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.
STORM AT SEA
This is burning life,
This sea.
This blowing wind that whites the world
With foam and icy breath,
Tumbling the sea into a rumpled bed
Upon which ships of myth and legend sail.
Sail or sink
Beneath the green covers,
Lulling themselves to sleep
With the sound of mermaids singing.
©2020 Gwen Grant
The town was packed this morning, everyone enjoying the
sun, arms stretched across the back of the benches. There are
some trees up near the market and, August or not, a leaf had fallen
off one of them and lay right in front of me.
So beautiful I had to write about it.
PLENTY OF ROOM
Full of leaf
This world is.
Full of stem and stalk,
Leaf and tree.
Full of leaf.
Full of lazy snails
Creeping towards dinner.
Of whip-smart ants
Flying in flawless battalions.
Cogitating, debating,
Thinking hard thoughts
Of nipping and of biting.
This world is
Full of leaf.
Full of chlorophyll and colour,
Of green and brown,
Russet and yellow
Of white leaves and black.
Full of shape and little leaf veins,
Full of tiny tiny spiders
Weaving little tiny webs
All over the fallen leaves.
This world is
Full of leaf.
With plenty of room
For more.
©2023 Gwen Grant.
THIS IS WHAT THE MAN SAID
Tonight, I heard a man say, firmly, and with absolute certainty
That, standing in a holy place, drowned by light and washed with colour,
He had caught a glimpse of heaven.
A glimpse of heaven!
Well, then!
He said shafts of sunshine falling through tall windows
Had fallen on his shoulders; delicate green shadows
Catching his lively face, his tapping fingers.
When the sound of pipe and small drum began to practise living,
Lifting the silence, lifting the weight of emptiness,
He had caught a glimpse of heaven.
A glimpse of heaven!
Well, then!
He dryly observed dust motes dancing, registered
How the clear, cold colour of great flowers
Delighting in fabulous vases, carried the tiny clutch of merry daisies
Resting in tin lids of water were carried with them.
Their wild and holy perfume, their tiny constant fragrance
Filling the candle-lit darkness.
Noting his feet, stone still and waiting, yet in their visiting,
He had caught a glimpse of heaven.
A glimpse of heaven!
Well, then!
But was he who he thought he was?
Those feet his own feet or the feet of the restless soldier
Standing beside him.
Stone mouth wide open, dusty tongue
Ready to confirm with clarity and with vision,
He had caught a glimpse of heaven!
A glimpse of heaven!
Well, then!
Well, then.
©2023 Gwen Grant
CIRCLING ROUND
Sometimes lovers are surprised
By their own ardent fire,
Scorched by the ferocity of the flame
Blazing in them.
Until, flying too close to this new sun,
They are wrecked and wounded by rejection.
But lovers wind the thin linen of consolation
Around a damaged heart.
Forgiving unfulfilled promises,
Waiting it out.
Sure the beloved will ease their pain,
Turn back to them.
For this is the love they have waited for.
So no wound, mortal or easeful,
Will ever wrest it from them.
Nothing will stop their suffering,
For pain is part of love’s package,
And lovers drown in desire
Until desire destroys them.
Lost love is a bad dream,
Rejected love, a nightmare.
Only when the ecstasy burns out,
The flame turns to ash, the fire to cinders,
And the old love done with,
Can a new and glorious passion begin.
© 2017 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 