A SMALL MISUNDERSTANDING
This was the first prayer ever taught us,
Long before we could understand
Or be aware of our need for prayer.
Standing in ragged rows, eyes closed, we began,
‘Our Father, who art in heaven.’
But through a small misunderstanding
This became a little prayer for
‘Our Arthur, who art in Devon.’
Still, even not knowing Arthur,
We were happy that our prayer
Put that little intrepid wanderer
Into such safe and loving care.
©2018 Gwen Grant
Back at last, after no internet for days and days.
A MINUTE AFTER MIDNIGHT
The world is dressing already
For a day of loveliness.
New dreams poised to take over
From all the old dreams
Frayed at the edges.
Hope patching the tattered pieces
Until you can’t even see the join.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
TIME WAS ON OUR SIDE
We remember those days
Full of sunshine and tenderness,
When the lovely hours
Of shadow and frost bitten glory
Seemed as if they would never end.
When love made the ordinary glorious,
Sending us forever blazing
Into whatever came next.
Wide awake to any small beauty.
Closing our eyes to shadows lounging
On the edge of evening,
Denying darkness of any description,
Wanting only to remember
The colour of flowers,
The brightness of morning
And all of us together.
©2023 Gwen Grant
STRAWBERRY JAM
Leave the flowers until later,
When bread and butter has been cut
And strawberry jam stands on the table.
Don’t worry about anything fancy,
She won’t eat it, anyway,
Unless, of course, there are ginger biscuits,
Even then she’ll only pick one up
And eat the scent of it.
That spicey ginger smell that fills the room
Will be enough to fill her.
Intent, as she is, on fitting into that bikini
Hanging from the picture rail
On the crowded picture wall.
Red, naturally. Tiny blocks of scarlet
Tied with scraps of silky ribbon,
Pushing to one side the Van Gogh reproductions,
The Jackson Pollocks. The Constables,
The glinting golden glory of Klimt.
No, leave the flowers until later
For she has finally put it on and all she can see
Is the implacable bits of coloured misery.
Blinding her to her own lovely perfection.
Until, of a sudden, the bread and the butter
And the strawberry jam are right in front of her.
Buttered bread piled high with strawberries.
Wolf like, she devours it, teeth exploding the rich red fruit.
Red jam falling on red bikini, reaching now
For a ginger biscuit, the spicey smell of ginger
Filling the room, filling her with sweetness.
Now bring out the flowers so that she can see
She is a flower, standing there in her red bikini.
©2023 Gwen Grant
DON’T LIE
Do not lie to me of love,
Or act as if the whole is good,
When every time I try
To catch your eye,
You turn away.
Golden words fall from your lips,
That wicked tongue can silver iron,
Until your lies
Cover me like dust.
I beg.
Do not lie to me of love.
©2023 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 