WORDS AND THINGS

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always loved words. I was
never put off by long and strange words, always wanting to
understand them and know how they should be said. I wanted
to be a writer from the get-go but never thought it would be
possible. Then I realised I didn’t care if it were possible or not,
I was GOING to be a writer. Now I have an Italian speaker
in our family and I absolutely love the sound of the words,
love the way they are said, love what they mean. The Bible
was my favourite book – a thousand stories and millions of
words. Page after page after page!! All right there in front
of me.

WORDS AND THINGS

Sometimes, I gather up all the words I love and watch
them playing together.
It doesn’t do to have favourites, I know that,
But who can resist words that sizzle on the page and dance.
Some so irresistible whole poems are built around them.

Colours are always delectable,
Weaving their way through every get-together.
Colour words do, of course, have to be dealt with extremely carefully,
As favouring lemon over green
Will attract very sharp looks from orange.

Full stops and commas, paragraphs, colons, semi-colons,
Little Latin phrases, ‘Et tu, Brutus,’ etcetera, etcetera,
And those little raindrop marks that attend every speech,
Must all be taken into account
But can be missed out altogether if careless of censure.
Recommended.

A word of advice.
Do not ever forget the numbers family,
For if they are ignored or forgotten they get quite vocal,
Even a little spiteful and unforgiving.

No! Keep them in sight at all times,
Insisting they play nicely.
One and one making two, for instance.
Otherwise, you can never bring them to order,
Even when put into really pleasant columns,
They remain difficult and wilful.

But there we are, that’s words and things for you.

© GWEN GRANT

THE PALE ROAD

I like to hear the sound of our clock in the night. It’s a great comfort when you can’t
sleep to hear the unconcerned ticking. There used to be a brilliant clock in Dundee
which had, I think, nursery rhyme characters that came out and performed on each
chime. We would go and watch it until the hours made us move on. I haven’t seen or
heard this particular clock in years but it was so colourful and friendly. We collected
clocks once and they still live all over the house, some still ticking, some chiming,
some cherished.

THE PALE ROAD

The house is quiet, silent,
Except for the ticking of the big clock
At the bottom of the stairs,
Whose chimes keep company
With those who cannot sleep.

Just before dawn,
A thin moon slides in through the window
And in a moment those awake
Walk the pale road of remembrance,
Of longing, until the past
Becomes the pale road of prayer.

Let the clock chime again,
That the past may be left behind,
The moon soothe the restless heart,
The whispered words bring peace.

Available on Amazon Kindle and Draft2Digital e-books.