Tag Archives: Carol Robson

Asgard: ‘Warriors and Ravens’ 3/5′ The Nine Realms- Poems and Writing

27 Nov

World Tree Norse

The Nine Realms

9 months, 22 poets and writers, 22 Artists, 3 composers, 1 Viking boat: a magical reworking of Norse Mythology for contemporary audiences


Poems and Writing inspired by the Norse realm of Asgard


Richard Biddle, Eleanor Perry,

Jim C. Mackintosh, Carol Robson


Mimir Speaks

by Richard Biddle

First you must become
your own assassin.

With the clarity of
a perfectly balanced

and as easily as clouds
pass over an
unblemished sky,

cut through yourself.

Once severed from the
object of your body

you shall reawaken
into a deathless peace

and inside this
formless void
you will find a new voice
with which to speak.

As the me of your
memory melts,

like not quite white
fallen snow

laying bare
the groundless

on which
all can tread
without trace,

know that
all you are
is the knowing
of knowing.

look inwardly,
and see
there is no enemy
named he or she
there is no you
there is no me,
there is only
this perfectly
present moment.

And all
are headless.


I take my inspiration from this extract found in, Kevin Crossley-Holland’s book ‘The Norse Myths’

“Odin took Mimir’s head and cradled it. he smeared it with herbs to preserve it, so that it would never decay. And then the High One sang charms over it and gave back to Mimir’s head the power of speech. So its wisdom became Odin’s wisdom – many truths unknown to any other being.”





by Eleanor Perry

Waste 1 jpeg

Waste 3 jpeg

Waste 2 jpeg


MP3 to come



by Jim C. Mackintosh


Shh! Close your eyes.
Open your mind.

Do you believe?
Do you believe in the Gods?
In the Gods that surround you,
Embracing your thoughts, shaping your dreams
In the confused, nibbled edge of the rainbow
Brilliant, then at once dissolved into the clouds,
Lost to our perception but never ending, to bind
Its ribbon’d flames on to the lush plains of Asgard
Beyond our reach, unless you believe – do you?

Do you believe?
In the distance, those wise mountains, we hold in awe,
Yet they’re nothing more than the quarried odds,
For the walls of Asgard hewn from the depths by
The rock giant condemned by Thor’s mighty blow,
His skull scattered amongst the scree in fragments
Echoing in ravines and gulley’s at the thunderous
Crack of Mjollnir – the Hammer of Thor, the sparks
Of fury scored across our world as lightning.

Do you believe?
That gentle stroke of honeyed breeze
Out of nothing, brushing past our innocence
On a calm summer’s day – pulling at your senses,
Sleipnir has passed you quietly by – its silver mane
Catching your attention but for a moment – then gone
For Odin, his Master has business beyond our vision
In the lands of the Forgotten
In the Halls of the Slain – in Valhalla.

Do you believe?
Lost in the golden sparkle
Of a million tealights dancing
Across the rippled sea, to the horizon
Each one a teardrop lost from the curve
Of Freyja’s immeasurable beauty – a glimpse
Of her solitude, exposed briefly
To our mortal greed then gone
For Odin will not allow it – nobody
Holds the fragrant beauty of Freyja close but him.

Do you believe?
In the columned pines that tilt and moan
In the storms yet hold the weight of Asgard
Beyond our understanding – the waters
That seep as rain from the Well of Urd through
Clouds folding and masking the horizon
Which we cannot reach unless we believe
In the Realm of Asgard, in all of the Nine Realms
Bound in the sinewed embrace of Yggdrasill’s roots.

So, do you believe?
In the Gods that exist in you, that become you.
Open your eyes. Live in your mind.
Welcome to Asgard – where the journey begins.
The journey that never ends, unless your mind
Stops for breath, believe me, believe yourself.
We must go now.
We have far to travel.
Much has happened.
Much has yet to be remembered.



Rainbow Keeper

by Carol Robson


Born of nine
nourished in fertility
of thy mother earth,
washed – cleansed,
in wave after wave
of brine and blood.

Guardian gatekeeper,
ever watchful
in sight and sound.
Deceiver so big,
changing to, another RIG.
Nemesis for good,
this giant he stood.

Rainbow sentinel so proud,
bearer of horn, so loud.
His sword to flash
for enemies to crash.

Asgard protected down the ages,
depicted in so many pages.
In mythology, he’s in the A-list
Although in Stargate
he was a Geneticist.

©Carol Robson 2014





You can read the overview of Asgard here


Find out more about Richard, Eleanor, Jim and Carol:


Richard Biddle



Eleanor Perry


Jim C Mackintosh



Carol Robson




Watch out for more Asgard poetry next week!

As always, thank you for your interest. 


‘Ends and Beginnings’ Circle 1/4: Transformations Poems (Book 15)

1 May


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 15


Greg Mackie and Carol Robson




by Greg Mackie Book 15


Her father died down the pit,
and her mother, bitter,
threw plates and angry words.

This was her history –
the filter through which
we sought to understand her,
and by extension, ourselves.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
and claim that the chains of destiny
are as fragile
as the chains of an aging mineshaft lift –
I don’t truly believe that.

The chains of our destiny
were forged with hope and defiance:
we survived wars and accidents and disease,
we walked on mud tracks and tarmac and the thin dust of the moon;
we built a world in our image – 
brave and bold and beautiful and ugly and stark and cruel and tender.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
I look inside myself
and see the values that she passed on.

“People are good.”

“Everybody is equal.”

“Nothing is worth more
than a human life.”

There are days,
everything contradicts this –

Ideas may be indestructible,
but values melt in the sun,
and so we encapsulate them in legends,
pass them down through the generations,
bestow them an eternity,
in the company of men and gods and wolves and snakes.

And though I may sit here,
cynical and tired, 
I open a book,
a poem of transformations,
and the very last line,
the very last thought,
a declaration,
of hope and defiance –

“I will live!”




by Carol Robson


In thy mathematical mind
that strains beyond calculus
in theorem of life
that shall not be taken
for the sustenance of another.

All life be precious
for blessed reincarnation
for all life’s creatures
as in human life we wish
to return in form,
of whatever is blessed.

We should not feast on the beast
that perchance you devour
a relative or friend
that passed and returned,
in true transmigration of soul.

Our perfect abstention,
from feasting on another life,
to only feed on mother earth’s bounty
that sustains us in body and soul
that keeps us in harmony for reincarnation,
for continuation of our soul transmigration.

© Carol Robson 2014


You can find more about Greg here:




You can find more about Carol here:




Tomorrow we’ll be sharing another Weekend Showcase featuring artist Jack Morris
Thank you for your interest.



14 Poets, 15 artists, 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Do take a look.

Transformations Kickstarter Campaign:


Campaign Video:



‘Strength and Disgrace’ Strike 1/4: Transformations Poems (Book 9)

7 Nov


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 9


Sadaf Fatima and Carol Robson



Flip Side

by Sadaf Fatima


The blood cloak you thought

Would incite romance,

Took Hercules away.

Remember, love isn’t just delight

It‘s also destruction.

It’s not just a beginning,

But can also be an end.

The ills may or may not

Lie with you,

Or the person you love,

But the rumors,

Real or false,

Bring you to a sad end.

But don’t despair,

As love comes without warning,

And even goes without a hint.

Don’t despair as you two,

Aren’t the only ones,

Fate’s the third to decide,

For a happily ever after,

Or an ever after,

Without each other.

Love that incites romance

Also burns it down.


Love Transcends

(Iphis and Ianthe)

by Carol Robson

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 desires
my beautiful Ianthe
that you be man
or even I
to consummate
to bring purity
for our love desires.

True love triumphs
above all foolishness
love is much more
than decreeing
the genders
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
for satisfaction
of the Gods
and families.
Yet! my beautiful Ianthe
our love transcends
Gods, Goddess and Gender.

©Carol Robson 2013

You can find more about Sadaf and Carol here:

Sadaf Fatima




Carol Robson


‘Morning Stars and Flames of Hate’ Flicker 2/3: Transformations Poems (Book 8)

26 Oct


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 8


Rebecca Audra Smith and Carol Robson


Loss and War

by Rebecca Audra Smith



Height and flight;

cannon balls boom and fall.

In war women come 

like Trojan horses

eager to unthrone.

They cut hair, swim through seas,

they are not considered heroes.


 We go out on a Saturday night

looking for love;

we are the women.

We have blackened toes,

split heels and bruised soles,

high heels arming our feet.

The war paint of lipstick,

Our clothes flimsy as flags,

We bring all of the past on our backs. 




You strap your son, your boy

into a set of wings.

Give him advice,

watch his eyes shine.

You will be grieving over the feathers

that water brings to you

on an implacable tide.


Traitress Bird

by Carol Robson



Pampered, indecisive

back and forth

by nature

she will have

what she craves for

come hell or high water.

Her feelings so strong

yearning for her desired love

to win his love

by any means

treachery, betrayal

is her capability

parental treason

traitor of kinship

for the love of another.


her unfilial actions

leaving a bad taste

sickening her desired love.

A forlorn pursuit,

her perfidious nature

souring hearts

to turn upon her

as she freaks out

in her spurned madness,

out of her water

clinging to her love’s bow,

powerfully revenged

swooped upon

for parental treachery,

to be transformed

to live her life

as a rock dove,

stamped for her

treachery and deceit.


©Carol Robson 2013


You can find more about Rebecca and Carol here:

Rebecca Audra Smith



Carol Robson


‘Struggle and Treachery’ Action 3/4: Transformations Poems (Book 7)

2 Oct


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 7


Richard Biddle and Carol Robson


Love letter to the Wind

by Richard Biddle


Gentle breath that knows no malice, whose body blows could knock out

a city’s lights or flatten a forest; when first your dust-stirring gusto brushed

my rougued cheeks, lust stirred a must-have itch in my loins. 


A longing came to move toward your tornado touch, a hankering for a

hurricane hug, a need to be at the heart of a twister’s eye.


What folly it is to tumble through barren deserts, picking up piles of junk,

unpredictable as a drunken brawl, when I am here waiting, unrequited,

hour by hour, and ready to be taken by your turbine-turning power.

I lie awake; jealous of the attention you pay the waves and autumnal leaves,

Won’t you calm your squalling zigzag transit, made visible by smoke

and flags, to a warm, embracing zephyr and lavish upon my heated desire

a cool and tender breeze? 


Enchantress *


by Carol Robson

To fall in love with her
is so bewitching,
being well connected
a woman who usually
gets her way,
love on her terms
her will to be met
with challenges.

Fearing for her new love
to be brought under her charms
spellbinding in her efforts
for the charms
of his affections
his promises.

In conspiracy,
to bring about life and death
loves blindness
of being used
for her lover’s needs,
torn to run
on chariots from high.

Returning spurned
her wrath fingered
upon the innocent
and the blood kin
between her
and her true love,
anger raging
the enchantress flees
to new horizons
never to be misled
or wronged again.

©Carol Robson 2013


* =One of the poems to be included in our ‘Transformations’ Exhibition/Poetry reading September 2014, Hanse House, King’s Lynn, Norfolk

You can find out more about Richard and Carol here:


Richard Biddle

‘Spindles and Webs’ Thread 3/4: Transformations Poems (Book 6)

3 Sep


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 6


Carol Robson and Nat Hall



Silky Weaver

(Arachne and Minvera)

by Carol Robson


Weaver of tales
resplendently regaled
from humbleness,
interlacing her stories,
gathering her fame
in silkiness
of living threads.

Disguised challenge
old woman confronts
respect the goddess,
silky weaver
in defiance
that her substance
of threads
of weaves
are the finest
to behold.

Battles of weavers
spinning their tales,
tapestries in arrogance
silky weaver
the Gods
in weaves
of their

In ire
silky weaver
wrathful goddess,
striking silky weaver
in anger.

head hanging shame
by the weaved noose,
then in pity
of silky weaver
to poisonous
silky spinning

©Carol Robson 2013


Spinning Spirits

by Nat Hall


Inside her web of dreams,
she feels world souls
pass through

thinnest of yarn,
white filaments caress fingers
as she sits tight behind
her wheel.

She knows
the beauty of
each thread, rhythm of
her foot on treadle, the joy with which hooked flyer spins
in a rengaine…

Apparatus built for a song.

Her eyes,
drawn inside
every ounce of wool
she washed & brushed with
so much care
now looks
fine silk;

she does not
listen to
wind that
filters through
the wooden frame of
her own gift…

For days on end,
she simply stops to
watch the clock,
as spinning

She does not know,
she will be punished for
her deed, as jealous
hands are told to
turn her
her abdomen
became her wheel.

© Nat Hall 2013

Inspired from the tale of Arachne & Minerva



You can find out more about Carol and Nat here: 




‘Heralding Battle and Blood’ Slash 2/4: Transformations Poems (Book 5)

23 Jul


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 5



Carol Robson and Rebecca Audra Smith




by Carol Robson


Dry unfertile lands
no sustenance to thine
visions of human kind
forlorn in barren fertility
that both should show
the fruits of natural fertility.

Both should be nourished
for land and womb
to bear the labours of love
cultivation of the seed
for sustenance
for life and spirit.

Grains of fertility
grains to multiply
to fructify
the earth
the womb
for the renewal
of life and soul
with nourishment
for Mother Earth
for animal
and human kind.

©Carol Robson 2013



(Perseus, Andromeda and Phineas)

by Carol Robson

The wedding banquet follows
anticipation of a glorious feast
celebration of a new union
not always a concordancy
families in disorder
jealousy and rage
broken promises
bride promised to another.

The promised man
wronged in anger
challenging the new groom
with a force of men
to right the wrong
done unto him.
He transforms the festivities
all hell ensues
as the promised man
endeavours to take
his promised bride
only to be rocked
by the sudden appearance
of the cold stare
that leaves him

©Carol Robson 2013



by Rebecca Audra Smith

The owl flew to the girl
pecked her apart till only her face was left.
It took her tongue as the choicest morsel.

Magpie, do you think you can sing?
Lost in the chattering notes of your song
there is some sweetness.

Sorrow comes to us on a humid breeze,
it screeches and hoots its tales,
the chase and catch of mice and rat.



by Rebecca Audra Smith

The stone army stays.
The pure marble of a man frozen
in the act of hurling a spear.

Violence made safe, she wove
garlands around their cold shoulders,
planted pansies at their feet.

One, his face screwed into pain,
she loved and learnt his stance,
in her sleep she was granite,
pebbles, the stone of a dock. 


You can find out more about Carol and Rebecca and their work here:


Carol Robson




Rebecca Audra Smith






The Recovery Project Collaboration: ‘Creatives Making a Difference’

4 Jun


More than several months ago I had an idea about creating a mini-collaboration on the theme of the mental health term  ‘Recovery’. This is not only particularly relevant to me because I have bi-polar and am in a state of recovery myself, but also because ‘recovery’ is important for lots of people (including creatives) who are affected my mental health issues. It’s a universally important theme and experience.

With this in mind I asked the poets Carol Robson, John Mansell and Rebecca Audra Smith (all accessed via Twitter)  if they would like to collaborate on this and write a poem for the project, each taking up a particular facet of the path to recovery. Carol took up the theme of DESPAIR, John, MUDDLING THROUGH and Rebecca ‘RECOVERY’. I asked 3 artists who were then paired with the poets: Ray Bentley, Photographer Jeremy Moseley and Hugo Smith (all accessed via Twitter) to produce artwork inspired by the three poems. I also asked audio visual artist Shaun Blezard to write an accompanying soundpiece for the three sections. So this whole project is completely fuelled by new literary pieces, artwork/photography and sounds. The piece can viewed in sections or be taken as a whole. I have also produced a mini-film  which includes audio versions of the poems, and will give you an idea of the piece as a whole and how it could be turned into an installation of sorts (watch this space…).  It is worth mentioning that everyone involved in this project either has direct experience of the issues or an explicit interest.

The Recovery Project is an important bench-mark for ArtiPeeps for it really represents the first contribution to a new mental health initiative we are going to be instigating more explicitly in October: ‘Supporting Mental Health’.  This ongoing  initiative will produce collaborative material which will form an online artistic and  therapeutic resource for people in need. This will be part of other larger shifts in ArtiPeeps’ intent. There will be more news of this and its implications as time unfolds. But it’s all good.



“Recovery is being able to live a meaningful and satisfying life, as defined by each person, in the presence or absence of symptoms. It is about having control over and input into your own life. Each individual’s recovery, like his or her experience of the mental health problems or illness, is a unique and deeply personal process.”Scottish Recovery Network 2009

Recovery is not about ‘getting rid of problems’. It is about seeing people beyond their problems – their abilities, possibilities, interests, and dreams and recovering the social roles and relationships that give life value and meaning”Julie Repper and Rachel Perkins, 2002



by Shaun Blezard

Section 1


Restraint Chair No.1 (crop)

Restraint Chair No.1 by Ray Bentley


Another Psychosis

by Carol Robson


Here in a place, which I should be
I need to be here and in all places
Yet! an urge to run rages through me
fear of physical contact, my brain now in overload
here, feeling alone in a place full of people.

Like a frightened gazelle
taunted by its hunter
I search for the exit to safety
an egress to my solitary state
my place of safety in my Prozac stained mind.

Neural networks firing their manic impulses
ignoring my vain attempt of rational logic
craving for their mania overload
knowing again, they will fight a long battle
against the Lithium army, that will bring them down.

Highs and lows come and go
trying to live your normal life
my exterior facade is all you see
as it hides a mind and soul in turmoil
just trying to get through to the next hour.

A life in a day to day existence
that craves for whatever is normal
a time bomb mind with a fragile trigger
controlled by whatever the drug of choice is.

Clinging to a life of hopes and dreams
that is out of this drug controlled despair
I will one day rise again like the Phoenix
out of the ashes, of Another Psychosis.

© Carol Robson 2011


Section 2:


This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Photography by Jeremy Moseley




Solitary Lights in a Forsaken Landscape

by John Mansell


Day opens like a strange flower.
Had it really closed?

Eyes adrift with bitter tears.
I see you viewing me with unease,
…………toothbrush in hand;
Do not call me stranger.
Do not make me mute
……….by filling my mouth with dread.
Lined linear colour,
the implements of survival
…………in their little compartments
…………………….with designated times…..
Consumption of the divine;
a woman purled in momentary
silence forages the impression
that once she knew me.
And then, like a shoot that appeared too soon
……….is gone…..
Each moment a disgrace to pleasure:
………..the floods of worry
…………………..have strewn me along
…………………..various embankments…..
And when certain suns shine,
I know it is a worry
as unnecessary as
…………the solitude I veil myself with…..
Walk with me these grim corridors.
Though I was able yesterday, today I have fears
that arrest me.
I see faces and eyes rimmed with farewells.
I hear names spoken,
and children laughing…..
If I listen intently enough, I am sure
one of those children is me…..
I am sure there were good days once…..

Shift the falling grains
so they rumple not to the
………..gathering years
but the trench of a memory
…………you think may have held yesterday;
as if your yesterday never existed.
The moisture of dreams drowns
the fallen edifice of your time…..
You are, but never was
because you fear
what you were for it would exhibit
………what you
………………..would be…..
you keeper of empty paintings.
Sleep in a place
where time is a flick of a page;
the dying groans of lost hope,
the flippant drapery
………..of a night
that will come despite
…………your efforts, thief of my life
…………despoiler of all I held beautiful…..

Day closes like a strange flower.
Had it really opened?

 Section 3:


trying for the brighter by Hugo Smith

‘Trying For the Brighter’ by Hugo Smith



by Rebecca Audra Smith


Hunting for the key
that can slot into my ear
unlock who I am, with
its slow turn and click.
I can hear it in my head,
doors open to staircases lead
to cellars where weeds chatter
about sunshine, light and seed.
Fumbled fingers in the bed
searching for a lighter
to set fire to the sun,
board a chariot, ride far.
I could have burnt my home
to ash, to dust- my family
rooting for my bones;
I’m trying for the brighter.
Planting keyholes inside tulips,
my hands are full of keys
each day a little lighter,
a stronger step for me.

The Recovery Film:



‘Warmth and Wickedness’ Act 3/5 : Transformations Poems (Book 3)

21 May


George Braque Metamorphoses

February 2013-March 2014

17 poets, 15 months, creating 1 contemporary reworking of Ovid’s Metamorphoses

See the Transformations Page for more details or the ‘Present Collaborations’ Tab


Poems Inspired by Book 3



Carol Robson and Kate Garrett


Untethered Man *


by Carol Robson


Takes his orders from upon high

his kidnapped sibling must be found

traversed the world in fruitless search.

Fearing the wrath from father on high

he now seeks the wisdom of others.


In fear he flees to distant lands

to seek a new life untethered

he’ll kill and take to meet his needs

new lands to conquer for him to rule

the prophecy told him, now unfurling.


Slays the serpent who took his men

the serpents teeth in fertile soil he sews.

New men with purpose from earth are born

a slaughter endured until five are left

to share new life with the untethered man.


©Carol Robson 2013



 (After Ovid’s Semele and the Birth of Bacchus)

by Kate Garrett


My curiosity destroyed me.

I felt little as my lover’s

lightning consumed


 my mortal body, one

thought only: what will become

 of the boy? Plucked


from my ashen womb, still pink

and growing, then nestled

in a wound in his father’s


thigh. Sewn into skin, so close

to the source of the burning seed

 that made him. Bacchus, my


baby god of wine and revelry,

 twice born, like a man

 who partakes of the grape


to excess, finds clarity in a fuzzy

head, and wakes unwell: as the day

progresses, he is whole again.


* =One of the poems to be included in our ‘Transformations’ Exhibition/Poetry reading September 2014, Hanse House, King’s Lynn, Norfolk

You can find more about Carol and Kate and their work here:

Carol Robson:



Kate Garrett




‘Poetry, Verse and Other Writing from a Late Starter’

15 Apr



I’m Carol Robson and I live in Rotherham in South Yorkshire. I accepted place at the University of Sheffield when I was 53 and after I graduated in 2004 with a BMedSci (Hons) in Health and Human Sciences, after which my life changed for the better.

 I have previously been involved with Equality and Diversity work to help the LGBT community and I also enjoy working on issues for older people especially the older Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender community through my involvement with Age UK.

 I really hadn’t done much writing, apart from my time at University and especially poetry before 2009, hence writings from a late starter. I had penned a couple of poems several years earlier and a performance poet friend encouraged me to write some new stuff which might have relevance to my life and try out at an open mic event which went very well and I’ve since appeared at many more. It is great to hear that people love my poetry and my life has been enhanced by the many friends I have made through the performance poet side of my life.

 I published my first collection of poems Words of Darkness and Light towards the end of 2012; Amazon http://tinyurl.com/93j4khd I’ve also been published in several anthologies and literary journals, which include Route57 University of Sheffield Literary Journal and the Australian LGBT literary journal Polari Online.

My poetry is very eclectic and it covers a wide range of subjects which includes poems about Mental Health, Domestic Violence, Gender, Yorkshire, LGBT, Social Comment, Humour and Demons. Apart from my involvement with the Transformations project, I’m also involved with Hidden Perspectives (Bringing the Bible Out of the Closet) project: http://hiddenperspectivesfest.wordpress.com/about/

 I’m looking at the biblical narratives on homosexuality and homophobia and writing contemporary poetry for a set ‘Gay Biblical Whispers’ which I’ll be performing at the Hidden Perspectives event at the Showroom Workstation in Sheffield on June 1st.

 My blog http://www.chakracaz.wordpress.com



I came, I went, I’m here again

Not the same, different, but still me

Was happy, but sad

Looking for answers, afraid to ask

Alas! hidden behind the mask


Moving in a life with those I love

Yet! no real friends, fear behind the mask

Acquaintances only, which is so sad

A partner and children I so dearly love

Yet! still hidden behind the mask


Years fall away

The hiding stays

Fear of exposure

Hurting those I love

Who is really hurting

Behind the mask


Angel of death beckoned

It was so real

Not like me

Still living a lie

Near death behind the mask


Guardian angel came and I clawed back

It was the time for the mask to fade

Gradually it falls away

However, the hurt and the pain stay

For those who mean so much to me


No longer a need to hide

Truly loved ones are by my side

The real me is flourishing now

The actor is no longer needed

No more mask


Here is the real me

Family, friends and soul mates

So dear to me

Their love for me, just being me

I came, I went, I am finally here.


© 2011 Carol Robson


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