Darkness leans over the light
Until light is extinguished,
Leaving us to reach out
For some old philosophy,
Cobbled together
By really determined thinkers,
Looking to make sense
Of this situation of living
We find ourselves in.

What we long for is a fail-safe,
Easily learnt, easily practised
Way of keeping out the darkness.
Maybe a small avenue
Tucked away in a faded corner of our heart,
Lit by a single perfectly placed candle
Giving a faint but steady light of hope,
Because we could not cope
With anything brighter.

That would keep darkness
Outside the door,
Outside the window,
Easing the pain that would demolish us.

Of course, prayer is there,
Telling us what we already know.
That only love can turn the eternal around.
Only love bring light
To lean on the darkness
Until darkness is extinguished
And we can find a way through.

                 © 2021 Gwen Grant



We see things all the time that make no sense.  Things that set us wondering
how they exist  at all and this poem was made after I saw one
such thing. 
We were walking up a very, very small mountain and I was wandering along
one of its paths, when I saw this
one particular path. I followed it and found
that it led to the very edge of a high point.  Below, rocks were tumbling down
a steep and dangerous slope.  Why did the path exist?  I stood there with a
thousand questions, questions there was no answer to, as there never is
when we see something that doesn’t make sense.  The
only thing to do then,
is to write a poem.


There are paths all over this mountain.
They run through rock
And over grass,
As if a thousand feet
Had worn them into the ground.

Some paths go on for ever,
Winding up and down
Until we can no longer see them.
Others run a little way,
Then stop.

We walk up and down these paths,
Wondering who made them.

Especially do we wonder who made the one
That runs straight off the edge of the rock.

                                         © 2018 Gwen Grant




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