Jean Harrison  Poet  Novelist
  • About me
  • My poems
    • Sample 1
    • Sample 2
    • Sample 3
    • Sample A
    • Sample B
    • Sample C
    • Cinnamon Press
  • My novel
  • Other writers
    • Carole Bromley
    • Carole Coates
    • Jennifer Copley
    • Rebecca Gethin
    • Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn
    • Jean Stevens
    • Sue Vickerman
Jean Stevens




Jean Stevens’ poetry, as well as appearing in her two collections, Performances and Undressing in Winter, has been published in anthologies, magazines and newspapers and read on BBC Radio 3 and Radio 4. Her latest book Flying to the Moon contains prose and poetry.




She is also a professional act
or and dramatist whose plays have been performed at West Yorkshire Playhouse, Derby Playhouse, Leeds Grand Theatre, Edinburgh Festival, London Festival, and other venues.



An Avenue of Silver Mercs 


I walked the avenue of affluent houses,

manicured gardens, spotless paths,

and Merc after Merc, neatly parked.




These people were sophisticated, smart,

these people had got it sussed.




The opposite of me. I’m crumbly, messy, uncontained.

I felt those svelte and opulent cars

silently whisper messages of contempt.




It was like when you trail along the winter streets

and house after house reverberates with light,

each room a stage-set of layered velvets,

deep in burgundies and gold. Safe and sorted.

And you’re outside. Wet, dishevelled, and falling apart.




A lone dog barked. A door slammed.

Our worlds became one:

the place where everyone strives

to hold back the creeping cold.




You in your silver cars

and me in my Oxfam scarf.







The Secret Motorbike Jean Stevens



Before they crashed

on the edge of Stadil Fjord

a Lancaster Bomber’s homebound crew

swerved their burning plane away

from sleeping villagers and so

saved many lives but not their own.

Eight bodies still lie caught

in quicksand inside the fuselage.




Before he volunteered

aged seventeen my cousin Bert

rocketed round an English town

revving his secret motorbike

but I only heard of his glorious escapades

long after he flew in flames across

that Danish village to a dark destination

in the heart of the machinery he loved.











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