i know that this house is waiting
i hear it in the room
i hear it the moment i enter
loud as the ocean breeze
it’s so thick i can almost touch it
but it’s only the sound of silence
emptiness in a sigh
gliding on absent feet
it makes the flames burn low in the grate
and the windows are empty eyes
i sit alone and gaze at the door
hoping that you will walk in
Author: A. Gouedard
Unsaid
I had a lover
clung to me like a vine
her arms were a rope
she wanted to own me
but she wasn’t mine
(a word to the wise ~
loving whispers
are so often lies)
but you,
my sweet one,
are so close to silence,
so close to cold,
your occasional gesture,
infrequent words,
say more about love
as you stand by my side
you have nothing to hide
I don’t need to feel you
to know you are there
I’ve learned to listen
to your heart
in my head
I’ve learned to listen
to things unsaid
Under
unable,
uncertain,
unknown,
unwanted,
unloved,
unravelled,
unchained,
under cover of darkness,
under unending law,
unblemished, unbound, undefeated,
unaltered, unceasing,
undead
WANTED
hmm interesting – this needs some looking into
ARTHUR and ARTHUR’S WARBAND for the following CRIMES against the PEOPLE OF ANNWFN –
*The murder of Diwrnarch Gawr, by beheading with his own sword, and the theft of his sword and cauldron.
*The murder of Dillus Farfog, by beheading, and the plucking out of his luxuriant red beard to make the leash that near-strangled Drudwyn, Fierce White, a Hound of Annwfn.
*The murder of Rhitta Gawr, by beheading, and the theft of his cloak of his beards.
*The murder of Ysbaddaden Bencawr, by beheading, and his torture – the shaving of his beloved hawthorn beard, the paring of his skin and flesh to the bone, and the slicing off of both his ears.
*The murder of Orddu, Very Black, Witch of Pennant Gofid, by slicing in half with a lightning-like knife and the draining of her blood into the bottles of Gwyddolwyn Gawr to grease Ysbaddaden’s beard.
*The murder…
View original post 375 more words
Different
as a child they said i was different
i am indifferent to their claims
i was one of the chosen thousands,
whose names i do not know
we were the classroom dreamers
the quiet, the shy, the lone,
the shamen of other lands
far from forgotten home
we sat in the corners of playgrounds
content to look at the clouds,
dragged from our hiding places,
chosen last for their teams
we became the clowns, smiling in our dreams,
for life is the ultimate joke
scrawled on a jesters jacket
to be read when he turns his back
Wolf
Why would I,
poor mortal,
beg at your door?
when last time I stood there,
asking,
for one morsel more,
in the momentary pause
of one heart beat,
i was offered far less,
with the kindly suggestion
that this
was best
for my own peace and rest.
Now pride,
a thick lump in my throat
I can’t swallow,
and won’t,
leaves me with words
I cannot express.
I won’t even try.
I am not going to howl.
I would far rather die
than scuffle for scraps
or ask you again
for warmth at your fire.
I can find my own food.
I would share it with you.
You have no need to hide.
Keep your doors closed.
My wolf sleeps outside.
Accustomed to cold.
In my favourite Cornish wood
The Rocky Beach
beneath the tide
the mussels sway
in ranks of black and antique grey
in time their shells
become fine grains
to mingle in the rolling sands
while ancient bones
that marched from Rome
fall into silence and decay
merged into land, clad in stone
all things swiftly pass away
whether bird or fish or man
Balance
I was with my tribe today.
They are often far away.
I know them by the smiles they wear
and the silver in their hair.
They don’t belong here,
nor do I,
but now and then we gather up.
We sing, we dance, we fill the cup,
then homeward I, alone, must go.
This is not sad. I like it so.
Outcast
i, the banished, outcast rook
in a crooked, twisted tree
from far away i see you there
you don’t look and don’t see me
i see your faces as you pass
i see your truths, i see your lies
your stories written in your eyes
all these things are clear to me
outside
always looking in
feathers ruffled by the wind
watching for a winter sun
the beauty of the world, begun,
hangs above the vaulted dark,
the certainties of fathomed night,
and there, see there….the flash, the spark
i see the twinkle of the star
the door still stands and swings ajar
The Dreaming Path 