Jane Burn

Come, the Night

Slipping gentle through the window net –

the night, taking its own sweet time.

Every moment gone, an increment of dark;

for now I still have the view

of the breeze in a neighbor’s tree,

cosseting the white flower bunches,

fat like globules of snow.

Come slow, but come – and welcome.

I have much to learn

from the tame declining of the day.

She does not fight –

she lets the greedy dimness have its way,

knowing tomorrow brings her undiluted light.

Stitch Stool

Piano stool, big enough for two –

its tapestry cover a labour of love.

Flowers and leaves stemmed together,

in stitch by patient stitch –

perhaps to span the lonely evenings

with scaffolds of activity;

perhaps just for love.

For the wanting

to leave something that murmurs

I was here. I am here still.

They sit, and fiddle out the keys

un-locking Mission Praise –

Thou changes not, Thy compassions, they fail not

As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.

(Excerpt from “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” written by Thomas Chisholm)

© Jane Burn

Jane Burn is a North East, England-based writer and artist. She is part of the lively local spoken word scene and regularly attends “open mic” events such as Jibba Jabba, and regularly performs guest sets. Jane’s work has been featured in Material, The Edge, and Butcher’s Dog magazines. Her work mainly centers around nature, love and loss – themes that are forever entwined for her.

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2 thoughts on “Jane Burn”

  1. love the second one- the hymn lyricists are so neglected- like “ABIDE W ME”- having grown up singing them- i love them- and so much poetry- new yorker, poetry magazine, writers almanac, etc- acts as if they never existed
    everybody is trying to channel wm carlos wms or elizabeth bishop- and POORLY

  2. “Every moment gone, an increment of dark;”

    in the first poem, a revelation. this poem a rejuvenescence.

    And in the second poem,

    “Flowers and leaves stemmed together,”

    I can’t express what this image does, nor what it undoes, for me. something like a solitary visit to a soaring glassy church, then home to a meadow, to sip from clover.

    gorgeous, gracious work.

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