Nestled within the Grain

I really enjoyed this history of a living, breathing, caring tree. Immortal and stunning, the change into a beautiful doll. Where did you come up with the idea for this one? It's brilliant! Love, Cat

baby you just get better and better go to bed !! love you hubby xoxoxoxoxoxox

I love how you experiment. Here you use wood as a unifying theme - something to sew the metaphors together. There are many terrific images. trees grew around me their roots pulling me and scored me into the earth milled and cut from ash-wood though lifeless and unseeing painted hands of a Matryoshka doll feel needles and pins of life I hold my wooden breath to feel your hands again Your are a fast growing larch with a red wood skin and a willow's bend of words. It is so impressive. Brian

Just one read from you and I know why I keep popping into to NEOPOET to catch up! Fantastic write! You enliven every fantasy - why you even breath life into wood! Just one query. Should it be "breathing for dear life?" Congratulations yet again! Boni

Dear Lady Jayne, Beautifully weathered, serenely placed in fate's hands. Another leaf unfolds. Love, Mum Don’t let your victories go to your head, or your failures go to your heart.

i had to read this a number of times for it to really gel. in a word...fantastic. literal or metaphorical...take your pick, this swings both ways (not THOSE ways!), and is rather like a sara chocolate cake... layer upon layer upon layer. i am so impressed by this, by the depth and emotion it evokes. your word choices and placement are great, and you have really built this...i can see the care taken with structure. i love it all, but from 'milled and cut from ash-wood to my essence', for me,it kicks into another gear. big claps from me.

' I hold my wooden breath to feel your hands again' a marvelous end to a wonderful write, you have grown so much as a poet Jayne, I am only sorry to have missed so much of your journey. With much love and HUGE hugs Beki xxx

Lady jayne You blow me out of the water again and again. At my first reading I felt that you had laid down in the forest and the trees cradled you and you were then in the realms of many past millenia and lives giving you vision of past this insite to wonders not seen by others. You lay there soaking in the knowledge to carry with you when you awake held by your wooden breath the genltle hands of life bring you back. I have read the other comments so maybe i just see different things. It reminded me of my TREE poem. always blue

Lady jayne You blow me out of the water again and again. At my first reading I felt that you had laid down in the forest and the trees cradled you and you were then in the realms of many past millenia and lives giving you vision of past this insite to wonders not seen by others. You lay there soaking in the knowledge to carry with you when you awake held by your wooden breath the genltle hands of life bring you back. I have read the other comments so maybe i just see different meanings. It reminded me of my TREE poem. always blue

Btw, the title is perfect. Well done, my Lady Jayne! ~A

Hahaha. I should have written *nesting* dolls... as they are called (or nested/stacking) as well as Matryoshka dolls. As "nestled with the grain" is perfect. Good thing you didn't pay me no mind. kisses, Mum Don’t let your victories go to your head, or your failures go to your heart.

I love this poem. It is multi-layered like the tree. I think I came in after some edits, perhaps---but I knew almost immediately the 'deer life' phrase was correct. It speaks of the connections between plants, humans, and animals and all nature---as do the 'nesting dolls' and the 'grain'pull together the layers of meaning going on. The poem is about life, death, and eternity. I love the following reference to math and physics: 'made into seven split in half till, at the core, I am completely at one' Brava, this piece is as eternal as its story. Yours, Deelilah

Roots, Empires, Wooden breath and this tumbling crumbling feeling of toppling over lock stock and barrel, our minds made to fix their attention on your every breath. These words we see are from the depths of you expressing your far reaching understanding of things we know not of, until we also are in the same situation, I believe. The roots of trees bared, the ash-wood essence, the seven split in half at the core, unseeing painted hands, pins and needles of life, infinity kisses eternity, aching with the grain, oh wow what images and searing sighs of hopeful groping in places so ancient and full of awe. I am not sure I make sense here, but I feel something here that I cannot quite express and hope I have touched on in some small way with these words, dear nature loving Jayne out in 'the wilds' of life's imagination and reality interwoven here in this poem so particular and strong. Love to your pen and more so to yourself you expressive woman of poetry, from Ann of Norway your friend, I am proud to call you MY friend.

Me? I can hardly believe that I had any part in the inspiration of such a brilliant piece of work! Where have you been hiding the mind that produced this? I guess maybe in those nesting dolls. I love your rhyming work, and don't ever stop it, but Please do more of this! I wish that I could sound as technical as everyone else that has commented, but I am more of a visceral type of person when it comes to what I would term emotional stuff, and this is definitely that! Higgest bugs, lotta love,~ Gee `

wowee i loved it. i happen to have a few of those. this reminds me of the movie Toy Story, the bringing to life of toys, yearning to be held, used, wanted. how quaint and lovely a write. peace and cheers logic

we live and feel all. Exquisite. Love Lyz. XX

Seren. I enjoyed the work of the tree yet I stand as just myself a man. Wondering if I were cut to the core what would be left of me. My body lost no hands nore feet. Not even eyes to see. My mind would be layed to rest yet my soul would be to play to the day. A nice piece of words you placed to my day. I will clasp my hands behind my back as I shut the door with a smile on my face. A fine poem my friend of words a quill placed to parchment indeed. Steven A. Kacer