Hi,
I am Stephanie, joint content creator at travelandsit.com.
Below are a selection of poems I wrote whilst pet sitting and on vacation.
Winnie Stym – a waking dream
A poem I wrote in the middle of the night when at home in Manchester. I had a compelling dream about a lady known as Winnie Stym. I have no idea who she is.
I know not who she is
Nor why she is here
I know not where she came from
Or if I should fear.
This presence, this spectre,
This shadow of light
Who steals into my mind
When day fades to night.
A fragment of thought
An enigma of time
Fractured, broken
Yet truly sublime
Be her saint or sinner
Evil or blessed
She is ever present
Wherever I rest.
Stephanie (2024)
Girl On Film
A poem I wrote while on holiday on Seil Island. The seascape reminded me of my favourite film, ‘While I Live‘, with the haunting score, The Dream of Olwen’, by Charles Williams.
Words images,
An eternal thread,
Of warring silence,
Crowds my head.
Till the one who sees,
The cold grey sea,
Is not who I am now,
But the girl who was me.
Those moments in time,
Far long ago,
Etched on a mind,
Too new to know.
The music the story,
Forever to be,
The girl on film,
Reminiscent of me.
Stephanie (2023)
Rob(b)in’ Red Breast
“I’ve heard a rumour,” said Wagtail Joe,
To Sparrow Jackson pecking snow.
“Pray do tell my sprightly chum,
Better to share than be so glum.”
Wagtail Joe shuffled near,
And whispered into Jackson’s ear,
“The cost of living is through the roof,
Seagull Eric has concrete proof,
That even the pigeons are feeling the heat,
And never a cannier bunch you’ll meet.”
Then Seagull Eric out of the blue
Swooped right in as if on cue.
He flapped his wings and plumped his chest,
And nodded to his scarlet breast.
“You do what you must when times are hard,
And that darn Robin will never starve.
‘O, Mummy see how cute he looks!’
While Robin preens and pecks and struts.
Children love his vivid bib,
Adults swear it’s Uncle Sid,
Or Grandma Maud, or Grandpa Fred,
Or another loved one, not long dead.
But not this Christmas .And that’s for sure,
Cos in berry juice I’ve found the cure,
So, dearest Wagtail the rumour’s true,
My breast – for now – is a festive hue.”
Stephanie (2023)
Festive Feast
A tapestry of feathered friends,
Robins, seagulls, kites and wrens,
From frigid, frozen skies descend,
To vales and dales and rivers end.
A ruly ribbon of beating breasts,
Bobs beneath a plumy crest,
Of seagulls in their frenzied quest,
To wrestle winter still to rest.
Then in the forage they espy,
Amidst the mist and misty eye
Water, suet, nuts and rye,
A festive feast from you and I.
Now lighter wings of whiter white,
The fiery reds of robins and kites,
The earthly palette of wrens, take flight,
Soar out of day and out of sight.
Stephanie (2023)
Spending the Kids’ Inheritance
We’re off on a SKI break
Minus the skis
Our kids let me tell you
Are none too pleased.
“It’ll cost a fortune”
“You’ll come back broke.”
They don’t mean our limbs,
And it isn’t a joke.
“What happened to the four-berth chalet in Rhyl?”
“Or the Travellers Rest in Merthyr Tydfil?”
“Never such luxury before,” they lament,
Which is all the more reason why we are hellbent,
On spending the kids’ inheritance…
You see Georgie boy’s just back from Ibiza,
With dance moves galore and a girl who’s no keeper.
She’ll cost a pretty penny, I think,
What she lacks in decorum, she makes up for in drink.
And Ellie May’s month jaunt in Greece
Was worth every euro just for the peace.
“60s the new 40,” I say with a smirk,
“Not slippers, hotpot and a repeat of Dunkirk.
You’ve flown the nest. Our scrimping is done.
Time your father and I had some fun…
We’ll cash in insurance and remortgage the home,
Then spend, spend, spend on our bucket list roam.
And when we’re skint and spent and can globetrek no more,
Suitcases and all we’ll come knocking at your door.
So the best you can hope is God takes us sooner,
because failing that we’ll go out like true Boomers.
And all at our own expense!”
Stephanie (2017)
Bonfire Blues
Bonfire night, treacle toffee,
Frozen toes, lukewarm coffee.
Spare scarf and mittens, rolled up mac’,
Soaked wet through in my old backpack.
And the cost of it all, because nowt’s for free,
Just to freeze my whatsits off under a tree,
While Health and Safety strut and pose,
Oversized egos in high vis clothes…
You can’t do this, that, or the other,
It begs the question – why bother?
For the little faces in the crowd,
For the lights so bright and the bangs so loud.
So I sip my coffee and just keep shtum.
It’s what I do, cos I’m a mum.
Stephanie (2022)
The Princess and the Pea
There was once a prince in need of a bride,
But of a virgin princess there was no hair nor hide.
Not in Glasgow Chester Leeds or Surrey
Oldham Brighton Wirral or Bury.
“It’s so unfair,” he whined to the king.
“I’d forfeit my crown for a wedding ring.
Or marry a girl of beauty who’s soiled,
Or an ugly one, who’s clean and unspoiled.”
“Be patient son,” said the king, a wise man,
As he told the prince about his plan.
And so a devious plot was hatched,
To find the prince his ideal catch.
Every night a new girl arrived,
Oblivious to the scheme derived…
To sleep in a bed with mattresses stacked,
But who’d have laid on nails for a marriage contract.
One by one they failed the test,
And were sent on their way without words or bequest.
Until one such girl had the gall to complain,
“I didn’t sleep a wink. I’m in so much pain.”
She was a raven-haired beauty, strong yet demure,
Kind in heart and ─ pure.
That the planting of a pea had caught;
But the king was not as wise as he thought.
The girl bagged her prince and in their wedding bed,
Her favourite story to the prince she read.
The tale of the Princess and the Pea,
There is none so gullible as He.
Stephanie (2017)
To Peter
You left – goodbyes unsaid
An indelible print
where you laid your head
Your footsteps heavy on a weathered floor
A silent cry as you locked the door
Turning your back on a troubled world
As fragile leaves browned and curled
And days succumbed to shadows of night
You closed your eyes to the fading light
At a time of pain too great to stay
In the Autumn of life you slipped away.
Stephanie (2021)
Finding Freedom
Bucket and spade
The esplanade
In a young mind
Winds north to south
Mirrored in eyes
And mouths
Shaped in awe.
Tears fall
As today we wee
Tomorrow’s tears
Through eyes aged with grief
Lined with year
Fighting the invisible enemy
Man or beast
Which freely roams at least – for now…
While alone they pray
The cloak of death does not enshroud
Amidst hushed voices
Shrill, loud
Amplified by silence
silenced!
Then dawn breaks…
The face of a stranger
The race
Which hangs on the throw of dice, begins.
Fear not.
Freedom our foe cannot steal or borrow
One day will be our tomorrow.
Stephanie (2023)