Robbie’s poems

The Deeds Tree and other poems.

One of Robbie’s goals in lockdown was to write a compendium of poems and his book ‘The Deeds Tree and other poems’ has now gone to print with 50 hardback copies ordered. All donations will go towards planting 25 trees (native to the country) in places which were important to him. We hope that we can arrange this in Sri Lanka, Africa, India and Nepal as well as Wales and various places in England. This will be done a year either side of his 25th birthday in November 2022, and I know he would be delighted given his interest in environmental issues and climate change. If you would like a copy, please message me ( The suggested donation is £12 to cover printing and postage :

Reviews :
Thanks for Robbie’s book of poetry. We are honoured that you share his deepest thoughts, feelings and artistry with us.  The Deeds Tree is so heavy and worldly for his young body that clearly had an old and ancient essence to it.  His love is in the chants arising below the Sri Maha Bodhi.  He put it there with this poem.  I hope you will get to hear that for yourself some day if you have not already.  What a beautiful thought that came from him and is preserved here in his art.  I am imagining the sound of those chants and smiling that that is where he put his love for all to hear and for you to know.  Smile if you can hear it too and know that so long as there is chanting at the Deeds Tree, Robbie’s love is profoundly in this world.  It is sublime, that thought from your young man.  How proud you can be that he knew how to express such a closeness to that place with art.  The eloquence of his sentiment can let you know the power of his love and the goodness of his deeds has a place he wanted it to be known forever.  So knowing for being young and so old for understanding.  I’m moved.  You are blessed that that love, springing out from you and Simon rings out in the place he found for it and he chose to put it to sound every day from now until the chants end.  Let’s hope they never do.

I have now read all of Robbie’s poems in the so fitting tribute book you gifted us.  This Feeling is my absolute favourite.  It might be the most elegant description of hope I could ever imagine.  And hope IN THE MOMENT .  “It feels so nice”.  Indeed, indeed it resonates deeply for me.  Some people are tuned in too intensely to the world of human feelings and clearly Robbie was one of those special souls the rest of us too simply just call artists.  My goodness, he shined so brightly for you and himself and others in his life that his fuel was consumed too quickly.  You have captured the beauty of your boy’s essence with this book.  The love in the chants at the Deeds Tree is for you and all of us.  Smile. Laugh. Have profound pride.  You got to be close to this shining light for 23 years. Most people are surrounded by only dull, greyness, dimness, and darkness most of their lives.  How lucky were you to be his mum??? Realise it (of course you do with no help from me). Celebrate it! It is ok to do so. Wouldn’t it please him? It feels so nice.

Robbie’s poems are breath taking.  He was mature beyond his years and obviously thought deeply about the meaning of life and death.


In the Autumn term of 2022, we are honoured that the Simon Langton School held a poetry competition in honour of Robbie which has been judged by Patricia Novillo Corvalan, Reader in Comparative Literature at the University of Kent. The winners will be announced shortly on this website.

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Yuri Nemoto-Smith’s ’25 for 25′ challenge to mark Robbie’s 25th birthday.

25 words of poetry per day for 25 days.

Day 1
Lovingly preserved all these years. Sunshine dappled woodland clearing lies suspended in
time. And there you are, caught on my disposable camera, ever lovingly preserved

Day 2
I clutch it tightly as I fall. Curiouser and curiouser miniature worlds open out before me.
Labyrinthine fungal thoughts weave through the expanse of soil.
Day 3
The underground study of an empty room, loading and reloading, filtering words away from
those that belong to me. Where in me do they belong?
Day 4
I fill my days with ignorance unbeknownst to me. Another leaf, reddened, falls outside my
window though, curtains drawn, did it still fall for me?

Day 5
The Sri Maha Bodhi arches its branching body through the ages to come knocking at my
window. My deeds tied to its roots, I grow.

Day 6

King Selbard of Hormino. My first introduction to the possibilities of creativity at even a young
age. Tender ages know no bounds, only exponential growth.

Day 7

‘The best talent to emerge from Hogwarts’ you wrote on the blurb. Even then your humour
seeped through the pages of this long lost jewel.

Day 8

Siblings are funny things, always the butt of the joke. But of jokes there would be few and far
between if the sibling didn’t mope.

Day 9

Each day the sun reminds me how a flower grew in its name. Its admiration cranes its neck
around the earth; embracing though spaces apart.

Day 10

Do mountains ever weep to feel closer to the ground? Do their roots carry knowledge of the
deep deep earth that only rain can befall?

Day 11

Wonder paints a canvas more vibrant than the morning sun, and how bright your paintings
shone in your makeshift gallery in your garden of dreams.

Day 12

I find the time, as it passes, becomes full of possibilities. Avenues and pathways I never
thought to explore. But, your path… where are you?

Day 13

Palmistry guides tell me my health. Tell me how long I’ll live. Tell me how strong I am. When
will I believe it? Should I?

Day 14

The warmest nights in October frost my heart with a bitter chill. Dread fills it like water in a
well, cut off from the light.

Day 15

Yet the devil can walk in a mini skirt and playboy bunny is male. These warm nights are filled
with laughter and such beautiful people

Day 16

But lest we forget the soul of a man forever trapped in pumpkin lanterns lit around the nation.
Wondering Jack lights his way. Lost, lost.

Day 17

Every Snap! in the undergrowth, every Crack! of a branch. The rustle rustle of dead leaves
makes every vertebrae slide into a slowly creeping shiver.

Day 18

Like trees in November the hands of the clock fall once, fall twice, dropping time like leaves
and plucking branches bare. They tumble in winds.

Day 19

Even in the barrenness of desert slopes coasting along the horizon, there is beauty there in
the dry land and details down to the grain.

Day 20

Low is the sun in the early autumn morning, sleepy in its approach to day and still clinging to
the misty tendrils of the night.

Day 21

Is arrogance not the root of humankind if the world does not revolve around you but the
world through your eyes is all you see?

Day 22

If music be the food of love, then what appetising morsels shall this love be fed if its seeker
is lost and stumbling tone deaf?

Day 23

By the wind in the trees and the water running through each stream, I will find my way back
to you every night in dreams.

Day 24

Sleep overcomes me. With each passing moment I feel the world slip away and the comforting darkness wraps warmly, deeply like the midst of winter.

Day 25

The sky shares not its secrets at earth’s polar ends. When you watch the moon, I know you see only the sister who lights her. 

Robbie’s poems in Malawi

Shallom Munthali has been inspired to write and recite his own poetry since receiving a copy of the Deeds Tree. 


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