OH, LOVERS

You never should have fallen in love,
Never touched those lips with your trembling mouth
Nor mingled your breath with a breath not your own,
Until, breathless, you were brought down by desire.

Blinded by love,
Your eyes burnt out
By that implacable face staring at you,
Pulling you down
With its deadly understanding
Of your sick passion.
And you, refusing to see it mocked you.

There was always some confection of delight
Waiting to engage you.
Some new trick to disarm and enchant you. 
A decorative something
To hold on to. To plan.  To cling to.
As well put a snowflake on hot iron
For nothing could save you.

Lovers are lost
When one lover no longer loves,
And the other lives on yesterday’s passion.

                                               © 2018 Gwen Grant

 BLUEBELLS

Out of the dirt,
Two flowers
Pushed for life.

Green stems,
Green leaves,
Delicate blue bells
Shaking in the wind.

Aristocrats.
Rising above every situation
That would bring them down.

         ©2021  Gwen Grant.

  PAGAN WEDDING

Everywhere were bluebells
Chiming their soft blue chimes
Into the sunny sweep of dandelions
Burning the hedgerows gold.
We were lost in this paradise
Of quiet roads and shimmering yellow fields,
Until the rough green grass
Of a set-aside meadow, swept with daisies,
Took us into a bright masquerade
Of an older England than any
We had thought to see that day.

Where Lancelot and Guinevere walked again,
Where Arthur’s sword once more pierced the ground,
Where everywhere the eye found
Circlets of flowers resting on willing heads,
And Guinevere flirted
And Lancelot laughed
And coconut shells clapped in the sound
Of the hooves of invisible horses,
Forcing the pagan priest to swing
A bracelet of flowers from his fag brown fingers,
Waiting to join two thistle down merry-makers together,
To live in misery or joy for ever and ever.

And Joker roamed the players on their stage,
Grinning at his eternal role
Of bringing death and wicked trouble
To anyone still alive and kicking,
To anyone unaware of Joker stalking
This blithe and sunny day,
Skin green as a little nut tree
Bearing thorns sharp as daggers and sweet nuts
With hard shells to crack teeth and heads,
Backs and faces, turn bright eyes into pools of sorrow.

        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

HOPE RISING   

The silent night
Echoes only
To the sound of wings
Slapping against water.

The frozen air
Crackles
As pearly birds fly
Into the rising sun.

Hope flexes
Its own wings
As it sets out
Into the world.

       ©2020 Gwen Grant

DISCONTINUED LOVER

This was the night when the heart was broken,
When stars collided and fell into gardens,
Fell into dark streets and lamplit highways,
Into houses with slammed doors and rooms
Full of emptiness,
Where shadows walked in perfect safety,
With no-one there to tread on them.

Outside, the yellow light from the tall street lamp
Threw gold over the green bushes and leaves,
Over the leaves dripping greenness into the darkness.
And search as you might,
No spilt blood could be found on the ground.
Spilt only in the heart of the discontinued Lover.

Who whispered and sighed,
Lamented and cried,
At how suddenly everything was lost and broken.
Perfectly willing to grieve for ever.
Wake up!  Look at the calendar.
Your play day will soon be over.
Madness to waste the eyes, the heart, that willing body,
For what is now a shimmering chimera.

Best to see how even the darkest leaf is etched with gold.

Just get going.

                                                 © 2019 Gwen Grant