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.

Arab Spring

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

“Tear the beast from his greedy kingdom.”

They taunt the child soldiers with
fear
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
Tears
In      his      eyes.

Into the light,
SMILING

“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.”…
image

(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.
image

Sarah

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.

stained glass eyes.

My physical form was
Suspended in surface tension;

And my spirit floated
On heaven’s eternal waters;

Admiring God’s design
Mouth a forbidden worship;

Mezmerised by whispered prayer,
Like dust captured in a sun beam.

Words as sweet as wine
Washed a blessing over me.

There sits an open book
Seen through stained glass eyes;

With lines too small to read-
A story I shall never know;

Offered up to heaven
In the closing of a door.

The Haunting Owl

She sweeps across the night so still
Her poise and power, grace and skill,
In lamp-light moon and ground so bright
Hunts this creature of the night;
Her silent flight is as a sigh
And life burns wild in piercing eye.
With dark of wing and flash of white
This killer comes in dead of night;
A ghostly shadow on silent wing,
And song of myth that she does sing.
A winged beauty of the dark
That goes to sleep with rise of lark.

My Divine Sun

She is the sun and I the earth.

At the centre, through mathematical

Unconscious precision, chaotic accidental collision.

Particles of endless time attached

Through an infinite love;

Attracted by incomprehensible forces of nature.

She is me, and I her; my unpredictable accomplice.

Ninety million miles apart

But her touch is ever present.

She has sustained me from before time;

With her immeasurable power and energy.

She is the light on my face, the smile in my soul

And the fearsome forces flowing through my heart.

My Amazon, my Nile.

Our love is beyond time, outside of time

A different understanding of time;

On a scale immeasurable by

The science of men searching for ‘truth.’

Her light, my darkness, me, you-

Revolving, evolving, glowing, growing-

Hot, cold, smiling, raging,

Saving, destroying, healing, breaking,

Learning and teaching.

Dance in her light, like me

Victim of her inescapable beauty.

I am eternally transfixed, sustained,

Passionately grateful for our accidental bond.

(C) 2011. Andrew Grant. All right reserved.