
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Poets
A Chance.
My heart was pounding wildly in my ears. I could hear shouts and curses behind me. ''Get her! She must be caught.'' I pushed my poor exhausted body on, towards the blue. If I could only reach the sea, I stood a chance. Max had taught me how to swim when I was five; ten years before 'they' took over, with the promise of a better life, a future, equality. Since then, no-one on this small island was allowed near the ocean. We couldn't stray from the perimeters of the electric fence. Anyone who did manage to escape was shot on sight. After months of planning, and with help, I was now running.
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Fiction
The Forest
I spent a lot of time as a youngster walking through forests. My parents didn't have a lot of money, so at weekends, or during school holiday times, we would pack the car full of food for a picnic, and set off somewhere we could have a good walk, and we mostly went for forest walks. We mainly visited evergreen forests, where soft mosses clung to old stone walls along pathways; where we could hear the sound of a powerful river beyond the trees; where we could hear shrill cries of small birds from high up in the canopy.
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Poets
The skill that saved me.
Reject My career as a teacher came to an end in 2013 when I failed to get the job I was doing really well, having not impressed the panel at interview as much as another candidate. This was the second time in nine years that this had happened to me. It didn't seem to count that I had helped some of the students improve their A Level resits from a grade D to a grade A, for example, or that I was popular with my classes, and that I was an excellent teacher. I was devastated; but somewhere in the back of my mind, I was also relieved.
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Psyche
Just
It bothers me when people say 'I am just a stay-at-home mum', or 'Oh, I just work in a shop.' What has happened to make those people feel they have no value? We cannot all be amazing life-savers like doctors and nurses. We cannot all run the country. But, we do all have a role. A very important role, and to better explain what I mean, I wrote this poem, in tribute to all the 'I am just...' people out there.
By Deborah Robinson3 years ago in Poets