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