Category: Poetry

LEMON SHERBET

LEMON SHERBET

My Dad’s boots were big and heavy,
Black bright with coal dust,
Clogged up on the leather laces,
Solid in the cleats of the soles
He walked on.

‘Threepence,’ he said, ‘to anyone
Who will clean them.’
There were no takers.

Until I got to thinking
About a crinkly paper bag
Full of lemon sherbets,
Fizzing on my tongue.

©2020 Gwen Grant

HIDE AND SEEK

HIDE AND SEEK

Playing Hide-and-seek,
Was ferocious, scary fun.

Adding vast dimensions
To where they played
Or which side they were on.

Hiding took them to fearful places,
Leaving them lost and forlorn.

Seeking forced them frightened on
To hidey-holes and hidden places
Much better left alone.

So they were glad
When they could leave
Hide-and-Seek behind.

Yet here they are,
Much older now,
Trying to find
Their own lost selves,
Soul and heart and mind.

©2022 Gwen Grant

WINTER IS COMING

                          WINTER IS COMING 

Winter is coming, circling around the house and garden
The grass already white over,
The last of the dahlias bending their heads to the cold.
Over the hedge, a fierce, clear brilliance sets everything sparkling.
Even the big tree, all leaves lost, stands white and starry.
Somewhere, over the fields, a fox barks,
Sending the plump little pheasants huddling deeper into cover. 

Darkness down the quiet street,
Split now by a square of yellow light flaring in an anxious window.
Not long after, the long car of a night Doctor pulls up silently.
A brisk tap tap of sharp heels urgent to the waiting door wide open,
Makes the sleeping houses quiver.
All those still awake, sinking deeper into their restless pillows,
Pulling the covers over their heads. 

Slowly, the moonlight drifts across the garden,
Lovely shards of icy silver picking out the stray black cat,
Courageous as any Roman conqueror,
Shadowing the grass with his magnificent presence. 

Then the creak of an old bench, as someone, out there in the darkness,
Newly bereft and soundlessly weeping clutches at the solid wood.
Praying its solidity will lend itself to their splintered grief
In this new world they are suddenly lost in.
This is the way it is, when winter is circling around the house and garden,
And people are lying in their beds, thinking. 

                                                                                              ©2018 Gwen Grant


Long listed – Carnegie Medal.
Published – Heinemann and Collins.
Now in Kindle.

ALL TOGETHER, NOW!

Thinking about all the places we’ve lived over the
years, I also remembered, given the circumstances,
just how easy it is to find yourself without a home.
The poet, Robert Frost, said that home was where they
had to take you in, words that stayed with me.

ALL TOGETHER, NOW!

If only I could sing that song again,
The old girl said to her reflection.
You know, the one about having
A safe place to live in.
Though, obviously, that’s not happening

Still, opening her mouth,
She tried a few notes.
Doh and Ray, anyway.
Admittedly, with a bit of a quaver,
Until, settling in,
She sang about home.

Home!

That place where the poet said
They had to take you in.
‘Not in my experience,’ the old girl sighed,
Then fell silent, considering.
At last, pushing aside
All her quavering and quivering,
Went on with her gravelly old singing,
Really getting into her stride.

Fearlessly singing the Blues on her lonesome,
Until, hustling up to the chorus,
She flung her arms wide.
All together, now!’ she cried,


And a thousand, thousand voices sang,
‘If only we had a home to be home in.’

©2017 Gwen Grant