Jane Lovell

Return to Erw Wen

Jane Lovell

Share Via:


There is insolence in the deadbeat grass

the dry rosettes of thistle,

bramble runners thick as rhubarb

and next door’s cat with its fuck-off eyes

marking the door, marking time

as the minutes settle into hours

set into days like some creeping black lava

across your path

the way you thought you’d go but can’t.


Down by the gate a knotted elder

mined by woodlice spills a meal of phloem

across the wall, shawling cobwebs

in its hollows.

The blackbird's long gone.

We peel and cut twigs into whistles,

walk through the hot grass,

the terrible silence.


Each way you turn there are ghosts

of gone-days, days you sidestepped,

frames of old film, the flicker and bobble

of celluloid dreams.

The heat is unbearable.

We sit on the hill, blow those white flutes,

call the clouds, call the night,

all the old bones turning in the soil.



Jane Lovell


Jane Lovell has had work published in a variety of anthologies and journals including Agenda, Earthlines, Poetry Wales, the North, Dark Mountain and Zoomorphic. She won the Flambard Prize in 2015 and was recently shortlisted for the Basil Bunting Prize. Jane is currently working on her first collection for Agenda Editions.