WHISKY KISSES

 

wild colours

 

    WHISKY KISSES

She was such a neat and tidy person,
Compact and sturdy.
Sensible.
Like a mature somebody.

Some days wearing all one colour,
All blue.  All yellow.
All green.  All red.
No beige.
And sometimes she went complex,
Wearing dots and stripes,
Zigzags and circles.
A rainbow of colour
Lighting up the concrete.

People coped with single colours,
With sequinned sunglasses,
With stripes and dots, circles and zigzags
But absolutely could not get on with
Puffball skirts and false eyelashes,
Lipstick slashes and whisky kisses.

This, they said resentfully,
Was a woman acting out of character.
No-one can put up with that for long,
A concrete turning into an abstract.

Act your age, they demanded.
She just laughed, knowing she was already acting it.
Refusing to be pinned down.
Refusing to be identified.

I am, she said,
A Kandinsky and a Constable.
Get used to it.
                                       ©2020 Gwen Grant

  LET THE NIGHT COME

shadows

 

    LET THE NIGHT COME

Erase the night,
For who is this that we hear calling?
Only the shadows of our dreams.

They cannot escape,
No freedom for them.
Nothing but starlight and long, dark pavements
They cannot walk upon,
Cannot run down, arms wide,
Faces alight with the memory
Of the half world they live in.

Shadows surely do not have a voice
To whisper words that stop us in our tracks.
Yet they haunt us.
Remain resistant to all that can be done
To chase them away.
To silence those memories of what is forever lost.

Do not forbid them, for when they want,
They turn us from sorrow and melancholy,
From terror and lost tears,
To remembrance  of a love and loveliness
We never want to forget.

Let the night come, then.
Let the shadows of our dreams walk among us,
Knowing they all belong to yesterday
And new days are yet to come.

                              © 2020 Gwen Grant

 THIS WAY JOYFUL

joyful

 

 THIS WAY JOYFUL

Thin bony lads
Whirl the girls
Swinging
In the sunshine,
Dancing
As if being young
Could conquer
Everything.

And we are glad
That
For the moment,
It does.

         © 2020 Gwen Grant

ELEMENTAL

heavy-horse-breeds-1


ELEMENTAL

Close your eyes, dear darling.
Rest your head on earth’s bold shoulders.
Don’t cry.
Don’t turn away,
For this is our father and our mother.

What else comes before or after?
But the breaking of the dark,
The lighting of the candle
With the living flame of hope,
With the obstinate courage
Of the smallest flower
Growing in frozen earth,
Fierce and unyielding,
Flowering its tiny space
Among the rocks of a barren mountain.

Close your eyes, dear darling,
And gather all your strength.

                   © 2020 Gwen Grant

All material on this blog is copyright but if anyone wants to use part of it,
then please get in touch.   http://www.gwengrant.co.uk

THIS IS NOT A THEM AND US SITUATION

happy in rain

 

THIS IS NOT A THEM AND US SITUATION

The storm came blowing in,
Sending slow walkers
Scuttling for shelter,
Except the one who was lonely,
The one certain nobody cared.

‘Nonsense,’ hissed the rain.
‘Am I not here for you,
Pouring my silver water
Over your bony shoulders?’

Whilst the lightning,
Shaking her fiery hair,
Lit up the night sky
With hot lines of passion,
Celebrating the eternal union
Between them and us.

Now the lone walker,
Soaked to the skin,
Catches the raindrops in eager fingers,
Filling the sky with edgy laughter.

                                       © 2020 Gwen Grant

EPIPHANY

ginsberg

 

           EPIPHANY

Grey sunflowers, and poets
Sitting in old railway sidings
Alongside huge locomotives,
The clattering and banging
Of wrecked machinery
A perfect backdrop to a new world
In the making.

Kerouac and Ginsberg
Loving the whole, the tiniest bit of it.
Ginsberg breathing in grey sunflowers,
Remembering them for all those coming after.

Imprinting them on the fabric
Of that new world
Waiting just around the corner.

                             © 2020 Gwen Grant

All material on this blog is copyright but if anyone wants to use part of it,
then please get in touch.   http://www.gwengrant.co.uk

WAITING

fox

 

      WAITING

Silent fields, and a bitter night,
And us, trying to keep warm
Under a frozen sky,
The air so cold, a tap
Would shatter it into shards of darkness
To fall around our feet,
And in that star-lit, owl frozen silence,
The hushed dark call carried thinly
Across the still and sleeping fields.

We, so quiet, the red-gold shadow
Of a fox padded by us
All unaware of our waiting,
Its paw pressing the frosted grass
Into dark and hungry prints
Along the path.

Then the silence was broken
By the soft whisper of wind
Drifting snowflakes down the feathered sky,
To quilt the winter ground,
And, somewhere, in that bitter icy world
Someone offered a word of hope
To someone else.

As long as hope is in the world, then,
We, cold and frozen in our waiting,
Can warm ourselves at the fire of love.

                                                      © 2018 Gwen Grant