Blue Jeans, a walk through the wood

Blue Jeans

Would you go into the wood dressed in blue jeans?
Who’d believe that there was anything strange?
About going into a wood in blue jeans?
But there’s just a little doubt
About what going into the wood
In blue jeans is all about?
Jenny went into the wood in her blue jeans.
It was morning bright and blue.
It soon became later, around noon,
When she thought that she heard something
She’d followed the path wearing her blue jeans,
Walking without fear
But at around noontimes nodding
What did she hear?
If you were in the wood in your blue jeans at around this time
What would the sound, sound like?
And what would you do?
Could the sound that she heard, perhaps,
Be the sound of you?
The path went through the wood to the other side.
It didn’t wander or turn or fade,
It was just a narrow cinder path very, very safe.
Jenny stopped and wondered if she’d passed half way.
Jenny in her blue jeans and top of yellow, thinking about returning
Back the way she came,
But that noise,
Was it a rustle what sound did she hear?
What sound might you hear?
If you had been there,
Would it be the sound of Jenny in yellow and blue?
Standing there in tight jeans
Wondering what to do.
The tops of the trees looked very far from where Jenny stood,
Listening to the noises of whatever made noises in the wood.
Blue jeans, small perfectly formed shoes and a little yellow top
Made Jenny look good.
Almost good enough to eat,
even when not in a wood.
Do you think that you would go walking in trees?
Dressed in small perfectly formed shoes,
yellow top and blue jeans.
Go walking all alone at noontime in the gloom?
She imagined that a sound was a moan,
A moan not a rustle
Not a snap or woody sounds.
Something quite different something alive,
She looked around.
Was the chill because the sun couldn’t penetrate the trees?
Was it just the clouds that caused her unease?
If you were there what would you wear?
Mightn’t a short yellow top make you freeze?
And what about the tiny shoes and the tight blue jeans.
Yes, tight blue jeans.

At noon or just after
Not knowing how far to go to escape the wood.
At sometime just after noon, Jenny understood,
That girls in shoes so tiny and little yellow tops
Whose blue jeans were very tight?
Should have stopped and thought.
Because we all know,
That dressed like that
The path through a wood
Is not where you should go.
But it wasn’t you in the wood was it?
It was someone else.
Someone, yes someone,
For Jenny it began to make sense.
Sense that the moan didn’t come from a bird,
Birds sound nicer and sheep have special sounds.
Sheep, yes she thought about sheep,
Her head was spinning round.
There are no sheep in woods
It wasn’t them she heard.
What she heard screamed danger,
No sounds other than a low moan
Then silence,
Let’s call it deathly,
When you’re quite alone.

Jenny tried to be sensible and run away from there
What would you do if you were her?
Yes you’re right you would run and you would scream and cry
And think the very worst.
Especially, if in blue jeans, was how you dressed.
Light plays tricks, like rainbows on hazy days,
Light causes shadows to reach for you,
Long fingers from someone standing just there,
Where with little imagination
Yellow eyes may appear.
Eyes examining her tight blue jeans and little yellow top,
Up and down, down and up were might they stop.
Would you stare at her standing there?
Where would you look?
You’d look kindly and worry about her fright
But, what if you were the moaner?
Could you be the one, who scared off all the birds?
From the middle of the wood in its gloom
Jenny made up her mind what to do.
She screamed and ran in the direction that she thought was safe.
Little shoes aren’t made to run much faster than a skip
Jeans tight and blue don’t help one little bit,
In fact all they did was make her trip.
And she fell and fell,
Trees and grass and twigs scratching her face
She awoke in her bed away from that awful place.
A dream perhaps a nightmare too.
If you’d been there what would you do?
She laughed and laughed because it was a dream.
Then she saw the mud and blood,
On her tight blue jeans…

Blue Jeans, a walk through the wood

David Sowels

Joined February 2012

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Artist's Description

Poetry to chill

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