MEMORY’S LITTLE HELPER
Old Friends and new friends,
Lovers of the past and Lovers of the future,
Tellers of long stories and short ones,
Writers of diaries and letters,
These are the quiet narrators
Of those who share their journey.
Every single one remembered
In one thankful dash of the pen.
Ready to catch them
On stone, papyrus or paper.
Ready to be passed on from one to the other .
There to live again, now and for ever,
At least, almost for ever.
© 2021 Gwen Grant.
PEA PODS AND PROMISES
Pea pods and pea straws
And fields of green oceans
As far as the eye can see,
And busy little children
Building pea-straw houses
Or getting lost in the green fields
As their mothers pull peas.
They were all told
To keep away from the small river
Where the Kingfisher flew,
Enchanting those who saw
The blue blur, blue on blue.
Tempting one child or another
To slide into the water.
Languorous now, the afternoon wears on,
The sun emptying those green oceans,
The red tractor silent
As little children are found and woken.
Bags weighed,
Coins counted one by one
Into green-dirty hands,
Ready for the waiting corner-shop man.
Time to climb onto the lorry.
Time to go home.
Everything will have changed
In the year that is yet to come,
But the fields will still be full
Of quiet green oceans bringing hope
Of a new harvest.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
Some years ago, I wrote a Christmas Play. One of the parts was
taken by my good friend, Irene, who had a wonderful singing
voice, so that when she sang, there was breathless silence.
This is the poem I wrote about Irene and her Christmas carol.
WHEN IRENE SANG HER SOLO
Our choir is so good
Angels come down to listen to them.
Those angels think I can’t see them,
But I see them,
Dancing on the head of a pin,
Lolling on the piano,
Or perching poker-backed on the tops of chairs
Where people are already sat listening.
They are very fond of songs where angels appear
And especially liked it that time
When Irene sang her solo,
‘Angels from the realms of glory.’
The angels liked that so much
The tips of their wings were quivering.
But when our choir sings about the Lord,
Those angels join in.
They think I can’t hear them,
But I hear them.
‘O Lord my God,’ our choir sings,
And the angels singing with them kneel down,
Their wings all spread around the singers as they sing,
Together filling this whole place with such tenderness
I bow my head and cannot look at them again
Until the singing ends.
The angels have all gone home by then.
‘Gloria in excelsis Deo!’ AMEN.
© 2008 Gwen Grant
BUTTERCUP IN FROZEN
Twice
In one night,
I thought I saw
A buttercup,
Shining
In the middle
Of a field
Of frozen snow,
But I was wrong.
It wasn’t a buttercup,
It was love.
Small enough
To be overlooked.
Big enough
To change the world.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
THE STAR THAT DARED
I love
The man
Who loved
The star
That shone
Alone
In the midnight
Sky.
The man
Who knew
The implacable
Dark
That rolled
Across
The shining
Star.
Until
Its brave
And lovely
Light
Was utterly
Put out.
Reminder:
Every star
Needs
A fire
Extinguisher.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
All material on this blog is copyright but if anyone wants to
use part of it, then please get in touch. See ‘About Me’
Poems by Gwen Grant 