Frances White’s poems have won first prizes and been highly commended in several competitions. She co-authored and published 3 anthologies of poetry and artwork with Words, a group of four poets, founded by the late Aeronwy Thomas.
She lives in South West London, has read as a guest poet at many poetry venues and festivals in England and Wales, and particularly enjoys reading with Dodo Modern Poets.
Her own collection of poetry, ‘Swiftscape’, was published by The Seventh Quarry Press in 2016.
As we walk, my feet don’t touch the ground
with one arm you can lift me to the sky
wave me like a flag, flying kite-high
swing me round and out
light as a lasso
to catch the giddy air
and bring it back
to the warm
This is the time when the hour moves back
into the darkness, into the night
when we gain an hour but lose the light.
Now is the soggy, slippery time when
the scarecrow slumps and like it or not
the pumpkin rules the vegetable plot.
With jack-o’-lantern carried home
face carved and gouged for candlelight
the children shiver with delight.
Protected by a hollow grin
they hide their fear, to trick or treat
for oranges and sticky sweets.
Drawn night by night to the golden glow
their lantern sags, the young ones weep
when it’s tossed outside on the compost heap.
This is the quarter that crosses the year
when hope is torn and nothing is born.
This is the time we quietly dread
the night we remember, remember the dead.