DECEMBER JOY

Exploding roses
Fill the dark sky tonight.
It’s a bit crowded up there,
What with stars shining
And winged bombs giving warning
Of death and destruction
Hiding in their blinding light.

It’s no place for the birth
Of eternal love,
That’s for certain.
No place for hope or peace,
No place for joy.
Yet, against all the odds,
Against every last chance but one,
Love is born.

Love is born
And the winged bombs
Roaring down,
Fail to destroy the eternal.
Miss it completely.
Held safe as it is in every watchful heart
Suddenly become love’s cradle.

And so it goes.
Eternal Love bringing light to a dark world,
Born this night.

JOY TO THE WORLD.

2025© Gwen Grant.

My DECEMBER PEACE poem is this one for it was a place of utter peace.

We have a favourite place in Scotland that overlooks the River Tay, so
we often just sit there and watch the water.  The Tay is also known as
the ‘Silver’ Tay and it really does shine silver.  It’s a very beautiful river.
Behind where we sit, there is an Old People’s Care Home and the ladies
are often sat in their little conservatory.  Although they are old and
sometimes fragile, you can still see in them the lovely young women
they once were. That they can see the Tay, too, must be a tremendous
pleasure to them.

            LOOKING ACROSS THE TAY

The swans are out again,
Shimmering on the dark water,
Dipping into the splashes of moonlight
They become moonlight themselves,
Every feather sculpted in light.
Little white snowflake swans
Drifting down the silent river.

Behind us lies the Care Home,
Where glass walls welcome the lovely moon
And one lone bed
With a quilt as red as roses,
Lies empty in a corner.    

The old ladies who live there,
Watching the white and sparkling swans
Sailing on the glittering water,
Dreamily send their pretty, remembered bodies,
Down that golden moonlit path.
Frail little birds
Who soon overtake the swans.

This river and heaven
Must have a lot in common.              

©2017 GWEN GRANT

Advent, a time of hope. A time of continuous, unspoken
dialogue that encircles the world and its people. That
takes in all that makes up a world and offers up its safety
to Love. Dandelion to desert grass.

DECEMBER HOPE

Well, this isn’t very pretty.

Here I am, standing
In a wet field,
Watching for angels
With long golden trumpets
Blowing hard as they can
To send a curl of music
Down to earth.

When the only thing
I can hear is the cold wind
Blowing straight
From the North Pole.
So cold,
It turned water
In the ancient cattle trough
To ice.

No hope there then.

Until it lifted the darkness,
No rain now, no snow.
No angels with long gold trumpets, either.

Only stars.
Shining.

©2025 GWEN GRANT