THE STAR THAT DARED
I love
The man
Who loved
The star
That shone
Alone
In the midnight
Sky.
The man
Who knew
The implacable
Dark
That rolled
Across
The shining
Star.
Until
Its brave
And lovely
Light
Was utterly
Put out.
Reminder:
Every star
Needs
A fire
Extinguisher.
© 2020 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’
A QUIET LIVING
There is a delicacy about a life
Grounded in love.
A strength of sweetness
That in its sunny passion
Adds up to more than the sum of its parts.
More than hope.
More than peace.
More than all the other lovely verities
Love holds close within it.
For it is a generosity of spirit
Upon which all love is founded,
Revealing itself in a precise and passionate
Understanding of helpless need.
Always ready to dance,
Always ready to share in joy,
Always and forever reaching out a hand,
Holding on as long as needed.
© 2017 GWEN GRANT
This poem is one of a series of poems I wrote about several
paintings done by a friend. Poems and paintings went on
exhibition at Southwell Minster.
THE ARTIST AND HER FISH
Fling the wide river of life right
around the world.
Fling it round.
Fill it with coral and weed,
Whales and whelks and beautiful fish,
Fill it with mollusc and minnows and those
pearly pink shells
You can hear the sound of the sea in.
Spill it onto the land.
Spill it over,
Swooning and singing with the voices of angels,
Or the roar of a giant,
Or the steady murmuring lisp of a baby falling asleep.
Fill it full.
Be bountiful.
Crab. Lobster. Cockles. Flat fish.
Round fish. Jelly fish. Fish with square noses.
Sword fish. Dog fish. Cod fish
And my beautiful yellow fish.
Let them swim
In the wide river of life flung
around the world.
© 2012 GWEN GRANT.
UP IN THE WIDE BLUE YONDER
Children are always certain
Someone has forgotten
To give them wings,
And that one day,
Wings will suddenly sprout
Out of their shoulder blades,
With enough feathers
For an entire flock of eagles.
Childhood has long since gone
But I am still waiting.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
IT’S A FAMILY THING
I have seen them
Down in the valleys,
Up on the meadows,
Carefully digging and sifting
For remnants of a past age and generation,
Finding beads, bits of gold, sometimes
bracelets and bones,
Always bones.
Here is my sister.
I can see her as she once was,
Clothed in skin and slender,
Lying in her bony shallows,
Where nothing much is left of her.
Yet I am glad they cover her
When it starts to rain.
For, in my mind, she stands before me,
Long and lovely, her smile dazzling,
Her elegant feet tapping against her grave.
Through the sound of raindrops
I can almost hear her whisper,
‘Welcome, my sister.’
As she stands on one side of her ancient
death place
And I stand silently on the other,
Returning her greeting,
‘Welcome, my sister.’
Centuries apart, it’s a family thing.
© 2020 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 