Jane Dards

Biography

Jane Dards is a performance poet and published poet based in mid Wales. She writes in a wide range of styles, depending on what mood she's in (or possibly on which of her multiple personalities is in the ascendant), including structured and free verse, serious and humorous, word pictures and witticisms. Jane has had serious poems published in various print and online magazines, including Orbis, Iota, nthposition, Envoi, and Seam, and also in the book Shropshire Butterflies (Fair Acre Press). Her light verse has appeared in the competition pages of The Oldie magazine and The Spectator, in the webzine LightenUp Online, and has even been published in the Radio Times. Jane has performed her work at a range of venues in Powys and beyond. She was a finalist in the 2011 John Tripp Award for Spoken Poetry, organised by Literature Wales. She hosts a regular open mic evening at the Mid Wales Arts Centre in Caersws, Powys.

Samples

Forgetful? Me? I say “I’m getting senile” when I can’t remember stuff, like where I left my cup of tea, or names, or... all that guff. You know I’m only joking – I’m really not that old. I like to get in first before some rotter gets too bold and says it like they mean it – I can’t be having that. There’s nothing wrong with me at all. Now, did I feed the cat? He’s sitting by his bowl and staring hard with gimlet eyes. I’m sure I fed him, though. I did! You know how cats tell lies. It’s just the unimportant things that go. Am I a bore? Your smile is fixed. I wonder, have I told you this before? I bet I’m not the only one who drives off down the road and has to stop and check my bag’s behind me, safely stowed. It’s just because my mind is on a higher plane. I’ve got the answers to the mysteries of... can’t remember what. But on the whole it’s not a ma- jor deal for me. Don’t frown. I get through life quite happily – because I write things down. There’s just one thing that bothers me. My mother’s eighty-three. She says her memory’s going, but... she’s not as bad as me! Jane Dards can be seen reading this poem at http://www.JaneDards.co.uk, and also on Youtube. Natterer's Bat I took you from the cat, too late. You were already stiff, though unmarked. He had kept you to show; his strange catch. It was a bad choice of room to hide in. Now the midnight cape of your wings is hidden. Your head rests between long dark arms: twin gentleman’s canes, wrists tipped with tiny thumbs where the silver ferrules should be. The membranes of your ears are pale and delicate, with elegant backward curve: the ghostly petals of a still-born rose. Your eyes are dulled above pointed, bristly snout. The fur of your back is soft and brown as a mitten, its cuff of fine black leather curled under, enfolding tail and dainty hind feet. No more will you flitter and dive in the dusk, or snatch your quarry from the silvered night. One less voice in the chittering leaking from beneath the eaves. (First published in nthposition online magazine.)

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.