There’s a tiger

At the bottom

Of the garden.

Sitting in the middle

Of the apple tree,

Pale green leaves

Curling all around him,

Small green apples

Tapping his bright body

He waits for nightfall,

Padding quietly

Through the darkness

To me, where I sit,

Sleepless, by the window.

His claws rattle

On my heart.

Ripping away my defences,

Bringing sadness,

Doubling up on sorrow.

The night has gone,

Here comes the dawn

With the bright tiger leaping

Into the brighter sun,

Flowering the apple tree’s

Small blossoms of love.

My eyes close

And I sleep.

      ©2023 Gwen Grant


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