ELLIE WAS POORLY
Ellie was poorly
This morning.
Her little face
Hot to the touch,
Her eyes barely able
To open,
Yet, still, when we left
She turned
To us,
And from deep within
Her small year and a bit body,
Conjured up a smile,
Her tiny hand
Waving goodbye
As we walked away,
Worry darkening
Our footsteps,
Love overwhelming us,
So that we couldn’t leave,
Had to go back and wait
Until she closed her eyes
And fell asleep.
©2021 Gwen Grant.
I live in an area that for hundreds of years was forest. Even as a child, I
remember woods and meadows unspoilt by factories and houses. I think
this little speedwell flower comes from the once lovely woods we used to
have, at least, the Speedwell that I’m writing about. I remember hearing
the name ‘Bird’s eyes’, when I was small and the thought of all the little
birds flying about without eyes made me cry! Our garden would have
been part of a forest floor a long time ago.
VERONICA CHAMAEDRYS
Bird’s eyes
In the garden,
Tiny blue flowers
Weaving over the grass
On stalks so thin,
They threaten
To break
At a harsh look.
Don’t be fooled.
This delicate
Dot of blue
Will still be there
When everything else
Has gone.
Including me and you.
©2021 Gwen Grant.
LOSING THE LIGHT
My unknown friend
Kept her light on all night.
Now she is gone,
Her room dark.
And I could not even salute
Her passing.
For we are a people
Set about by demons,
Busily securing
A place for us
In this terrible history
Of the world.
I miss my friend.
© 2021 Gwen Grant.
REDUCING THE DISTANCE
The haughty stars
Keep their distance
Even as we
Reach for them.
That’s O.K.
We never grew up
Thinking we could have
All that we wanted.
We would just like
To borrow
A little glory,
A little love
To see us through
The days in front of us.
Not going to happen.
Like everything else,
Love and glory
Lie closer to home,
Living quietly in each other,
Well within reach.
©2021 Gwen Grant.
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
Poems by Gwen Grant 