saint sentiment


What have saints to do with lovers
theirs the agony of agape and martyrs*

Valentine, the poet says, is strictly for the birds**
this day next season presses hard
such urgency and sweet mustering of mate
forever – or a fleet polygamous state

Rosie in red dress scents affection
loiters longer than the core condition
written in chambers of  prenup passion

two lobes and vermilion pigment
percussive organ instrument
a crudely pointed rudiment

loosely transparent is Rosie’s habit
heart on sleeve the sensual hermit
one or other paid  the forfeit

amid persuasion and procurement
amaranth a blooded figment
predictable death by denouement

This day Rosie listens on repeat
an unsettled old score-sheet
between interlude and introductory beat

there the grand pause for enchantment 
quickening sections of musical movement
a simple saccharine C Major sentiment

What have saints to do with flowers
and  chocolate – theirs an agony of briers
mine the decay of sugar soft centres

© Laura Granby 2016

*agape (say a-ga-pay) – selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love
** Valentine day first made mention in Chaucer’s “The Parliament of Birds

More impressionistic than rhythmic, and putting something overly sweet into Poetry Pantry

day of ashes

source: photoart abstract: Ash Wednesday

After Mammon’s merry making
and a drear winter of discontent
comes atonement

burn the fronds of frenzied welcome
in token of man’s forgetfulness

mark well the signs of commitment
for fear our cause will be lost

make fast all appetites
else conscience is swept by sensation

shroud the icons in purple
lest we fail to consider beyond

sift particles of memory
for stardust harbingers of sin

today a new start with a beginning
suspended between what never was
and what will forever be

in the desert we too can rejoice
let the temptations begin

An abstraction of Lententide for the Midweek Motif: The Inanimate & the Non Human

The thorn of a passion

thorn of passion poem - machado poem
“En el corazón tenía la espina de una pasión; logré arrancármela un día; ya no siento el corazón.”


In my heart I used to have
the thorn of a passion;
one day I ripped it out;
I no longer feel my heart” *

In my hand the thorn
throbbed in time to a heartbeat
so slight yet robust enough
to slash raw flesh

In cool passiflora groves
the poet intones against silence
his heart torn by the shroud
she wore like a pure white cloak

In matters of a cheating heart
we should not lie together
guilt with its sadistic prickle
a burr under our broken unicorn

In a sacred grove his crown
bears fruit along the thorny tree
one day a sojourn for all souls
-for hearts will stop at nothing

In heartburn passion hides a pain
embellished by spittle hiss on fire
and there the cryptic sign of null
I can no longer feel the thorn

© Laura Granby 2016

*lines prompted by Antonio Machado’s On the banks of the Duero
and trying out some repetitive phrasing for this week’s ‘Poetry Pantry