Launching Robins, Feathers, Pearls

V. Press is very very delighted to announce the publication of Robins, Feathers, Pearls by Ella-Louise Fisher, whose university portfolio of poems won last year's V. Press Prize for Poetry.

“Robins, Feathers, Pearls takes us on a journey of what it means to lose but also what it means to have. These poems are proof that the greatest moments of sadness and despair can be written with beauty and light. You will get lost in these words, and you will be grateful for it.”

Casey Bailey

“This remarkable debut publication from Ella-Louise Fisher is a powerful reminder of how bereavement can be more than an individual experience. Elegiac work is by nature difficult to write. It is often particularly difficult to communicate the balance between public and private grief which holds the elegy in place, but Fisher’s poems skilfully present personal moments from a rich life that frames the context of loss in beautiful, heartbreaking, and strikingly recognisable ways. More than this, Robins, Feathers, Pearls is a true commitment to honouring life as well as reflecting on death, and honesty, integrity, and deep love for family lives in every line.”
Jack McGowan

Robins, Feathers, Pearls is very honest, and very moving. 

Winner of the V. Press Prize for Poetry 2023

ISBN: 978-1-7394122-1-0

36 pages

R.R.P. £6.99

A sample poem can be enjoyed below.

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Robins, Feathers, Pearls (with p&p options)

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The Aisle of Urns in Charity Shops

I might donate your ashes to a charity shop. 

When I think of you, 

I picture you stroking the sleeves of jumpers 

in the aisles of Oxfam, 

holding teddies, and a book,

and dolls and wool, 

ready to give to me. 

I picture you grasping bin bags 

of knitted blankets and cardigans 

ready to donate, 

and, after promising not to take too long,

you’d spend hours browsing the 

fine china and teacup sets. 

You came home one day with a necklace, 

a small statue of a dog’s head for your fireplace, 

and a jewellery box, slightly chipped. 

Carrying a box of Beano comics on your hip. 

It might be worth something one day,

you said, 

as I raised my eyebrows. 

Now I walk in and find your pearls 

and your picture frames 

and your tea pot 

in the aisles of Oxfam

and, even though I donated them myself, 

I take them all in my arms and buy them again. 

A change of heart, 

I’ll wear you around my neck instead.