POKER PLAYERS

Magnolia time,
Each tightly folded and curving bud
Glittering palely in the street lamp’s light.
No-one walking out,
Not this early in the morning.
Only magnolia shadows awake,
Playing tag with rain puddles
Catching the moon.

What a game,
Both players hidden from sight,
Flicking joyful flashes of silver
Into the grey morning,
Into the quivering air.
Hiding their great strength and skill.

Poker players!
Both of them.
Holding winning hands,
Slapping them on night’s waiting table,
Challenging each other in storm and fury,
Until they fall out.
Lose patience.

Let’s hope they play nice tonight.

             © 2023 Gwen Grant

PRIVATE KEEP OUT!  by Gwen Grant
published by Penguin Vintage  Children’s Classics
available in paperback and as an ebook

THANK YOU to everyone who has been posting while I’ve been ill.
The Posts have given me a lot of interest and I have greatly
appreciated them. They also encouraged me to get to grips with a new
poem! Thank you again.

I have seen crows attack birds in the garden. They are ferocious and
seem to move around in groups of two or three when this happens. As
fast as I am getting into the garden to stop them attacking, they often
don’t seem all that alarmed by my presence. They do fly away but with
a definite reluctance.

WINDFALLS

Pheasant on the fence,
Setting the cold air on fire
With its coloured glory,
All darkness and burning flame.

The little flashing magpie scoots
Out of its imperious way.
Sober dove takes cover in the leaves
Of the apple tree.

Jealous of this Autumn beauty,
Furious at its greed
As it gobbles windfall apples,
Round and green,
Leaving nothing but a scrap
Of apple peel.

Watch out,
You two,
Those tree-top crows
Are hungry, too.

               ©2023 Gwen Grant

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