Pull of the Earth is out now, available from IDP and from me £8.99 + £1 20 pp

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Voice

Twelve billion miles away
something of us
sees,
speaks
speeds through interstellar space
one
hundred
thousand
miles an hour
faster than we can think
travels with billions of stars
cloudy as milk
through plasma waves
beyond our bubble sheath
towards a wall of space.
Something of us
looks back
sees the planets differently aligned
tells us our sun is dim
our voice is faint
fading

fading

 

 

 

 From Gifts available from Amazon, 

These are the Places


There are some places where the membrane’s thin
where life is governed by unworldly laws,
preoccupations fade, new dreams begin.

Sometimes a smell from childhood draws you in,
a tune you had forgotten makes you pause
there are some places where the membrane’s thin.

The trophies that you tried so hard to win
look tarnished here, you notice all the flaws,
preoccupations fade, new dreams begin.

Some search for many years to find within
themselves a peace the world ignores,
there are some places where the membrane’s thin;


a quiet church, high vaulted, cool and dim
where joy and pain soak into ancient walls,
preoccupations fade, new dreams begin;

calm seas and hills where breezes brush your skin
the lonely places where your spirit soars
these are the places where the membrane’s thin
preoccupations fade, new dreams begin.

 

Gifts has sold very well.I have a few copies left.

Now in 2016 I have a new collection out with IDP called Pull of the Earth. You can find it on the IDP bookshop page and can buy it frm me  £8.99 + £1.20 pp. Here is a taster

 

Voice

Twelve billion miles away
something of us
sees,
speaks
speeds through interstellar space
one
hundred
thousand
miles an hour
faster than we can think
travels with billions of stars
cloudy as milk
through plasma waves
beyond our bubble sheath
towards a wall of space.
Something of us
looks back
sees the planets differently aligned
tells us our sun is dim
our voice is faint
fading
fading.

 

In March this year I published with V.Press a pamphlet called Against the Pull of Time. It is available from V.Press £6.50

" In tender, beautiful and unsentimental language Jenna Plewes takes us on a journey, walking barefoot on wet sand, sitting in a ruined nunnery, musing on the shoreline 'Handcuffed to the sea'. it is a long time since I have read a collection that moved me so. One line somehow says it all: 'So many things are precious in the leaving and the letting go'. This is a collection I want to read over and over - also rare these days."  Roselle Angwin.

I shall be reading from it in The Bromsgrove Library B61 8DA on Friday 20th April  5pm -7pm and in The Harbour Bookshop Kingsbridge on Friday June 15th  5.30pm.  I'd love you to come.

A new book out

2018 news

Against the Pull of Time came out in March 2018. Published by V.Press £6.50. available from their website or from me. I shall be reading from the collection on April 20th 5pm -7pm in the Bromsgrove Library, Parkside, Market St. Bromsgrove B61 8DA. and in Kingsbridge on June 15th 5.30pm. it would be lovely to see you and share a glass of wine. 

 

2016

I've just published a new book of poetry with the profits to go to charity. Gifts is a collection of spiritual and contemplative poems.  This is a collection of poems to keep in a pocket or by your bedside to be read and re-read. They are easy to understand but you will find something new each time, something that sets you thinking.These poems use the language of the heart and the spirit, the language of feeling and the soul. There is much here about prayer, yearning after God, contemplation and stillness, finely shaped poems alive with love for the beauty of the human and natural worlds.

  ‘A needle of light in the weave, drawing a thread through silence, stitching a prayer.’

contact me for a copy, price £5 99 pp £1

Thank you to all the people who have bought "Gifts" I've only got a handful left, and made a tidy sum for charity.

I was highly commended again in the Geoff Stevens memorial prize, 

and I was a winner in the Sampad competition 'Inspired by my museum' and have the winning poem in their anthology which is out now.

Leave Me in the Light

When I die
don’t put me underground
cut down a giant oak
as they did
four thousand years ago

pull out the stump
drag it across the wide salt marsh
with honeysuckle ropes
upend it where the curlews call

lay me across its outstretched hand
under the sun, the moon
the turning stars

encircle me in
fifty trunks of oak
each split in two
fold a seamless skin of bark around my bier

leave me the smell of fresh cut wood
the shine of pale oak flesh
the sound of wind and tide

birds will clean my bones
midsummer‘s rising sun will
find me through the keyhole of the east
and when midwinter sunrise looks for me
I will be gone.


Seahenge on the Norfolk coast is a prehistoric monument built in the 21st century BC.

 

2015 has been a good year. I had a poem, 'Smile' published in Rialto 84. I was  highly commended in the Four Corners competition and have a villanelle 'Beware' in their prize anthology.

Beware

The world unravels when you pull a thread,
unpick the weft and weave that time put there;
stitch lies to fill the spaces in your head.

You question now the things your parents said,
the things you thought immutable, and fair;
the world unravels when you pull a thread.

You ridicule the precepts you’ve been fed,
friends fall away, you say you do not care;
stitch lies to fill the spaces in your head.

You long to make a difference, forge ahead,
do something brave, bear what you have to bear;
The world unravels when you pull a thread.

Will there be crowns to wear when you are dead,
and virgins in the cloudy realms of air?
Dream dreams to gild the spaces in your head,

tear down old ways, build something new instead,
believe it will be better, but beware,
the world unravels when you pull a thread;
stitch lies to fill the spaces in your head.

I was also highly commended in the Second Light competition and have work included in their anthology 'Fanfare"

 

To Guddle, Catch a Fish with your Hands.

Just out of reach, an untamed phrase,

a wildcat word, an uncribbed melody, teases
my churning brain, till I remember

how my father caught a fish without a line,
without a hook.

Letting go, he said, is all it takes, a loosening
of time, the sinking of an anchor, breath
by breath, till everything within, steadies,

rocks gently in the swell and pulse
of your blood. Only then can you slide
your hand into the sleeve of the stream

let the water lick your skin, let it move
your fingers like strands of weed.

Wait, see how the stream skitters,
how mirror fragments form and separate,
how a leaf, sealed to the surface, passes

an overhanging branch, and disappears.
Wait till a shadow bruises the depths
you feel flesh against flesh

then curl your fingers into a cage,
lift the bright sliver into the light.

 

New poems have continued to appear in Reach, Sarasvati , The Dawntreader, The Cannon's Mouth, and Artemis.

 

Let's see what 2016 will bring.