Biography of Jayne Downing
I was born in the Midlands and have ALWAYS enjoyed writing. The first poem I can remember writing was at the age of seven, about a mouse on the kitchen floor - 'playing on squares red and yellow'.....
'then he went back to his den, and stayed there as quiet as a hen'! ! ! ! ! That's all I can remember - I have since learned that hens are NOT quiet and that there are other words that rhyme with 'den'!
I moved to Cornwall at the age of 18 and married (disasterously) at the age of 19, but I stuck it out for 14 years - mad or what! ! The two good things from the marriage are my daughters who light up my life on a daily basis making me laugh all the time - and cry with pride.
I went back to 'school' in 2005 and have now finished my English Lit degree. I would LOVE to do a Masters, but it costs too much.
I find making time to write very difficult, it's so frustrating, I have SO many bits of paper with about three lines of poetry scribbled hastily down at Tesco, or at the traffic lights on the way to work.
Oh yes, work, as well as being a carer for my ninety year old Gran, I'm also a violin/trumpet teacher - so as you can see, time really is an issue.
Jayne Downing Poems
Mevagissey twinkles illusive ‘cross the drowsy bay The air is full of Brigadoon And you were always only halfway here But now you’ve gone, disappeared complete.
The map of years woven across your face Tells of the journeys you took without me But all paths pull me back to your eyes, Intense and blue as ever
The muggers that cleaned the account Right out, with the stealth of a silent Belly-on-the-ground black cat Ready and waiting to strike
I brought all my fruit trees in And stepped away from you my dear
She doesn’t mean it Her voice is hollow and tired But he misreads the sadness in her eyes He thinks the hope has died
Don’t tell me your secrets When I prefer the lies Don’t massacre me with honesty While I can keep my eyes shut tight from all the truth
Start, Stop, Start.
Brush of a touch, Hint of a hand Surreptitious Breath stops
I’m the girl With the curly whirly hair
The Grainy Truth
The ceaseless pulse of time Scrubbing the feet of the bay
Things That Are Left
When something is left it loses its sheen As the particles of time settle and tarnish the dream Layering hours into days And months into years
Not In My Day
I wake up and you are not in my day For a moment life stands still The pillows entice me to stay and pretend But it’s time, time for life to mend
Now And Then
Now and then Have and had The chasm chiselled by a tense
Tracks make their mark across the heath Fractured trees bleeding in the wind Life ran away to find another place No heartbeat here
Sign Of The Times
High fibre semi skimmed Low fat herbal pee Multi grain multi packs Multi saver interest free
The muggers that cleaned the account
Right out, with the stealth of a silent
Belly-on-the-ground black cat
Ready and waiting to strike
So when the people all ask
'Were they black? ' the great 'white' hunter is back
The 'Empire' is still being a twat
And learned NOTHING in all of its life.