Category: story

MARCH HARES

MARCH HARES

March Hares
Boxing in the middle of the big field.
The wide white light of the moon
Tearing shadows into fragments
Of black and white confetti.

These magical creatures,
Owned by witches and wizards,
Bring magic with them.

They are the first to see darkness
Detach itself from the silent hedgerows.
The first to hear hunters
Drop to the cold ground,
To steal the hare’s likeness
For their photograph albums.
Greedy to capture the joyful secrets
Of wild creatures made of magic,
Eyes full of white moonlight,
Ears that semaphore night secrets.

Witches and wizards hiding
In the darkness of fretwork trees,
Balancing on stones in icy rivers.
To scare away those who desire
To see the beauty of March hares,
Boxing in white moonlight.
                  
                     © 2021 Gwen Grant

 THE DANCING YEARS

 THE DANCING YEARS
They had nothing to offer each other
But themselves.
Neither of them much of a scholar,
Both full of love, however, and dreams
That would last a lifetime.

They loved to dance,
Loved to sing,
Loved to drink one too many,
Then dance complicated dances
Without falling over.

Everyone said it couldn’t last.
Years later, it turned out
They were a perfect match,
Still smiling at each other
First thing in the morning.

                          © 2021 Gwen Grant

CHANGING SEASONS

CHANGING SEASONS

This first flower
Has taken the garden
By surprise.

Purple and gold,
A small drop
Of glory

Has turned Winter
Into Spring.

Down the path,
Alongside the field,

Two Lovers
Kiss.

Summer
Has come early.

      ©2021 Gwen Grant

All material on this blog is copyright but if anyone wants to
use part of it, then please get in touch. See ‘About Me’

WINTER HOME

WINTER HOME

There was nothing to be seen
Across the drenched grassy meadows,
Only a small circle of light
Shining through the heavy darkness.
The world was deserted and I on my own.

The wind was bitter, blowing
The outside lamp on the house
One way and another.
I could hear my footsteps
Splashing in the puddled water.

To my left, Hannibal’s elephants
Tramping over the Alps.
But it was probably the cows
Jostling each other in the barn
Or the sheep complaining.

To my right, the sudden beating of sails,
Almost certainly Captain Kidd,
Pirate extraordinary, shouting ‘Ahoy there!’
And ‘Avast thou scurvy knave!’
Or maybe it was just Joe,
Setting sail on his skinny canoe
Down the skinny river.
Nothing matters to him,
Only the water.

In front of me, a most beautiful pyramid
Sparkling in the close light
From the kitchen windows,
Flooding the tall chimney side of the house.
I reached the door of the Pharoah’s tomb
And hesitated.
Then the shadow of the Rowan tree,
The tree that defeated witches
Fell over me.

And I gave it all up.
Elephants, Alps, Pirate ships, Captain Kidd.
Overjoyed that what lay behind me,
Part of my cherished world,
Was a cold wet meadow of mud,
Restless cattle grumbling and sheep muttering.
A small lazy river with an old canoe
Banging and clattering.
Glad they were there.
Glad the tree that kept away witches and their spells
Was growing by the door,
Casting beautiful shadows.
                                               © 2021 Gwen Grant