Then The Rain Came

I haven’t written any poetry for what seems to be months! It has been a difficult and busy time in my life, but dealing with that in the right way has opened new avenues of creativity…so I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it!

All the hands were turning,

The wrong way for some

As summer whispered her cruel secret.

Most can’t see

The leaves will fall this year,

Still green,

And the oppressive sky

Will squeeze the secrets out of all of us.

Then the rain will come;

I must learned that saying goodbye 

Is not just for other men…

And I fear I will cry God’s tears that day.

Monty Grant’s Poetry 2012.


My first poem about a country stile!

I shut my eyes, and lingered a while,
Detached from bodily form
To dwell upon the words that formed
A poem about a country stile.

The grain was gnarled and knot protruding,
Weathered old and standing proud
Like a lonely aged war torn soldier
A history witnessed and life concluding.

The brush swept land of gold and green
The emerald grass and hill of grain.
Across the land and ghostly page
This virgin tale of where I’d been.

Each step toward this friend of mine
The view his gift to me
Was painted on a page in words
And with the page did intertwine.

With opened eyes, I stopped a while,
And wished to see my country stile.
I wish for the gift of sight for me,
But darkness is all I see.

This is my first fictitious poem about a fictitious scene turned into a first fictitious poem by a fictitious blind man! I joke, but my sentiment is heartfelt and I do believe it is very sad that someone who is blind cannot see the beautiful sights I have seen in the countryside around us today. Poem written as the result of a prompt about ‘first times’ by dverse pots pub.

My Life and Love

l awake to see the light upon your face
the light of love in warmth of start of day.
Hair so soft and skin adorned with lace
A twinkle and a smile that both spell “play”
But what of illness and of suffering
That pain that tears at both our hearts
And not one ounce of luck our God does bring,
But emptiness and eternity to spend apart.
l awake to see the light upon that space
the light of love now lost at start of day
Hair so soft and memories of flimsy lace
The light of love l wish would go away.
l cannot live, my only friend is pain,
So l shall die and see my love again.

My attempt at a Shakesperean style sonnet for dVerse poets Form for all

Arab Spring

I WILL stand,
fist clenched hand.
“Free our land,” is said as one.
Screaming triumphant,
Ecstatic about the chance of freedom.

“Tear the beast from his greedy kingdom.”

They taunt the child soldiers with
in     their    eyes.

“Come stand with us my child,
at least shed blood for the cause of your brothers and sisters.”

Drifting in the crowd,
never to feel her son’s love again..

The butt of HIS rifle ends her life.

The child soldier with
In      his      eyes.

Into the light,

“Don’t worry my child,
I understand.
I am happy that I have made a stand, had a voice, stood together, raised my hand.
WE as one will free our land.”…

(Only from darkness can come light)

The High Life.

Her Dull and weathered state of mind, Oppressed by clouds of modern times.
Caged by steel and concrete towers
Her depression darkens hour by hour;
The beauty of life and country sour.

The elevator has made a stand
And sworn defiance by raise of hand,
So on to hell upon weary feet
To hide from life under filthy sheets-
A fatherless burden, her maker meets.


Put down your book,
Lay your head upon my chest
And talk with me a while.
Can you feel the age-old comfort
Of my touch on your shoulders
And see happiness
In the lines around my eyes,
Which have appeared
On or long journey of smiles.
Although our hands are old
Our fingers still intuitively entwine;
Soul mates until we close our eyes forever.

There’s nothing like a crisis.

The ‘banking crisis’ was long overdue,

There was endless rhetoric, but our governments knew.

We’d borrowed too much,

The Euro was injured, and we were the crutch.


I was an architect designing life

But times were hard and redundancies rife.

I’d found beauty in building communities,

The future design of life in big cities.


I found myself looking for work

Trawling through the unempoyment murk.

The tyre factory took me in

Noise and hell-fire to make your head spin.


I’d drift off in to a world of my own

Away from machines back under my stone.

But blinding pain soon awoke me

My arm and creativity torn from me……

(Inpired by the great works of Brian Miller and Natasha Head)

(C) 2012 all rights reserved Monty Grant Poetry.


Hourglass and Rainbows

 Warm sand pouring through my fingers,
Like grains of life descending in an hour glass;
Go with the flow, I’m told.
Stand atop the transient dunes,
And watch the adventure unravel-
But I’m inside, tumbling over and over,
Never knowing which way is up or down
Gasping for a life less ordinary,
Determining the future by analysing
Drops of blood, sweat or tears from the past.
I’m deconstructing time…..
Twisting the kaleidoscope
Revealing every grain, every star,
All of me, all of you;
What was, what is and what will be.
So love’s storm has often left me blind
But I see you….
Enchanting, behind your silken screen
Of evening’s misty sky;
Your refracted light pierces
My rain of prism tears-
And I’m addicted to every layer
Every colour of your rainbow.
The warm sands still pour through my fingers;
I’m free to live again…..

As we sit and watch the world

From my hourglass.

Hanging on the Telephone.

Brrrr, brrrr,
Brrrr, Brrrr
“Hello, you have reached
Technotrash automated troubleshooting service.
If your Technotrash life-robot has malfunctioned, press1.
If your Technotrash life-robot has disobeyed, press 2.
If your Technotrash life-robot caused harm to human life, press 3.”

*Presses 3*

“Thank you for your call
All our operators are busy dealing with other customers,
Your call is important to us,
You are currently number 8 in the queue;
We are experiencing unexpectedly high levels if calls,
Please hold, or call back later.”


Austerity twists in the lock;
The wringing click, click;
The finality, turning the key.
Open your hearts to the
Cries of inequality.
Can’t you smell in the air
The stench of confinement?
Authority slams the door
Of poverty’s cage,
Full to capacity with our
Forgotten children.

Jailer, we’re dying in here
Why am I wearing this crown of thorns?
Don’t use authority’s spear
Just talk to us blood
Dispense the confusion
Do we not have a heart?
Are we not human?
Give us the freedom we need
To make a contribution.
Too late man, you’re too far removed
We’re at breaking point
And you too numb to be moved.
I raise my shield, I’m breaking out
You ain’t listening, you can’t hear our shout,
Well hear this mother fucker
Put this fire out.
Listen to the breaking glass,
It ain’t the answer,
But you too detached to ask.

The punishment should be severe;
We will take a no tolerance approach
To these animals.
If you have caused damage,
Let fires rage,
Attacked the property of others,
We will find you,
You will be evicted from your homes,
You will be incarcerated,
You will be ostracized.

Thanks for nothin, Tory scum,
You can’t comprehend the damage you’ve done;
You lit the fire, not me, not my brothers.
You can’t govern with lies,
You should have saved our mothers,
Years before now, a generation lost,
There’s people’s lives at stake, look at the cost.
Westminster is where you reside;
In your palace you and your type can hide.
Don’t presume you can plan my life,
I want to be free to live full of pride.
Where do we go from here?
We need a dialogue,
Lend me your ear.
We’re calm for now, suppressed,
But we will rise, we will not rest.

« Older entries