A Jane Austen inspired poem

I am such a huge fan of Jane Austen, that every time I read her novels or watch the BBC rendition of Pride and Prejudice I am truly inspired. This is one of my favourite poems I have written about Georgian living. Currently I am living in Bath and being able to walk around the city that she knew and wrote about, is amazing. 

‘Past’s dream, futures tale’,

A Jane Austen inspired poem

I was not meant for this life, but for the last

In dream, and wonder a life in the past

Rich or poor, living of your own land

Women waiting for a gentleman’s hand

Courtship and love so caged and raw

Then lust and language, beautiful and pure

Where manor, air and statue freely roam

And a lady in waited to run her own home

The coats, the jackets, the hats and the boots

Men riding out going on shoots

Bringing carriages, jewels one and all

To show your status, at a grand ball

Ladies dresses elegant and clean

A thousand a year that was the dream

Many a man can be introduced in this crowd

A prosperous marriage, would make mother proud

Music, soft and loud, lively and free

Thought dances, set a, one, two, three

Who is watching my dear?

Head up, Look pretty my dear

Catch the eye of a gentleman, come in from town

Catch his heart my dear, don’t let me down

Live a life, live one dream, that I will do

Live it strong, spoken with these words from you

Come forth from the pages of your books

Pride and Prejudice, Being Jane, your words I took

And I thank you, for words and all that you write

That keeps us reading, but not by candle light

For things have moved on, this I despair

Jane Austen I love, and that fresh country air.

By Amanda Roe

3rd March 2010

Rest In Peace

Shakesbear . .

Having a go at animation . . .

My University tutor introduced us to this online animation software which enables you to create and animate your own stories. The site is http://www.xtranormal.com/ why not give it a go yourself, and share it.

Below is my first attempt at animation. I choose to animate a published poem, so I could play around with the animation buttons rather than focusing on the speech. It was a challenge to find the right movement but I do not think it is bad for a first attempt. . . .

*I do not own the rights to this historic poem, therefore some of the words have been altered so it could be published as a promotion for poetry*

Childhood Memories

So today someone reminded me of this little gem from my childhood . .

Mum Used Prittstick

Mum used Prittstick
Instead of lipstick
Then went and kissed my dad.

Two days passed
Both stuck fast.
The longest snog they ever had.

By Paul Cookson

On this has many little snippets of his work, and Paul Cookson also answers a variety of questions about his poetry. http://poetryzone.woodshed.co.uk/cookson.htm

Bath Botanical Blooms

I went out for a walk this afternoon around the city and ended up in Royal Victoria Park and found inspiration all around me. I wrote this on the go.

Bath Botanical Blooms

                                                      Sun beams on blossom trees,

                                                      Birds hiding between the leaves,

The first flowers beginning to bloom,

The full blossoms of spring are out soon,

The light sky and brisk afternoon air,

Sway the Daffodils that flower everywhere,

The coloured petals of fiery red and gold,

The blooming Magnolias are something to behold,

The small spritely bird’s chorus sings,

This sweet sounds changes many things,

Gone is the lull of a gloomy day,

                                                      The sun’s rays washes all that away.

A Wood Pecker sweeps on by,

A red breasted Robin catches my eye,

Two Ducks are sleeping warm in the sun,

Dreaming of ponds and other such fun,

A quaint bridge crosses a stream,

This is a place of calm, or so it would seem,

A Squirrel darts from a bush,

He is being chased, now I understand his rush,

The Robin had reappeared to watch the commotion,

Before being startled by a sudden motion,

It seems the Squirrels have a third friend,

Who wants to join the game of pretend.

                                                         From around the corner I hear,

                                                         The song of Blue Tit’s drawing near,

               All a gathered upon a Rose Stem,

               And being watched by a little Wren,

               As I continue on this walk,

                I can here other visors mumbled talk,

               They talk in such a quiet hush,

               And step slowly, there is no rush,

               Maybe they feel the same as me,

               That this place is special as can be,

               As I pass through and close the gate,

               I know I must come here on another date.  

By Amanda Roe 

16th April 2013