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

I LOVE GATES

I love gates.
Gates are the very things
I am fond of.
Not the huge iron gates
Crackling with steel mesh
And threats,
To keep you in,
But the lovely little
Wooden gates,
Awash with tall grasses
And latches,
To let you out.
These gates, I love.

©2020 Gwen Grant

Thankfully, I now have limited access to notifications.
Unfortunately, I still cannot access any notifications
generated over this past week but, hopefully,
this situation will be sorted soon. Thanks to all.

FUTURE WAITING

They were lying
On the edge of the world.

Sleepy eyes full of the sea
Curling all around them,
Freezing their toes with icy water.

Hands full of sand,
Like quicksilver falling

Grain by grain,
Changing the shape
Of their own particular future.

Lovers,
With no knowledge
Of the power of love.
No fear
Of its chameleon changing.

Unaware
That what is so named,
Has nameless identities.

©2021 Gwen Grant

     NEW LIFE

Down the lane,
Fat red berries
Beam their small cheer
Along the frost bitten branches,
Pushing the cold ivy
Away from their fire,
Keeping the dark leaves
At a distance.

Knowing darkness always wants
To suffocate and defeat
New life.

                      ©2019 Gwen Grant