she was once a tight curled bud
white with an edge of tender pink
I could not see the heart
but her perfume was enticing
gently wafted on the air
with time and care she opened
a warm pink blush of petals
and now i see the heart
she is a rose that’s rare
Author: A. Gouedard
What is a Clock?
What is a clock?
A finger pointing out the time
That’s the simple answer
Counting seconds, minutes, hours
Passing slower, passing faster
A lazy, hungry creature
Time’s elastic
Drags us on
Pulls us to the future
Strips out history away
Measures out our meter
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
It knows nothing of the moment
Or the truth of time
It will never be my master
My clock is in my heartbeat
But what if there’s no time at all
And it’s a false illusion?
What if it repeats itself
And each beat is completer?
Or everything is overlapped?
Did we meet across some bridge,
Every meeting sweeter?
And will we pass that way again?
I’m here and there and everywhere
Without time there’s no disaster
Time is not my master
The Oak
where to go
when i am lost
i know i knew
it’s somewhere there,
beneath the oak
when the rain fell
though the leaves
i heard them splash
and felt refreshed,
shaded by tranquility
shelter still beneath the sun
green light filters
reaching branches high above
reaching always for the light
clear bright veins within the leaf
an open palm, resembling mine
Hidden Weeds
with this sorrow comes the sorrow
of every loss I ever had
it’s a pool of hidden depths
full of hidden weeds, obscured
is this the same for those occasions
when I’m glad? do i recall a well of joy?
gladness seems to stand alone
no predictions and no source
I know too well the ebb and flow
joy transcends all of itself
that moment like a rising wave
that bubbles up with light and air
today I cannot turn the tide
I sleep the sleep of constant loss
I’m sick with sad complexities
and all the tears I ever cried
if love were simple, as I think,
this stream would never lead
another sorry sigh away
but would swim me back again
The Princess & the Snail
Long ago in Timbramil
There lived a princess fair
Upon a lofty hill she dwelt
A crown adorned her hair
Her name was Princess Tourmaline
She rarely ventured out
So little had she seen of life
She never went about
One day her fathers Squire came by
He persuaded her to go
And look about the world a bit
Her agreement was quite slow
But at last she ventured forth
Through the garden gate
She saw the flowers and fountains there
And lingered til quite late
Her little feet were growing tired
so unused to walk
so she rested with the Squire
to have a little talk
Ah! then the princess saw a snail
Beneath the scented trees
Her face became quite pale indeed
She fell upon her knees
‘What is that?’ she asked the Squire
‘that spirals round such flesh.
Do the people eat these things
And do they eat them fresh?”
The snail looked up in total shock
”Surely you aren’t FRENCH!?” he said
Curling tight within his shell
and fearing he’d be dead
”Oh, he spoke!” the Princess cried
The Squire looked away, unsure what to say
The Princess took the Snail straight home
And kissed him every day
The moral of this story is
‘A chance remark and innocence
Can make us fall for anyone
And lovers have no sense.’
Thanksgiving Quatrain
Give thanks for the air that fills you lungs
And the heart that still beats in your breast
Give thanks for all the love you’ve received
And for every time you’ve been blessed
Give thanks for the sun that rises each morning
And the sweet gentle rest of the night
And the dreams that come when you open your mind
And the bright stars above so bright
Give thanks for the times you could help a good friend
Give thanks for a strangers wise words
Give thanks for the food on your table each day
And share what you have with the world
Inconstancy
lost in the land
where the grass is always greener
on the other side
they wander about,
plucking at this and at that,
never satisfied
the next will taste better
the herbs they select will be sweeter
the sun will reveal all the last light belied
to sit in a field ,
under one tree
and see how it changes,
how day becomes slowly night,
would bring a more lasting delight
through sunsets and dawns.
cold winds may blow and the sun grow hot
there may be storms,
and the leaves will fall.
without sun and rain there’s no rainbow
the pot of gold is right here
Fear Not Winter
we are children of the sun
fear not evening when it comes
fear not winters failing light
when our hearth fires burn so bright
though the snow is on the ground
with the shadows gathered all around
the stars are shining brighter up above
and our hearts are filled with warmth of love
come with gladness
come with cheer
come to bless the turning year
we will sing
we will bring the Yule log in
pine and holly from the wood
as we share the deep red cup of glowing wine
come with gladness
come with cheer
come to bless the turning year
we will dance
we will hang the mistletoe
i will kiss you once again
and await the springs returning of the wren
Elbereth Githoniel
Varda Elentari, Elbereth Githoniel,
Star Kindler, Everwhite,
Noble, beautiful, shining in glory,.
Lamp of the West, Jewel of the Night,
She comes to bring joy to our story,
She who is ever fair, overcomes even death
The Queen of the Stars forever.
To Manwe, the King of Arda, wife.
Great amongst the Queens of the Valar
She shines evermore to illuminate life
East to West our guiding star
She who is vanquished never
She established the course of the Sun and Moon
She placed Earendil as a star in the sky
She lights our way home afar in the West
So that those who journey may never die
She hears the prayers of the lost and the best
She comes as a blazing star into gloom.
The Battlefield
half of the world is locked in a nightmare
half of the world is a glorious dream
half of the world is walking in darkness
spreading their misery wherever they go
half of the world follows the light
seeing the mystery, seeing the glow
storm clouds and thunder, fire and strong bars
a vision of wonder, sunlight and stars
horror and cruelty, vicious dissent
honour and loyalty, loving ascent
hell on earth if that is your choice
heaven on earth too has its own voice
it so often seems that the dark side will win
but the balance is held between giving and sin
the clever ones know how to give all the answers
the wise ones are known by the questions they ask
all that we see will be over, the past,
nightmare or dream we awaken at last
the night will end and all will be light
The Dreaming Path 