NEW LIFE

Down the lane,
Fat red berries
Beam their small cheer
Along the frost bitten branches,
Pushing the cold ivy
Away from their fire,
Keeping the dark leaves
At a distance.
Knowing darkness always wants
To suffocate and defeat
New life.

                      ©2019 Gwen Grant

   THE PULSE OF LOVE

Fog, and a silent clock,
A quiet house
Where tangerine roses
Almost tremble in the darkness.

Time now
To open
The mystery.

Time now,
To let
The mystery
Open every heart
To love.

         ©2019 Gwen Grant

     LODESTAR

What is best in us
Lies in that quiet curving line
From the head to the heart,
Embracing the spirit of love,
Strong enough to reach
Into the darkness,
Yet understanding we are
Made of stars.

                              ©2019 Gwen Grant

          DANDELION IN WINTER 

That frozen nub of dandelion
Pushing up through grass and old lavender
Surprised the frosted rose,
Astonished the white rimed garden.
Its tiny yellow filaments
Creating a raggy halo,
Promising a dot of sunshine,
Sometime in the near future.

                          ©2019 Gwen Grant

When I was a child, I used to watch rain beetles struggling across puddles of water left after the rain. It would take ages for a beetle to get back to dry land. Sometimes, one or the other of us would drop a blade of grass into the water and the beetle would instantly seize upon it and use it but blade of grass or no blade of grass, they never gave up.  Their hard shell like backs were this most beautiful glittering blue.

          RAIN BEETLE

Like a blue iridescent rain beetle
Struggling across a puddle of water,
They tried to set up camp
In the middle of an ocean.

Storms battered them,
Winds drowned them,
Sweeping their tent onto the sand
Where they huddled, trembling,
Watching silent movies of people hurrying
Across the canvas.

Sometimes reaching out a hand
To grab an elbow.  And missing.
Sometimes sticking out a foot
To trip the hurrying image up,
Meaning to catch them.  But failing.

Yet the sea was always singing
Of the sunsets it had seen,
Of moonlight glittering,
Of all the places it had been visiting,
But, especially, of how the cold, clear water
Was perfect for paddling.

Until, tiny splash by tiny splash,
Like little iridescent rain beetles
Fearlessly crossing a puddle of water,
They were, at the last, swimming.

                                        © 2018 Gwen Grant