OUT OF THE DARKNESS

When it’s all over bar the shouting,
When the last tear has fallen
And the shocked heart has settled
Once more to its beating.
When the requiem for the lost
Has played its final bleak murmuring
And sorrow brings the broken to their knees,
That is when all that is left is love,
Love is all that is left.

But what good is left-over love
To the shattered heart?
What good is hope
Lying broken in the darkness?

Out of the darkness come the rains
To fill the dry beds of rivers
With water moving silky as young women sleeping,
Rolling and twisting, twisting and turning,
Their long bony feet stretching thinly behind them;
When trees come to leaf like young men leaping
Up branches to touch the first floor of heaven,
Strong hands full of leaves, now full of flowerings
And dry deserts blooming.  

So when all is said and done,
The requiem over and silence soft fallen.
That is when all that is left is love
                 And love is all.

                                                     ©2019 Gwen Grant    

 

THIS CIRCUS HAS NEVER REALLY WORKED, HAS IT?         

She never wanted to be in this circus,
Yet, here she is, a bareback rider.
Others riding her to despair, to tragedy
Always waiting in the wings.
Wake up, folks!  Look what’s happening.

He never wanted to be a trapeze artiste,
Yet, here he is, leaping from one hand to another.
Knowing he’s going to miss.
Knowing he’ll fall and crack his head wide open.

These clowns! 
Forever tumbling over, forever falling down,
Getting up again problematic
When you’re already tagged a failure.
Oh, get a grip.

Trailing clouds of glory?
Well, our glory was long gone
By the time we hit the spotlight.
Only storm clouds and bad weather
Showed up for us.

This circus operates in the dark,
Performers lit only by a flash of light,
To count lost years by,
To add up lost chances,
To see the end of a sharp needle.

This circus needs closing down,
Then no-one can ever get back in,
Not even with a ticket.
                                  ©  2019   Gwen Grant
                         

THE MATHEMATICS OF LOVE

History is like a shed
We can shelter in
When present life is tough,
And the future
Doesn’t look up to much, either.

Mathematics is like a shed
We can shelter in
When nothing in our life adds up,
And the sum of love
Equals a big fat nothing.

Hope is like a shed
We can shelter in,
For Hope is always at home
With the kettle on.
This is a good shed to live in.

The mathematics of love
Are always the same.
Love plus love equals love,
Until the sum of love adds up
To hope for us all.

Children first.

                               © 2017 GWEN GRANT.

 

                         Femme Fatale by Kees Van Dongen

                     THE ARTIST

The artist is a liar
About painting only what he sees
In front of him.
Slick lies of seduction slipping from his lips,
Falling from his tongue,
Like leaves falling from a wintered tree.
He tells so many lies
It’s a wonder he doesn’t go blind.

That naked breast she offers
On fingers thin and sharp as boning knives
Is not offered for free.
Painting the aureole so dark
Only the juice of damsons could create
Such a full, rich, bruising.

This dance hall dame, remote and lethal,
Puts no value on any part of her body.
It’s all for sale
For a wad of the folding stuff.

The artist rhapsodised about her hair,

Her eyes, her implacable face.
But no-one on earth could mistake
That sullen, knowing mouth
For the mouth of a woman
Who has given in to seduction.

I’ll say!
That’s the mouth of a woman
Keeping her trap shut
And counting the money.

The artist is a liar,
Telling so many lies
It’s a wonder he doesn’t go blind.
Certain that this painting is so beautiful
People will fight to have it on their wall.

When, all the time, he knows he has painted
Her ancient and watchful soul,
All bandaged about with suffering.

                             ©2019 Gwen Grant

         KEEP MOVING ON 

Move on to the next immovable object
And failing to move it,
Go around it or go through it,
Move on. 

Bang your head against a brick wall,
Stub your toe on the floor,
Catch your hand in that fast closing door,
Move on. 

Leave behind the broken heart,
Absorb the hurt.
Make a new start,
Move on. 

Because over the horizon
There will be a new day,
A new sun,
And even if there isn’t,
Even if there is storm and darkness,
And the sun has set and long since gone,
Move on. 

For you’re here and whilst you’re here,
Filled with fury, love and passion,
Give it another go.
Leave yourself wide open,
Take it in your stride.
Though you may hesitate and you may falter,
Regroup, reform, return,
Live life to the full and learn
To move on. 

                                   © 2018 Gwen Grant