JANE'S TRAIN

I often mention my wife, Jane, in this blog but seldom her writing, despite my admiration for her undoubted talent in that sphere.

Over the years, she’s written a significant number of excellent poems, as well as prose in the form of articles and stories.
Her work has frequently appeared in magazines and public-art venues and her impact on the local arts scene has been considerable.
Jane’s a frequent guest on BBC radio where her humorous verse, in particular, has proved extremely popular.
When not involved in lace-making, genealogy, research or one of her other, many passions, she writes evocative poems like the one below.  

 
TRAIN JOURNEY

Hereford,
home three years now.
Patch-worked by hop-fields,
scented by cider-apples,
pink-chipped cathedral,
lady of stone.

Worcester.
Fat boy sunbathing
in his white
pop-buttoned-shirt.
Embarrassed by the
suddenrushofspectators,
pops another button
and sidles back into the house
to caress
his blushes.

From hay-stack
to chimney-stack
the Morandi
still-life midlands.
Bottled cooling-towers,
cemeteries of scrap-metal
no-armed bandits,
spin-driers
rusting.

Wheels clatter
past
gas-works
sewage-works
brick-works and water-works
where no man works ...

York.
White-walled city,
wedding-cake cathedral,
cobbled with memories
of school-girl days.

Newcastle.
Brown ale and brass bands,
pigeons and pit-heaps.
A cathedral and childhood
carved from coal.