REDUCING THE DISTANCE

banksy

by Banksy

REDUCING THE DISTANCE

The haughty stars
Keep their distance
Even as we
Reach for them.

That’s O.K.
We never grew up
Thinking we could have
All that we wanted.

We would just like
To borrow
A little glory,
A little love
To see us through
The days in front of us.

Not going to happen.

Like everything else,
Love and glory
Lie closer to home,
Living quietly in each other,
Well within reach.

        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

  OH, LOVERS

broken_window

   OH, LOVERS

You never should have fallen in love,
Never touched those lips with your trembling mouth
Nor mingled your breath with a breath not your own,
Until, breathless, you were brought down by desire.

Blinded by love,
Your eyes burnt out
By that implacable face staring at you,
Pulling you down
With its deadly understanding
Of your sick passion.
And you, refusing to see it mocked you.

There was always some confection of delight
Waiting to engage you.
Some new trick to disarm and enchant you. 
A decorative something
To hold on to. To plan.  To cling to.
As well put a snowflake on hot iron
For nothing could save you.

Lovers are lost
When one lover no longer loves,
And the other lives on yesterday’s passion.

                                               © 2018 Gwen Grant

PAGAN WEDDING

  PAGAN WEDDING

Everywhere were bluebells
Chiming their soft blue chimes
Into the sunny sweep of dandelions
Burning the hedgerows gold.
We were lost in this paradise
Of quiet roads and shimmering yellow fields,
Until the rough green grass
Of a set-aside meadow, swept with daisies,
Took us into a bright masquerade
Of an older England than any
We had thought to see that day.

Where Lancelot and Guinevere walked again,
Where Arthur’s sword once more pierced the ground,
Where everywhere the eye found
Circlets of flowers resting on willing heads,
And Guinevere flirted
And Lancelot laughed
And coconut shells clapped in the sound
Of the hooves of invisible horses,
Forcing the pagan priest to swing
A bracelet of flowers from his fag brown fingers,
Waiting to join two thistle down merry-makers together,
To live in misery or joy for ever and ever.

And Joker roamed the players on their stage,
Grinning at his eternal role
Of bringing death and wicked trouble
To anyone still alive and kicking,
To anyone unaware of Joker stalking
This blithe and sunny day,
Skin green as a little nut tree
Bearing thorns sharp as daggers and sweet nuts
With hard shells to crack teeth and heads,
Backs and faces, turn bright eyes into pools of sorrow.

        ©2021 Gwen Grant.