THE OUTSIDE CAT

The outside cat
Has no time for us
Anymore.
Scorning the food
Put out for him,
In bowls with C.A.T.
Printed right around them.

This cat ignores
Each of his beds.
One in the greenhouse,
One in the shed,
Ready for him
To shelter in.

He’s done.
Spring’s come!

Parading down
The garden path,
With his rusty growl
Proclaiming he is no
Domestic cat,
But an Emperor.

We all ignore the fact
That he sleeps in the flower pot
When it suits him.

        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

When there were goats in the paddock, the big one, and he was
really big, was very aggressive. He bashed down our fence and
stalked into the garden. When I tried to shoo him back onto the
grass, he lowered his head, then started to rattle his feet at me.
There was a lot more of him than of me so I backed carefully away.
While he was there with his little company of goats, he went
exactly where he pleased. I found him very scary. He’s the closest
to the Great God Pan I have ever seen. Now we have a flock of
sheep who follow anyone who comes to take a short cut.
But they are absolutely non-aggresive, for which I am truly thankful! 


         GOAT IN THE MOONLIGHT        

The big goat’s ghost is in the paddock,
He must have forgotten to take it with him,
For when I look out of the window at midnight,
I see him stomping down the grass,
Looking for trouble.

Smashing everything that stands in his way,
Rearing up against the apple tree,
Ripping the apples from the branches
With huge brown teeth.

Just as I think of banging on the glass
To scare him away, he sees me,
His wicked eyes glinting in the moonlight,
Full of hate, full of the desire to kill.
Starting towards me, his great body moving
As fast as a shadow blown in the wind.

I am deathly afraid.

Until the moonlight dissolves him,
Turning the night back to normal.
I wonder where he has gone,
Knowing there is no comfort for me
Until I know exactly
Where he has found a place to hide.

                        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

 

I am very lucky where I live because I can still see the night sky –
just . I used to walk all these roads when I was a girl. Then they
were pitch black and the stars were brilliant.

SHUFFLING THE STARS

We shuffle the stars
Out of their places
Whenever we need
A new world
To surround us.               

Filling the heavens
With so many stars,
We create
A canopy of silver,
In whose shining
We see our own reflections
Touched with glory. 

At last,
Becoming wholly 

    Distinctive individuals. 

                     © 2018 Gwen Grant

    GARDEN OPERA

The blackbird sends
Notes of gold
Drifting over the garden,
Turning colour into music.
The singing,
Strong and sweet,
Calling memories to mind
Of sunny days,
Of gold touching
Thoughtful faces,
Of sudden rain
On lovely evenings,
Of drowsy flowers
Dripping melodies
From sunlit fingers.

Long blue notes
Gathering sparkling reds, yellows,
Oranges and sweeping greens
Together.

Until the red robin
Hustles in,
Its fierce and perfect song
Scattering everything
To the four winds.
Plunging a startled world
Into a new opera
Demanding attention.

The soft sigh
Of a butterfly wing,
The smoky croak
Of a frog in the river,
The harsh shout of a crow
Adding their own notes
Of joy on this golden
Summer morning.

         ©2021 Gwen Grant.

RESURRECTION

We all have our own Gethsemane
When times are against us,
When, faultless and perfect,
Darkness no longer has an airy lightness
But falls upon us
With the full weight of sorrow.

From Gethsemane there comes always
That long walk to the crucifixion of hope,
That slow procession into loneliness,
That sombre step into a darkness where love
Becomes nothing but an old and lovely dream.

Yet that dark garden flames
With the resurrection of a living hope,
Throwing light into the darkness,
Bringing peace to the desolate,
Making all love new,
Its eternal promise forever redeeming,
That where love is,
Time no longer has any meaning.

© 2015 Gwen Grant