Two poems by Paul Grant

Then it too was quiet

There are

Effortless 

Pleasures

To be found

In

Absent-mindedly

Sliding

The ice

Around

A glass of rum

Of noticing

What the fingers

Do

When unattended

Try not

To focus

On the bigger

Picture,

The fingerprint

Is more

Powerful

Than the

Bruise

And know

That I want

To be gradually

Dancing with you,

Our simple movement

Vibrating the strings

Of wooden instruments.

++++++++++++++++++++

In the last ends the floors will be painted    

        

These small

Cuts

That form in

The prehistoric parts

Of sleep

Where do they come from?

Finding meaning

In their incise pattern

Is critical

The darkness

Laying dormant

In the smile

Of a child

Will eventually

Seep into the carpets,

The impulse

Becoming the action

These little furies

Occur seemingly,

As if human contact

Is chemical,

Two ends

Of the periodic table

Touching,

Acidic sparks

Something burning

The nostrils

Flaring

Humanity finally

Revealing

The first emotions

Of atoms.

 

Author bio:

 

Paul Grant is 35 years old and has been published in Clockwise Cat previously.