GOAT IN THE MOONLIGHT     

When there were goats in the paddock, the big one, and he was
really big, was very aggressive. He bashed down our fence and
stalked into the garden. When I tried to shoo him back onto the
grass, he lowered his head, then started to rattle his feet at me.
There was a lot more of him than of me so I backed carefully away.
While he was there with his little company of goats, he went
exactly where he pleased. I found him very scary. He’s the closest
to the Great God Pan I have ever seen. Now we have a flock of
sheep who follow anyone who comes to take a short cut.
But they are absolutely non-aggresive, for which I am truly thankful! 


         GOAT IN THE MOONLIGHT        

The big goat’s ghost is in the paddock,
He must have forgotten to take it with him,
For when I look out of the window at midnight,
I see him stomping down the grass,
Looking for trouble.

Smashing everything that stands in his way,
Rearing up against the apple tree,
Ripping the apples from the branches
With huge brown teeth.

Just as I think of banging on the glass
To scare him away, he sees me,
His wicked eyes glinting in the moonlight,
Full of hate, full of the desire to kill.
Starting towards me, his great body moving
As fast as a shadow blown in the wind.

I am deathly afraid.

Until the moonlight dissolves him,
Turning the night back to normal.
I wonder where he has gone,
Knowing there is no comfort for me
Until I know exactly
Where he has found a place to hide.

                        ©2021 Gwen Grant.

HERE IS THE TRUE GLORY

Some years ago, a friend of mine painted a picture which I loved so much, I wrote the following poem about it. The painting, colours and marks, forms and shapes, had a shining overall beauty, one glorious image, capturing the loveliness all around us.

HERE IS THE TRUE GLORY

Here is the true glory of the world.
Here, in the little fluting birds,
In the first quiet gifts of grass and herbs
Love gave to us.
Here lies the true glory.

If you have never seen it, or seeing it, dismissed it,
Look again.
Let this great carnival of green and gold,
Of sunlight and arched shadow,
Of leaves and trees and branches invite you in
Until you are captivated, seized, submerged and drowned
In the worlds created for us,
As freed by the beauty of the sunflower
As we are set free by the grace of love.

Here, in the sunny alfalfa and rye,
In the corn grass and blue grass,
In the little quaking grass,
Lie our little quaking hearts, stunned, half weeping, half fainting,
Before this certain proof of love’s existence.

Parsley, dill, mint and marjoram,
Sweet herbs foaming like a green sea,
Yellow flowered and sharp scented,
Given to seam the earth with fine roots,
Thin as cotton,
Unbreakable as purpose and meaning,
Sewing and pleating the world together,
Setting an example of love.

From our places, from the minarets and spires,
The domes and spaces of these earthly temples
Wherein we live,
Where what we are is cocooned and opposed to change,
Resolute and unchanging, we resist love.
Yet only through love can we be changed,
To send our voices fluting like birds,
Leaping and rising, soaring up to the giver
Of sweet grasses and herbs.
We leap up!  We leap up!
Knowing what we are
But wanting what we could be.
Giver of herbs and grasses, make us what we should be.

© 2017 Gwen Grant

ENIGMA

ENIGMA

She was a quiet type
Of woman.

Sometimes
Drowsy as a summer bee.

Sometimes
Sharp as a mosquito.

Unknowable
As any sphinx enduring
In a desert

Calling up dark spells
Of old gods.

Glittering
With lies and magic.

Grate her bones.
Find her holding centuries

Within her ancient
Fingers.

                    ©2023 Gwen Grant

LITTLE BLUE CAR
1992 Listed ‘One hundred best British Books.’

 

A SMALL MISUNDERSTANDING

  A SMALL MISUNDERSTANDING

This was the first prayer ever taught us,
Long before we could understand
Or be aware of our need for prayer.

Standing in ragged rows, eyes closed, we began,
‘Our Father, who art in heaven.’
But through a small misunderstanding
This became a little prayer for
‘Our Arthur, who art in Devon.’

Still, even not knowing Arthur,
We were happy that our prayer
Put that little intrepid wanderer
Into such safe and loving care.

                                               ©2018 Gwen Grant