Category: Reflections

YESTERDAY’S DREAMS

The dark red dahlias seem always to be the last flower to give in to the
onset of winter with their big shaggy heads, firm stems and dark strong
leaves, yet often when they have given up, one small daisy appears,
sometimes even with pink tingeing their tiny petals, as if in complete
defiance of the frost.

 YESTERDAY’S DREAMS

This garden is in retreat,
Dark red dahlias heralding the end.
Yesterday’s dreams already lying down
With their heads on the pillow. 

A hard frost killed the pale roses.

But this garden acknowledges no retreat,
Defiantly flowering one final daisy.
Today’s dreams already on their toes,
Waiting to get a move on. 

                        ©2019 Gwen Grant

REDUCING THE DISTANCE

REDUCING THE DISTANCE

The haughty stars
Keep their distance
Even as we
Reach for them.

That’s O.K.
We never grew up
Thinking we could have
All that we wanted.

We would just like
To borrow
A little glory,
A little love
To see us through
The days in front of us.

Not going to happen.

Like everything else,
Love and glory
Lie closer to home,
Living quietly in each other,
Well within reach.

        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?

Those Palais dancers never had to bother if they were good at talking
or not because there was only one question anyone asked when they got
on the dance floor and that was the title of this poem!  Followed briskly
by ‘Where have you come from?’

DO YOU COME HERE OFTEN?

Dancing was never better
Than when they danced together.

She stood on his toes,
He trod on her heels.
Sent her twirling around
Then forgot to catch her,
So that she whirled across that floor
All on her own,
Bumping into other dancers
Like a car out of control.

When she found him again,
He was thinking of leaving.
Thinking maybe they should
Have gone for a walk.
Seen a really good film,
Perhaps gone for a drink,
Done anything, rather than dancing.

But then it was the last waltz
And he held her tight,
Her head on his shoulder,
His lips close to hers,
Their kiss tasting sweet and wild.

Very, very slowly smooching
Around that suddenly lovely floor.
Loving the dance,
Loving each other.

Glad they had chosen to come dancing.

                ©2023 Gwen Grant

CONCH SHELL

I always look for these shells whenever a bit of sand hoves
into view.  They  are such a gift.  My hopes were pinned on
the promise of far places they offered.  Some of that promise
has been redeemed but nowhere near as much as I would have
liked.  One of my brothers, on the other hand, went to very
far away places, with National Service and my husband was a
sailor who sailed to far flung places.  Both should have been me!!

(I’m going to apologise for the word ‘hoves’ as I’ve used this for
ever meaning as ‘when something comes into view.’ However, I now
discover it’s not in any dictionary.  Can anyone shed light on its
provenance?  As it is, I think it must be colloquial?)

CONCH SHELL

All life lies
In the curved hollow
Of this curling shell
Resting in the sand.
Full of silent loveliness,
Of enduring beauty,
Even when smashed
Against sad wrecks
Or drowned in rock pools.

Put it to the ear,
Let the oceans
Of the world
Whisper their enchantment.
Of whales,
Of new places,
Of new moons and stars,
Of ships that pass
In the night.

Fill the listening heart
With desire, with longing,
To be swept around the world
On the backs of white horses.

©2023 Gwen Grant.