Poems
The friends are very pleased to be able to publish a selection of poems about St George's Gardens. If you have written a poem or know of one about the gardens please contact us.
'Summer in St George's Gardens'
Wendy Shutler
'Easter'
Wendy Shutler- first published in her book Here we go round the multiverse.
'St George's Gardens'
Stephanie Gerra
Summer in St George's Gardens
Tucked away from noisy frenzied clamour
of traffic on the grimy Grays Inn Road,
a green serene oasis, to retreat
from frantic anxious living, slow the pace,
pause to take a breath of air, among
those who, once like us, now breathe no more,
lying in the gardens, unaware
that as they mingle with the earth, they feed,
become the grass where now the living lie,
the lucky living, trying to break free,
and quietly unravel tangled minds
opening like buds into the sun,
expanding, mingling present, future, past,
under whispering leaves, while summer lasts.
Wendy Shutler
Easter
Nothing moved. The dull, opaque
ice that stilled the winter lake
stopped me too; and yet I saw
clearly in that frozen space
where no waves break.
In the leafless London square,
a mist of almond blossom.
Delicate, pink and Japanese,
life returning to the trees,
sex in the air, everywhere!
The churchyard where the crocus blooms,
gold and purple in the gloom
of ancient graves, which surely must,
beneath, by now, be only dust:
the garden of the empty tomb.
Springtime thaws the frozen stream
and I can ache again.
Rainbows fade and blaze and tease,
the madness of March infects my dreams,
and death is over now, it seems.
Wendy Shutler
St George's Gardens
I felt I was with child
It was not just a thought.
When the crimson tide came
I was profoundly distraught.
A sea of words and holy prayers
Could not lift my grief…
It was only in the gardens of St George
When the beautiful black and white cat
Darted into the lavender after a mouse
That something in me was restored.
But it remains a mystery to me,
Why the cat and that scurrying mouse
The cluster of bumble bees feeding on the lavender stalks,
Hovering wasps, butterflies orange-white
Insects hurrying in crazy flight
Might bring me peace.
The warming balm of the heat beneath from the earth
And above from the Sun too giving me solace, comfort
Where before had been none
Only the crashing loss of hope
At the knowledge
That this extraordinary miracle of life
That had come to pass
Did not last
And in my womb
Could not hold fast.
Stephanie Gerra