The dancer

For some reason (maybe watching one too many BBC adaptations over recent months) I have early 1900's Tess of the D'urberville-esque characters tootling around in my head. Maybe it's the simplicity of 20th century life I crave, maybe it's just subliminal influencing... Either way, give them a warm welcome :)

The dancer

Somewhere in-between those strings
and dancing fingers,
that melody was made;
as she moved slowly – in his shadow –
he closed his eyes and played.
Dressed in lace, and floating cotton,
she drummed bare feet upon the glades;
her rhythmic, warm and kindly welcome,
to the dusk at end of day.
But when his loving tune of tribute
sends dehydrated tears along her face,
then he hums,
a thousand heart-string memories,
and remembers dancing days.


(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2011

Synthetic synthesis

Yoohoo... I'm back!

This latest offering has been rattling around in my head since November. It started out as lines 5 & 6 and remained that way until today. Not frustrating in the slightest! Enjoy :)


Synthetic synthesis

Fibre-optic strands of blonde,
ribbon tied and helix-long,
dust-pink cheeks of innocence,
and velveteen unease.
Whispers unconditional,
of love, and sugared vitriol,
with petals blue, her blood runs cold;
and smile contrived; diseased.
Cardice stem of shattered green,
on scattered silk looks so obscene,
a reflection’s rarely what it seems:
my perfect English Rose.

(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2011

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