Author: A. Gouedard

The Opinion of the Dormouse

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This interminable tea party is terribly boring.

We’ve moved round this table for years.

I’m not asleep, I’m listening and snoring.

I have excellent ears.

 

The Hatter was always so gloomy before.

Since Alice came here he isn’t the same

He seems to like chatting very much more

I’ve heard him whisper her name.

 

He still goes on drinking

Cups of cold tea

But I know what he’s thinking.

It’s not about me.

 

He’s never asked me which cake I prefer.

We have all her favourites each day.

He even taught her how to quadrille.

He summoned musicians to play.

 

Banana cake’s banned.

Alice dislikes it.

The birds eat cake from her hand.

She passed me a nice bit today.

 

They all love sweet Alice,

Even silly March Hare.

There are threats everyday from the palace

But Hatter and Hare, being mad, never care.

 

I know Hatter’s thinking she’s young and naïve,

But I think he’ll have a surprise.

All will be well if she doesn’t leave.

Alice is curiously wise.

No Twinkle

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twinkle, twinkle little star

what misguided fools they are

they blot you out with city lights

the ruination of our nights

they never look, they move too fast

their sky is always overcast

Clearing House

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Wisteria and heliotrope tap upon the window

Cascading canopies of blooms obscure the lace of light

These antediluvian drifting dreams needs a careful cleansing

 

Wander though the rooms

Trail a finger here along the shelves

Leaving lines behind, each one holds a story

 

The old clock with a muffled tick marks time,

A perpetual metronome to music echoed in the hall.

Polished, worn piano keys, lid closed now and silent.

 

Take a yellow dust cloth, wipe it all away

Open wide resistant, creaking window frames

Shake the dust out, flying to the stratosphere.

 

Life is not for fragile vases, balanced near the fire.

Crematorium dust belongs beneath the roses

Sheltered in rich earth.

 

At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in suds,

I recall a rubaiyat, I sense reverberation

Somewhere in my memory, a penetrating message, from Arcadia.

 

 

 

Morning Ritual (a sonnet)

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Each day the morning ritual’s the same,
I wake to hear the traffic in the street.
My mother, from her bedroom, calls my name.
I wish that I could stay in longer sleep.
Preparing breakfast, brewing morning tea,
I throw the heavy window open wide
Breathing in cold air, throwing bread and seed
to waiting birds that gather there outside.
But now my lingering dreams all fly away
A Raven came, down swooping from the sky!
His presence here a blessing on the day
My heart awakes and lifts my spirit high.

Mythic bird, bringing darkness from the night
On wings outspread and lifting up in light.

Never Mind the Kardashians

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Have you ever noticed that tulip leaves squeak?
Have you wondered what it is that excites them?
Could it be the touch of your hand?

Could it be the touch of your hand
in the earth that may sometimes heal you?
Does energy rise up through your sickening veins?

Have you ever wondered what it is that excites them –
the way a moth, expecting rapture, leaps in a flame?
Young children love repetitions – that’s a puzzle to me!

Have you ever noticed how tulip petals squeak?
I prefer to ponder these ridiculous questions
Than wonder what the Kardashians think.

Kardashians think?

From Acorns, Oaks (a haibun)

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I was an acorn, many years ago,fallen from an ancient tree to the earth below.
One day Arthur came, dreaming of the land and his ambitious plans. Absent-mindedly he stooped, bowed down to me, reaching out a hand.

with heavy footsteps
men will come, their battle plan
disturbs the forests

He held me in his palm. I saw him softly smile. He placed me in his pocket
where it was dark and warm. He was not a king to me, he was just a man. I stayed with him throughout his golden age.

here amongst blossoms
they sit and speak of glory
petals softy fall

When Arthur fell,I fell too. He fell into his long sleep of death. I fell to my birth, pressed into the earth by a careless foot, an unwitting gardener pushed me into mud. I was cradled by the earth while the country still mourned.

cradled by the earth
in knowledge of high branches
I reached up to light

I reached up to light and became a sturdy oak. Now we are a forest. We whisper this old story as wind sighs through our leaves. My children tell the tale.

Horse Totem (for Asphodel)

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far-strider
ditch-leaper
wind-chaser
free spirit of open fields

grip-to-my-thighs
pulse-of-my-blood
joy-of-my-eyes
path to ancestral home

star-raker
myth-maker
soul-bridle
guide to my dreaming
painted in clouds
washed by the surf
hoof beat and heart beat
bound into one
crossing the blue horizon

How to Capture a Mermaid

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These instructions come with a warning.
Beware! She might capture you.

The first thing to do is convince yourself
That mermaid tales are true,

Then take a trip to the ocean,
But some inland lakes will do,

And go alone.
Mermaids are very shy.

Never go unprepared.
You will need to take a supply

Of gifts and music and stories.
Some that the sailors knew.

You can’t deceive a mermaid
A mermaid looks right though you

Mermaids love flowers and spices
But go with a heart that’s true

Scatter the beach with spices
Cover the water with flowers

Play to her on a lute
And wait for hours and hours

She will seduce you if she can
She has powers to hypnotise

She sees your soul in an instant
Never look into her eyes

To capture a mermaid don’t use a net
Never use bindings or ropes

You must sing to her very sweetly
Sing of your dreams and your hopes

Trail your hand in the water
Sing yourself to sleep

As you drift between worlds she will come to you
Rising up from the deep

She will want to hold and touch you
She will love you, if you are wise

Never be overbearing
Just take the mermaids hand

When you walk in your sleep, still dreaming,
She will follow you to the land.

Lost Voices

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the Valley Welsh

and the Cockney Welsh

rarely mingle, except for holidays,

when they descend on our house

and turn me out from my bed

‘never mind, cheer up, ducks, ‘

says me Nan, sprinkling violets onto cotton,

tossing fresh laundered sheets in the air

 

the men have arguments around the table,

how they love to raise their voices,

though they all agree

if truth be told

 

”edoocation for edoocations sake”

they lecture me

‘come by here’

and ‘mind now’

storm in a teacup

‘look you boyo’

‘see now,’ telling tales of Tom-the-Milk

and Willie-One-Hair

 

me Da’s Mam puts her pinny on

but settles in an armchair

pouring luke warm tea,

‘no sugar mind,’ she says

her face is always serious

 

and now, here come the Cornish

like a blast of sea air

from a far horizon

they travel ‘up country’

unwillingly,

late as usual,

laid back

smiling,

all the way from God’s Own Country

”hello me ‘ansome, orlroight?

some weather we’m havin’,

i’d love a nice cuppa tae”

 

and then the laughter starts

and the voices gather

around the piano

to sing in harmony,

the Welsh with a lean to the minor key,

 while my father tickles the ivories,

‘there’s lovely’,

until the early hours

when me Pop says to me,

disappointingly,

with an eye on the clock,

”Time for bed me ol’ cock”