the dusty dolls of the gods
stand in a line in the temple,
glaring,
their eyes outlines with khol,
shrouded in clouds
overpowering incense
Author: A. Gouedard
Hearts
the sun alone brings deserts
after rain, flowers come
grain grows golden
so it is with hearts
The Road to Lincoln
without sleep beneath the stars,
stumbling through the darklands
we skirted round the adder woods,
out, through silvered parklands
a moonlight, starlight princess
ahead of me, perfection,
my blanket round her shoulders
with only vague directions
we found the moonlit way to town
she walked ahead on silent feet
with many quiet miles to go
my love was real, complete
a moment came with sinking stars
imagination opened, a bright illumination,
all was as it should be, never could be
a short glimpse of liberation
without sleep beneath the stars
love remained unspoken
all was as it would be
the stars sank down, a fading token
the mystic dawn rose gently, new,
a soft mist stretched across the land
her long hair crowned with sparkling dew
we took the road to Lincoln
without sleep and wide awake
the night was over, washed away
back in noise and traffic
the harsh realities of day
i was never really as i seemed
a little lost and moonstruck
i was always wondering,
without sleep beneath the stars
The Circus of Shadows
The big circus already came to this town.
It arrived with illusionists, grease paint and whips
It came with the grand puppet masters,
Playing with smokescreens and mirrors
Throwing shadows of terror on the tent walls
To reduce the audience to silence.
The newspaper seller, outside on the street,
Screams out the blaring headlines.
‘’Blame the poor, they’re all scroungers.
Put them all on benefit sanctions.
Confiscate their wheelchairs.
Stop whining you bastards.’’
The bankers have their own show to attend
You won’t see them here
in this part of town.
They like everything private
in their own pockets.
They continue to smile
and twiddle their fiddles
while food banks become the new fashion.
I hear my grandfathers turn in their graves
in a rage,
of heartfelt compassion.
Be Kind
I look at this world. It brings me to tears.
No changes, no choices, no power, no voice.
Our fears come true instead of our dreams.
Our words echo, reverberate, into a void.
I have a dream, just like that man,
the one they killed for speaking the truth.
I have a dream just like the one
that lead to a man being hung on a cross.
I wish the world was more like our dreams.
People could base all their actions on love.
I wish we could be all that we want.
I wish I could be all that I need.
I have nothing to offer, words don’t cast a spell.
Be kind to each other, remember this well.
Ballad of an English Town
It is long since i went to town,
necessity drove me today,
Into its well known streets and ways.
I expected it little changed
hey ho the merrio
and a hey down dillo
and that hey nonny nonny stuff
the last time i went into town
the local shops were all gone
replaced by corporate giants
with thundering crushing big stores
hey ho the merrio
and a hey down dillo
and that hey nonny nonny stuff
now they too have gone away
not enough wealth left in this town
to feed their hungering thirst
the people are all sucked dry
hey ho the merrio
and a hey down dillo
and that hey nonny nonny stuff
i watched the people shuffle along
their faces all looked grey
some had a mad look in their eyes
no reason to wonder why
hey ho the merrio
and a hey down dillo
and that hey nonny nonny stuff
the rich dont come to this town now
they used to come in their throngs
there is nothing left for them here
having eaten the town, they moved on
hey ho the merrio
and a hey down dillo
and that hey nonny nonny stuff
In the Forest
In the centre of a forest
I find myself alone.
I am truly lost.
I look behind the way I came;
Broken branches, sodden leaves.
I crashed through there in dreams.
Night begins to fall,
no sky in view above.
I stand transfixed,
the ground beneath my feet,
unstable now,
green leaves
above a pit.
I cannot move.
No footprints lay ahead,
no markers left behind.
I can only wait,
deserved and destined fate.
I call for help.
I hear no answer,
just the echoes of my voice.
I will stand here
in the night and wait
until an answer comes.
No choice for me in that.
Darkness gathers round.
In the morning light will come
perhaps I’ll find
a clearer, open path
On the Green Hill
She comes to me after midnight,
whispering soft in my ear
her face full of moonlight,
her dress is pale and blue
starlight glints in the weave.
I almost understand her.
I hear her whispered words
in a language i once knew,
or thought I knew.
She tries to tell me stories,
lost long ago in sleep,
stories lost in a dream somewhere
inscribed on a unicorns horn
and the print of a satyrs hoof.
I gather a word here and there.
I store them away with care
but all the next day
I long for her
and I cant untangle the words.
My heart is bewitched, enthralled.
I long for the night to come again,
the night on the hill in the wood.
Storytellers (a pantoum)
when the power went out we were ready
the oil lamps were already filled
the white candles stood in their holders
all was comfort and warmth
the oil lamps were always filled
we gathered more brushwood and bracken
all was comfort and warmth
we kindled the fire, made it crackle
we gathered more brushwood and bracken
piling on driftwood and logs
we kindled the fire, make it crackle
the flames rose high as they burned
piling on logs and driftwood
we sat near the fire as it blazed
the flames rose high as they burned
we sat by the fire, telling each other tales
we sat near the fire as it blazed
while the wind rattled the roof tiles
we sat by the fire, telling each other tales
life went on unchanged
while the wind rattled the roof tiles
the bread was steadily rising
life went on unchanged
until the power came back
the bread was steadily rising
we flicked a switch on the radio
when the power came back
the world stepped into the house
we flicked a switch on the radio
bringing nothing of value to us
the world stepped into the house
the house grew instantly colder
bringing nothing of value to us
now all would be darkness and shadows
the house would grow instantly colder
there is no source of heat these days
now all would be darkness and shadows
I miss the wood smoke and firelight
there is no source of heat these days
I miss the stories we told
(this is a re-write of an earlier poem I posted – called Without Power – I rewrote it as a Pantoum to see if the form improved it – I think it has)
In the Garden
I lost you,
somewhere in the garden,
where a path took a turn
downhill.
There’s a tangle of roses entwined.
Some of them have dark thorns
that cling to your skirts
as you pass.
The paths are a tangle, a puzzle,
twisted around like a rope.
I can’t undo or decipher them
but I heard a distant sound,
amongst all the songs of the birds,
the gentle play of a fountain.
I need to slake my thirst.
I am sure I will find you there.
I met you once by a river.
By water I’ll meet you again
