Sometimes, when my eyes sting,
I see most clearly
When shadows shift and bring the day,
My choices,
lit in gloried sunshine,
But why is nothing in its place?
The stars were charted,
(childhood wisdom)
By certain times;
specific dates,
My outcome,
plotted; predetermined,
So why is nothing in its place?
Fulfilment's just around the corner,
I'm just one step away from grace,
My checklist,
blank;
to be filled in,
And that's why nothing's in its place.
(c) copyright Jane Edwards 2011
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Monday, 28 March 2011
The Ghost Trees
I came across this interesting Daily Mail article yesterday: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1370181/Millions-spiders-crawled-trees-creepy-effect-Pakistan-floods.html
It describes a phenomenon I've never seen before, and even though slightly freaky (I would not like to be sat under that tree) it amazed me and inspired the following words. But, however inspiring, I recognise that my inspiration is as a result of some of the worst floods in eighty years and serves a timely reminder (at the end of climate week) that any change I can make which reduces the impact I have on the environment is worthwhile.
The ghost trees
Grey candy stands, resolute;
a webbed-ode
to survival. Spun-salvation,
pulsing...
breathing...
contracting, with life.
Leaves, host to a silken jacket
- warmed against standing water –
chilling,
to the eye. Vibrations;
a silent knell to the perpetrators
of disease. Synchronised spinnerets
dancing,
to bring life, to
The Ghost Trees.
(c) Poem copyright, Jane Edwards 2011
It describes a phenomenon I've never seen before, and even though slightly freaky (I would not like to be sat under that tree) it amazed me and inspired the following words. But, however inspiring, I recognise that my inspiration is as a result of some of the worst floods in eighty years and serves a timely reminder (at the end of climate week) that any change I can make which reduces the impact I have on the environment is worthwhile.
The ghost trees
Grey candy stands, resolute;
a webbed-ode
to survival. Spun-salvation,
pulsing...
breathing...
contracting, with life.
Leaves, host to a silken jacket
- warmed against standing water –
chilling,
to the eye. Vibrations;
a silent knell to the perpetrators
of disease. Synchronised spinnerets
dancing,
to bring life, to
The Ghost Trees.
(c) Poem copyright, Jane Edwards 2011
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
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
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
Thursday, 3 March 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
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
Saturday, 13 November 2010
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
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
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
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