LOSING THE LIGHT

I was taken aback when I realised how close we are
again to the longest night. That seems to have
come about very quickly. These light nights are
a boon to people who don’t sleep well.
When I was a girl away from home in Kent, in
a hospital school, the nights were totally black.
Surrounded by fields and woods, I was quite
willing to believe witches made that big old
building their headquarters. These nights I
look out of the windows and remember that
friendly light beaming out from a friend I never
actually met.

LOSING THE LIGHT

My unknown friend
Kept her light on all night.

Now she is gone,
Her room dark,
And I could not even salute
Her passing.

For we are a people
Set about by demons,
Busily securing
A place for us
In this terrible history
Of the world.

I miss my friend.

          © 2021 Gwen Grant.

.

PLAIN BROWN DRESS

The pheasants are out in numbers just now,
that is, the male pheasants in their glorious
plumage. But there, often just alongside, are
the quiet females, wearing their plain brown
dresses and looking just as beautiful.

PLAIN BROWN DRESS

The pheasant
In her plain brown dress
Stands still and silent
On the frost,
Thick now
As once fast fallen snow.

Fog, thin as water,
Pulled out the sun
To shine
A pale and fretful fist
Of warmth,
That never touched
The frozen grass.

Sheep watch,
As wild and hungry cat
Leaves paw prints
Down a shining path
Making straight
For that plain brown dress,
Startling now
With blood.

Pheasant small
And plumply fat,
Deny the wild and hungry cat
His breakfast.

Run, little pheasant, run.

© 2021 GWEN GRANT

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   LEPRECHAUN

These May days are hot and green and surrounded by
green after the cold dark days of winter, I began to think of
magic. Into my mind came the leprechaun. It seems
there are quite different ideas of what a leprechaun looks
like but, for me, in these hot green hours, he seemed both
beautiful and magical. And that is how he stayed with me
during the many weeks of writing this poem.

LEPRECHAUN

Look at that face!
That’s a leprechaun’s face on that man, that is,
Full of sly humour, of hidden wicked laughter:
But what’s to be done, when a leprechaun won’t love,
Leaves heavy eyes and a dark enchantment
In those blinded by his triangular beauty,
Hearts torn apart with longing.

A beautiful, simple chimera,
Yet no-one can resist him.

See how his knowing music
That never adds up to the sum of its parts
But is enchantment,
Makes the listener dance fast, then faster, faster,
As if we have feathers for toes.

So light, the enchanted dance easily
With the frail and lonely ghosts
Sliding quietly into the living world.
Lovely in themselves but lovelier still
When the leprechaun makes the music cry
And the lost heart cry with him.

Look at that face!
That’s a leprechaun’s face on that man, that is.
Captivating, meant for love to flower in all who see it.
No-one can resist such beauty,
His knowing smile conquering every doubter.

Careful!  Careful!
For we all want to taste that mouth of mocking laughter,
See that twinkly-eyed thousand year face smile,
Close our fool’s ears to the harsh voice of sorrow, of hostility,
As that sly and wicked little heart,
That leprechaun,
Mocks us.

                             ©2026 GWEN GRANT

FOG IN THE MORNING

No fog this morning, except the fog of remembrance
when I look out of the window. The paddock is peaceful,
only the birds and the odd small dog racing wildly
across the grass. No sheep and no goats but the beauty
of it all remains. The white May blossom thick on the trees,
the crabby, bad-tempered crows threatening everyone but
we can cope because any day now the swallows will be back.

FOG IN THE MORNING

More fog.
In the paddock,
Sheep, like ghosts,
Drifting up and down
The grass.

This could be yesterday
When we were all young
Together.

The early bus pulling up
At the Pit.
The sound of boots
On the half-hidden
Pavement,
In time for the early shift.

The rest of us asleep
Until the fog clears.
The sheep
Shaking it off their backs.

The lights of the Pit
Floating it
Clean away.

        © 2020 Gwen Grant

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