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
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Thursday, 11 November 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
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
Tuesday, 9 November 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
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
Monday, 8 November 2010
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
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
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
Saturday, 9 October 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.
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.
Monday, 4 October 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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)