Expensive

Searching for ‘Ink Champagne’ on Google (or other such delightful search engine) will bring up a number of results. Mainly, it asks: ‘did you mean to search for Pink Champagne?’ And, if the answer to that is ‘yes,’ then I wouldn’t blame you – I’m quite partial to a few bubbles myself! But another popular search returned, is: ‘Ink more expensive than Champagne.’

All that led me here: 45 million ink cartridges hit UK landfill every year… 45 million in the UK alone! (I thank http://www.cartridgeworld.co.uk/ for that stat.)

This reminded me about the WEEE Man. Over 7m tall and built from 3.3 tonnes of electrical waste that an average person produces in a lifetime, I want to go and see him some day. For the time being I visit him here: http://weeeman.org/ or on Google images to remind myself I am a consumer and, like it or not, I’m nurturing one of these babies of my own.

Intro over… Here it is:


Expensive

Why are we building giant robots?
over seven metres high!
An electronic, silent army,
being assembled out of sight

How can we create monsters?
who feast on Mother Earth
And in payment for her sweetness:
we plant our metal seeds in dirt

When they rise up from the ashes
those piles of rust and solder might
Just stand and watch us from the shadows;
soldiers blocking out the light

Who calls time on all this madness?
Three tonnes turns so quickly into four...
Our ‘disposable’ generation
can surely take no more


(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Armistice

Every year; humbled.

Armistice

Viscid in dreadful sentiment,
with badges tacked upon his sleeve
Medals fixed unto his breast,
through history books we grieve

Though history’s not forgotten;
time, no opiate for pain
Our eyes may not have witnessed,
but we do not take in vain

To those we owe our freedom;
those now, and long since gone,
I’ll pin, with pride, my poppy,
at the setting of the sun.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Thank you

‘Thank you’ is a simple phrase
But to me it means so much
I want to let you know right now
Your kindness left me touched

Take this as a token
I’m sending this to say
‘Thank you’ seems so simple
When you really made my day!

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Twitter

It’s amazing what a 10 minute free-write can produce!

Now the pumpkin pie is mouldy,
and the toffee apple’s burnt,
November nights are drawing in without the fireworks

December days are nearly here;
and with them bringing festive cheer –
a reminder that another year, will soon be on its way

So 2010 is nearly done; eleven, not-quite yet begun,
this year I wrote lots; just for fun,
and created my own page

If you like the things I write, regularly read, or peruse my site
Share the link with friends-alike;
I ‘Tweet’ as Ink_Champagne

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

This city

I challenged myself to write a poem which illustrates a juxtaposition. It's slept easily and lay dormant for far too long in this PC, so here it is:

This city

He walks tall but stands unnoticed;
sadness pulses in his veins,
then the rain falls from the heavens, and he’s
homeward bound again

Lights shine bright and unforgiving,
illumined glitz absorbed by night
casts deep shadows on the busy;
our city sleeps tonight

His attractive face once jaunty
is now painted slick with pain,
he sits sheltered in a doorway, and he’s
homeward bound again

Metal bones and sleek glass towers
house cosmopolitan delights,
within the heart of human hubbub;
our city dreams tonight

He rests at feet of strangers; and waits
to see the day that it’s not concrete
for his pillow, and he’s
homeward bound again

For now the two are allied;
like our moon is linked to sun,
yet it's not fated like the stars are;
you can help to break that bond

So if ‘homeward bound,’ to you, means one thing,
and you want to close your eyes,
they'll still be there in the morning...
sleep well; sweet dreams, good night.

(c) Jane Edwards 2010

Quote, un-quote

Francis Xavier's quote: Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man, got me thinking. As a result, here's my latest offering.


Quote, un-quote

She scratched the quill across his face,
each stroke an invisible tattoo, meticulously
layered, to reveal
a watery reflection.
Yet even when the feather stops moving, the words continue
to curl and knot into his flesh, like bindweed;
roots of black ink creep, as ivy,
around his bones.
They continue to stretch and twist, unceasing,
until compacted, then overflow and snap to release an
alphabet of iron filings which tumble,
for others to breathe in, and commit to memory.
His etched young carbons compressed into being;
ready designed to view the world, with an early choice:
thrash those weeds with a sickle, or let the ink
flow freely through his veins.


Poem copyright (c) Jane Edwards 2010.

Woldgate woods

Inspired by the series of paintings by a certain David Hockney, this one's for you Denise!! :)

Woldgate woods


The fire-trees stand tall and bony,
shedding redding-autumn leaves
crying crispy tears of crimson
to knit a blanket at their feet

How they hate this change of season,
yet know it's only just begun
though now lonely, pull together,
and pray silently for sun

More ligneous than luscious; a foliage reprieve
until the first few buds of spring offer chance to shoot new leaves
then the fire-trees are happy
when they know they'll once again stand green

Copyright (c) Jane Edwards 2010

Penny for your thoughts

'Penny for your thoughts,' he says, face shadowed,
but I discern a glint.
The pomp faded some thirty years before, and now
he sits; legs covered with itchy crocheted patches - days spent counting
the raindrops.
My mouth pulls towards my taut left cheek as I search-
for words. There are none, so my shoulders rise, and fall,
in answer.
Gifted raconteur, he disturbs torpid air with sing-song tales of his
wife and an enchanting account of my childhood. A priceless treasure,
overlooked and nestled between the other discarded;
brittle with wisdom and accustom to the ephemeral acceptance
which is youth.
I'm still learning; apologetic that I didn't
graciously accept that penny when offered the chance.
I would be richer for it.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Recollection

Full of creepy bugs and covered in moss,
I knew it even then; with infant eyes:
when it rained, the algae would turn my clothes green
and mother crimson.
On summers days it scratched my legs as I made daisy chains
and served as a goalpost with its jacket-buddy;
a timeless hero to the generations.
I wonder if that log knew how much it was loved –
incorporated; a childhood hub.
Had it known it would be severed from its roots;
removed from its coppice family – status downgraded from tree to log –
would it have volunteered its fate?
Knowing that one day
it would jog just one child’s memory
and make that child smile.
I hope so.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Kick the can (haiku)

Someone will pick it up soon, surely? Though it has proved an unintended muse!

Aluminium skin:
noisy tumbleweed -
chivvied by brazen currents.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

La luna

I've been moongazing tonight. This is what I saw.

La luna

Our moon is bright tonight;
through whispers of clouds, it bathes,
makes darkness heavy and eyes sparkle
casts spell on serenity and bustle without bias
and as crescents of chalky water gently lap:
illumines us equally, though we are distant

That’s why I love you, Brother of Sun.

Our moon is bright tonight;
a cosmic sentry, trusted to remain when the Neon’s and Argon’s fade,
purified chills soothe scorched earth
icon of romance,
you join us when we are apart:
a lunar reminder

And that’s why I love you.


(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

What do you think?

Inspired by the fantastic works of Antony Gormley - (in specific the sculpture called 'three thoughts'), I created my latest offering in ode to the genius that he is.

What do you think?

What’s in a thought and how is it free -
do our visions confine how you and I see?
A bubble of air or a strand of your soul;
an imprinted record in the rings of your bones?
Should they fly, could you catch them – and tie them to stone;
then be judged on intentions of actions untold?
If thoughts were a colour, what hue would they be;
are pessimists blue and optimists green?
To consider iniquity, does it make you bad;
or add to your virtue when you fail to act?
When a thought turns to memory,
where does it go?
There’s one thing for sure:
nobody knows.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Choose life

This one took me a week to write. I tried a different style and chose a subject which I vehemently loathe. I'm sure I don't need to say I'm wholly opposed to any sort of crime. But I am, and I will.

Choose life

The candyfloss kid,
chews gristle; grinds bone.
the Noughties, a decade marked
out as his own,
he knows-not of a place he
can safely call home,
yet this child just
turned out a light.

Talented tearaway – as
with trains on a track –
from one simple action,
there’s no going back;
a harrowing, unprovoked
vicious attack. This
baby, he carried a knife.

To the fear collector, he,
in tears, paid his dues,
though family and friends –
they paid them too, when
his victim expired, so
did his youth. The decision
stays with him; for life.

A sorrowful tale
of years behind bars; a
sickening cycle,
such indelible scars.
When he chose the steel,
he broke his mothers heart;
don’t make this mistake:
think twice.

Think twice for
the suffering you’d cause your
‘foes’; lives that will change because
of ‘cross-words’, we’re all
born to live and breathe in this
world, the answer: no violence;
choose life.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Stop and smell the flowers

Pretty, neat snowdrops,
the first ones of spring,
sweet petal petticoats;
of velvety skin,
heads bowed like Angels;
too weary to sing,
crispy green clothing prevails.

Leaves tinged with ice,
they shine Lunar white,
a delicate honey;
scented carpet of white,
small nodding flowers;
a major delight:
The first pretty snowdrops of spring.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

My release

On second thoughts, I'd better introduce this one. My mother gave me the topic of rain. Perhaps she was thinking of that light and fluffy 50's film 'Singing in the Rain.'

Instead, she got this:

My release

Dry as the air; parched is my tongue,
I wait for the day when the tropic rains come,
Sore is my skin; blistered by sun,
Wash me free

Wash me free from the confines of sinew and bone;
This carcass a place that my soul calls its home,
I wait for the day when the tropic rains come,
Let me breathe

Let me breathe in the fire, that's burning my throat,
As it cascades in rivulets and relieves me of hope,
I wait for the day when the tropic rains come,
Hear my screams

Hear my screams for the rainfall; a monsoon awake,
With the storm now approaching I feel myself shake,
This is the day when the tropic rains come,
I am free

Free from the evils of what they call life,
Purged from my vessel; like a moth to the light,
The tropic rains stop once they sense my delight:
My release

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

21st Century Living

A wide, wooden table is burgeoning with treats,
Stood looking through the window is a girl that never eats

Not through a disorder, or mysterious disease,
But pure and simple poverty, over sick and evil greed

With distended gut that's plain to see, all look; but walk on by,
As their stares become aversion, she begins to cry

Face resting on the window, bare-feet turning in to ice,
A sister stands forgotten, in the cruel class divide

She didn't ask, but doesn't moan - for this simply is her life,
But wish-oh-wish upon a star, she does night after night

Oily rags which drape her bones, are threadbare; non-distinct,
When one fine and kindred gentleman - in pity - takes her in

She feasts upon the delights; as munificent his hand,
Now saved from ethereal, she's a daughter of the land

But what of the forgotten; those suffering this plight?
Well, they too stare through those windows. And barely just survive.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Sixty seconds

I'm on a roll tonight! I'm going to pretend that this one just 'happened' and not that I have sat plugging away for hours to get post 14 on here. Damn superstitions. Consequently, I fear this could be a work-in-progress.


Sixty seconds

If forever lasts only a minute,
How would you use your time?
Would you scream from your lungs of injustice,
Or point out the stars in the sky?

If forever lasts only a minute,
Then a heartbeat's a year too late,
Would you grab every chance - when presented,
Or leave your existence to fate?

If forever lasts only a minute,
Sixty seconds of golden-sand time,
Would you speak with the grace of an Angel,
Or stand by Lucifers side?

If forever lasts only a minute,
Are you sleeping or are you awake?
Do you sing to your child of atrocities,
Or hug them and make them feel safe?

If forever lasts only a minute,
Would you seek to exact an eye?
Are those tears of regret for your choices,
Or representing your saline delight?

If forever lasts only a minute,
Do you think that you'd still chase your dreams?
What if that meant an extension,
Or maybe a total reprieve?

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards (2010)

Shiver me timbers!

The colour of money shows error-of-ways,
Though dazzling green it spits emerald rage,
A filthy obsession which leads to the grave,
X marks the spot….

Buried is treasure; off Sullivan’s Cove,
Surrounded by pirates and old, rusty bones,
There’s a fight for the map; upon which it shows,
X marks the spot.

Old Long-John himself – stands in felt tricorne hat,
And squints with the eye that’s not hidden by patch,
With a swashing of cutlass he signals attack,
X marks the spot.

Flagon’s sent flying, high into the air,
Monkeys and parrots are screaming despair,
Canons are firing; Sea dogs beware,
X marks the spot.

Letters of Marque lead to walking the plank,
Doubloons, gems and gold in a new pirate hand,
‘Avast ye me hearties’ – old John sails clear of land,
X marked the spot.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Culture Capital

Now, if you know me, you'll know this is top of my 'inspiring places I must visit' list.

Culture Capital

Dust motes disturbed on the wave of the heat,
Competing with lemon scent ever-so-sweet,
As the glare of the sun cracks the ground which it meets,
In the eye of the Artisan's son

Soft-staccato crickets strike up a beat,
Near the seats in the shade of the parasolled streets,
A relaxing haven; idyllic retreat,
It's the heart of Renaissance's love

Abundance of flora so close within reach,
Vibrates with the bell-chime; in history steeped,
Atmosphere loaded of romance so deep,
Around statues the Angels call home

From the sprinkling stars which tumble in flight,
Against deep-vivid purple in the dead heat of night,
Landing on pillars lit oh-so-bright,
Stands the famed Colosseum of Rome.


(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

The breeze

Inspiration thanks for this one goes to Denise. Muchos gracios :)

The breeze

Foaming saltwater wavelets deliver to the shore,
A warm and rolling sweet-wind, magically born

She whips against the rock face, spurred on by the spray;
Crescendo's up on to the land to greet the break of day

Though gentle is her warm touch and gathering a pace,
I wave goodbye with sunkissed hand as she coolly twists away

She stokes up dusty shrub land and causes trees to sway;
Acquaints herself with metal birds and flowers just the same

Passengers permitted: Sound, Scent or Taste,
And powder puff seeds from dandelion clocks compete in natures race

When halted at the crossroad, a decision she should make;
To tunnel on in to a gale, or find a resting place.


(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

The bond

Take me by the hand and walk
far away from here,
stride, big galloping strides so our lungs swell, and we lift as air balloons
and walk, until our feet are raw and our legs will carry us no further,
then sit with me as we ache and darkness falls around my ears
help me to hollow a tunnel of light
and grab onto that searing beam in the aim we’ll be pulled out;
into the rainbow,
listen when I scream my whispers, and nod
clap your hands around my face and shake me;
but nod, nevertheless,
and when you whistle, even in the absence of melody;
I’ll dance, while you jump in puddles -
all the while we’ll never once look at the clock
and in return, I promise:
that when I can still see you, but we’re separated by glass,
I’ll rest my hand on your lingering handprint;
and walk with you.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Acquiesce

Ooops... It's been too long... I should have done this challenge a few weeks ago! I kept it simple, so I hope it meets the brief! :)


Acquiesce

Every trip of the tongue, every nod of the head
Leaves me feeling like I shouldn’t have said…

Yes be my first response, yes be my last
Why do my heart and my head always clash?

Lonely I stand, in a crowded space
A painted smile upon my face

Mirrors for eyes, and lies for tears
I’ve been saying ‘yes’ for years

I can’t help it; oh I’ve tried
So frustrated, so unwise

‘Yes’, ‘uh-huh’ and ‘yes’ some more
I’ll say ‘no’ next time, that’s for sure

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Enemy elements

Not to everyone's taste perhaps, but at risk of sounding rhetoric, I did say eclectic.

Enemy elements

Still, the water is tranquil, flowing it soothes;
a skilled pacifier,
it calms the outer twisted charred remains, as cruel
contorted black-hot embers spit nuggets of molten heat,
kindling barks;
a loud, cracking-bark; an imperceptible scream: ‘leave this place’,
heat so ferocious and brutal that even
the structure gives up the fight,
cinders float like crusaders making their escape
trapped in an upward spiral of rising heat -
they die and float through air and land in
a grave of ash.

A grave.
an ash grave; like the colour it leaves in its wake
awkward, bitter pain as the last breath
is expelled,
exultant, the flames lick the night and bite a wound so deep
it cannot be healed.

A torrent of aqua gurgles and smothers
the captured flames,
oppressed as they are oppressor;
balance is restored,
not without casualty – memories alight in the charred remains
long after they expire,
etched as twisted metal into the vacant landscape –
poignant as the edifice that once stood proud,
all that remains is grey,
a grey grave;
like the colour it leaves in its wake.

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Strong

I lay awake, breathing. Slow, I tell myself, slow and light.
I tense, awaiting the blow.
It does not come.

I smile a shared smile – our day peppered with happiness.
The heat cracks across my face.
Pain drills into my core.

It was me - my fault. I never learn.
Paint the mask more carefully tomorrow.
Be better; worthy.

The shrilling of the phone signals agitation.
Talk in hushed whisper - be more thoughtful.
I understand.

The heavy scent of alcohol hangs in the air - a silhouette in the doorway.
Bile rises.I sense it;
agony.

Float on clouds – they’re soft and comforting.
Free your mind like a wisp of wind.
This is not you – it is another.

I never thought I was ‘another’.
I tend my bruises and sit, in a pool of despair.
I drown in it.

A desperate ache fills me – a longing to be more.
Fight.
But what if I lose?

Another biting word means I lose a fistful of hair.
Days pass.
I am alone - bleeding and alone.

I cry but tears do not come.
I cry rage. Rage for all the stolen chances.
For the life I should have led.

Hollow, I leave.
Not to contemplate the future, but now.
Now I can be me – be free to breathe and live. Not just in fear, but live.

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Network addict

I guess I have Tommy L to thank for this little ditty after he provided some inspiration for my work! That got me to thinking, I'd really like other ideas for poetry topics, so send them my way people :) x

Network addict

A little something different, from alcohol or drug
Is a fix that's much more powerful, emanating from your hub

'Friends' to whom we don't speak, consume most of our time
Which rather sadly isn't shared within such close confine

Listen to the tapping, look at the screen glow
Another night out cancelled as the updates freely flow

'Friend request accepted' has us running in our droves
To see what ever happened next - is this something that you chose?

You can't seek comfort in a status, from the comic strip of life
Before you log-on next time, you really should think twice

Facebook, bebo, myspace - they are all much the same
The loss of social company is ever such a shame

(c) Jane Edwards 2010

Raw

Sometimes in the darkness, I think I see your face
I blink just twice and look again, but the vision is erased
I want to have you with me - to love forever more
The speed at which you slipped away, rocked me to my core

A pool of light reflects you, but your energy escaped
With it, taking every dream leaving nothing in its place
I smell you on my pillow, and can taste you on my tongue
The salty tears run down my face and leave me feeling so alone

Are there answers in the echos that you've left within these walls?
When every night I wake up crying, I find it's your name I have called
Where can I go to find you? I miss you oh-so much
I hadn't planned to lose you - I need to feel your touch

My future is our memories, it hurts to think 'no more'
Of all the times we never shared - my heart is always yours
Please watch over and stay with me, I'll love you for all time
And one day soon I know we will, once again stand side by side

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Addict

Just one time it takes; that fatal mistake
The obsession grabs hold and by then it's too late
A cinder keeps glowing, long after it's gone
The ashtray a resting place while it sings its song:

You need me, it cries,
Your conscience, my home
I live in your psyche, your weakness; my friend
As long as I'm burning, the bond never ends

It whispers, and dances, that grey toxic cloud
It screams in your ears; but the sound isn't loud
A fizzle, a hiss, an ignited delight
By now you're addicted, one more fire at night

I'm winning, I'm on top - you're on the retreat
One more drag's been taken, you're knocked off your feet
Don't leave me, please, no. Just kiss me once more
By this time next year, they won't have a cure

I'm evil you see - let's not try to pretend
You've known for some time now, you can't be my friend
To leave me takes courage, a fight till the end
Some do it, I know - there are a lucky few. And to those that beat me, my hat's off to you

My message is clear: I think I've won
To those that disagree, a battle's begun
I dare you; a challenge - from the demon "your friend"
If you make me a ghost, I'll give you life back again

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

Musings from a train journey

This is the Britain I see today
From a cold lonely carriage on a clear winters day
Built up in some parts; run-down, unkempt
Though dotted vicinities it's clear heaven's sent

Morning dew as it sparkles, covers fields and hugs trees
The birds and the mice eat the breakfast it leaves
Great acres of moors show the lie of the land
Some carefully caressed by a keen farmers hand

Vivid, are colours,
Like light in the dark
Green velvety textures, upon rocks, stone and marsh
A pretty, live-picture without painting art

There are some stark contrasts that match this scene
Dumped washers and driers, cars and TV's
Landfills of rubbish, and tonnes of our waste
Will take years in their billions to clean up and replace

Respect.
It costs nothing, to care and hold yours
One day we won't have it;
And we'll be the cause

(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2010

THE MOBIUS SERIES - Propaganda

Well, so far I haven't managed to galvanise myself into action and post anything on here, so I think it's about time I did... Love it or loathe it - here goes!

THE MOBIUS SERIES: Propaganda

Believe it, refute it - the facts are all there
Read what you want to - pretend you don't care
Shallow decisions, not from heart or mind
Have left in their wake, a ticking of time

TICK: goes the hour, upon the world clock
TOCK: goes the hope as our face turns to shock
Prevention is simple, and better than cure
If we all pulled together, we'd achieve a lot more

The battle; be selfless - for it has begun
Is here, and it's now and it isn't for fun
Change just one small thing - it isn't a chore
Consider your actions for the outcome is yours

Carbon reduction? It isn't a trend
It's a must-have necessity, not means to an end
An end to consuming - of epic amounts
How much do you use...have you lost count?

TICK: from food, heat and travel to electrical waste
TOCK: to our landfills which run out of space
Money is nothing, when it leaves in its wake
A world that can never be fixed, or replaced

(c) Jane Edwards 2010

Induction

Welcome to my Ink Champagne blog - a snapshot of my headspace and a place to get 'arty'. I'm not entirely sure how this will pan out, but I predict it will be an eclectic mix of randomness & ramblings, photo's and prose. Enjoy!