Poetry: Deborah Edgeley

Deborah Edgeley
Whose Apple Thou Art? A Sonnet To The Misinformed
(taken from Testing The Delicates, a poetry collection about mental health & prejudice)

In Greenwood, studded with crab and perry
Out of tempest mind tumbled Caliban
So say yeomen of sixteenth century
'Bring thee where the crabs grow,' said the madman.

Drinking proverbial acidity
Gossip's Bowl was spice sipped by Bidford folk
In restaurants of ancient forestry
Acid draughts intoxicate shallow jokes

But three crabbed months had soured themselves to death
'He'll never have Miranda' they concurred
The Bidford souls muttered under their breath
'Goddess and a madman?' with spoon they stirred

'Whose apple thou art? Gem grown from deep root'
'Yours, but I will never bear sweet fruit.'


Yellow Jacket Matrix

(based on Mark Sheeky's oil painting The Last Madonna)

My Lady
enthroned
Queen of Peace.
Seat of Wisdom.

Devoted medieval mediator
between Him and the crowd.

A hope, cradling.
A breast medallion.
A tender beauty reliance,
reminder
humanity of pure.

My lady
unthroned
steps out of the painting
drops her posy
of red and white roses
seven sorrows under the crescent moon,
crown of stars.

A new hope, cradling.
A breast medallion.
A beam of celestial light
of suckling pixels
yellow-jacket-face matrix
buzzes hope
in
likes, loves, shares.

Portable crowd image piety
framed,
the framed crowd.
Soul on a loop.

A new hope, cradling.
A breast medallion.
A plastic audience for you to hope in
Part of the painting...
We're part of the painting..
We're part of the...
We're the yellow-jacket-face-matrix
Creating our own hope
Is this how we are?

Black Duchess

Jet winter lozenges
of darkness and death
jig-sawed
with orange sunset flashes,
half circles and
flame dots
on Alice's chequerboard.

Bashful Spring page boy,
eyes downcast
in a simple sadness.

Black Duchess behind glass.
Frozen red lips.
Head tilts, away, unwilling.
A thousand voices preserved in the air.

Spring;
the halfway castle
between winter and summer.
Fresh yellow life, free from taint.

Winter doesn't worry as much, it just is; it just accepts itself as it is...
Yet Spring doesn't know who it is, yet,
the choice of flower is many.

Black Duchess stares at his back
as pastel page boy steps out of stasis,
alone.

We Used To Store Sunlight

Patchwork overcoat of amber
waits for gust.
Hark back to the days when
we used to store sunlight.

Leaves,
sighing,
after the laughter of summer,
when our green architecture
supported flowery pedestals.

We used to store sunlight
From green to brown to black to light, and back; we will return.

Juicy to dry willow trails.
Crunch.
Cracked midribs.
Mellow to the core,
before
the freeze.

What was vert, grün
turns to
schokoladebraun.
Noir.

We will show you the passage of time
Rest in peace, dear chlorophyll
Our russet wreaths lie in
Pembrey Woods, with fellow garlands.

We used to store sunlight
Richly veined pipelines
of original solar panels.
Memories of snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Snaps of gold.
Swallowed.

Leaves.

Protection and fun
We make hedgehog duvets.
Snails' hover-boards.

We used to store sunlight.

Pounds To The People

Bossy stomach alarm
says its time....
Yet days pass before
sun baked lips
are prised open
and smeared with peanut paste.

Hunger as a weapon.
Hunger has a voice.
Hunger says:

'Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.'

Widely read Bobby Sands
sews his lips with sausage string
in the Maze...
No entry for 66 days...

Slaves of the Slimming World.
Vanity sins.
Plumpy nut sins.
Fat opportunities.
Seven sins, already, and-I-can-have-a Freddo-before-bed-and-not-put-on-a-pound.
Bobby lost a pound a day, for sixteen days.
He gave his pounds to the people.

Unicef peanut paste
dropped from sky,
like manna.
Ready to use,
therapeutic food.
Ring-a-roses round the 'copter.

Smeared plumpy peanut smiles
reflection in Western wing mirror.

Does my collarbone look big in this?

British Bake Off Winner
of Best Peanut Paste Creation.
published in paper,
which tomorrow
wraps sea creature,
rubbing empty words on its back.

Bio Born in Cheshire, UK, Deborah Edgeley is the Editor for Ink Pantry Publishing which evolved from a social media group of creative writing students from The Open University, back in 2011. They wanted to create an inspiring and supportive platform for writers. Deborah has recently published her debut poetry collection Testing the Delicates, illustrated by Mark Sheeky Art, which explores the themes of mental health stigma, identity, isolation, memories, and understanding the past through photographs. Deborah performs her poetry with Mark Sheeky on piano as duo Fall in Green. They have just finished recording an album of Testing The Delicates, which brings an experimental and theatrical twist to art. Soundcloud/Facebook Author Page/Cornutopia Music

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