Author: A. Gouedard

Empty Houses

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I leaned by a wall in the hallway
dressed in a hat and a coat
with a place to go I cared nothing for
when after his death we moved out

the thought of the way an empty house echoes
after the packing cases are gone
never fails to move me or bring  tears
it reminds me only of death

a hollow sound and an empty heart
if we had settled down after that
I might have gained more trust in the world
where only death is sure

it was after that I started to sleep walk
I have been sleep walking around that house
for years, in a world where I always move on
until death and the final box

Starfish in the Sand

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the starfish lay on the beach
as the tide swept in and out
it was left behind, abandoned,
small star in the vastness of sand
the pebbles spread out around
older than starfish or I
I cupped my hand in tenderness
and released a star to the sea

when the sun sank down I wandered
followed a winding trail
higher and higher I climbed
away from the rolling waves
until I felt above it all
with life spread out below
a giant on a solid rock
where nothing disturbed my peace

I rest on my back on granite
cold and hard against my spine
gazing up to the endless night sky
and a lattice of gleaming stars
where patterns move, intertwined
a fragment of infinity, greater, vaster by far
a tiny edge of the Universe
where all our short lives are

beneath me, i feel the earth turn
the silvered stars flash and shine
already dead, extinguished, aeons long ago
their twinkling lingers in time
i spread my hand to define them
measured against my palm
i am so small and they so vast
perspective loses its grip

strapped by gravities fragile belt
held fast to the slow turning earth
I feel myself begin to fly
inward and plunging out
there is no up and no down any more
no beginning, no end, only light
we’re an infinite variations of one
across the dream of night
amongst the rocks and the sand

Nothing at all

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

all our conversations
are becoming like this.
what are you thinking?
nothing of importance
what are you doing?
nothing right now
what were you doing last night?
nothing much
is anything wrong?
Nothing at all

i can’t fathom your tone
nothing is not an empty void
it fills the room
it’s so real I can’t breathe
then you say if you knew me
you wouldn’t be asking questions.
i thought you knew me completely

you don’t say what you have on your mind
you tell me nothing serious is happening
you say so much amidst your questions
you ask if I should have been an actor?
what the hell do you mean by that?

you ask can I find what I’m looking for here
and suggest I am lost in my dreams
not all can get lost in fantasy, you say
like its a blessing, and i get an award

you think I can’t see.
i see the nuance.
you insinuate
as you circle
herding me in
with maybe it’s this
and maybe it’s that

i am becoming impatient
this is becoming ridiculous
i say in exasperation
maybe i should have run off with a clown
maybe i should have been lead singer
when i played in a band back then
i start to feel sarcastic
and I don’t like the way i sound

maybe i am not looking for anything
did you think of that?
i followed a path that lead me here
if wishes were horses I’d be riding
but I’m not wishing
I am trying to write a poem
sitting by a river
it can help sometimes
and that’s what I do

yes, sure i get sad, who doesn’t
but it’s never that nature no longer delights me
I don’t forget the glory, even when it’s hidden
behind a day in the grey, with no shine
the trees against the clouds still have grace
i am thinking of what i am seeing

the wind that blows blow all away
that’s where I am,
that’s what I am doing
that’s who I am
Nothing at all

I guess it’s too late …. but

/ A. Gouedard / 3 Comments

I guess it’s too late to be a poet
practice makes perfect
perfect takes time

I can measure a beat
use slant rhyme in plenty
I’m rich in experience, that’s for sure

but I seem to have lost
that belief in myself
the enthusiastic leap of confident youth

too old to go out and brave a stage
too old to expound and rant and rage
i try to capture a quieter truth

my words sit and whisper beside the river
seeing pictures when words are flowing
where it starts and where it goes

I have no way of ever knowing
they come to my heart, pour straight out
in happiness, sorrow, joy and pain

I never mastered the careful edit
or got any credit from publishers
all i do is write and wish

if wishes were transformed into poems
they’d shimmer and shine on every page
and i could write away my age

i wasted time
life got in the way
no point blaming yesterday

I will try until I die
chasing the deadline to the dust
milk is spilt, but I can try

The Fool

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When the day was young the Fool stepped out
A rose in his hand and free of care
He walked though fields of fresh spring flowers
He had no thought for passing hours
Or the perils of the journey far ahead
He had never heard of learning

He climbed a mountain to its peak
He looked up to the sun above
Unaware of the shadows at his feet
His open innocence was complete
He ignored the instincts of his dog
Who yapped and growled to warn him

The Fool stepped out to the precipice
A merry tune upon his lips
Merry hey hi down dilly sang he
Oh he sang so prettily
While the void opened wide before him
And down he tumbled into life

The Fool now faces many choices
He began the journey and must go on
It may be short or it may be long
He may be weak or he may be strong
But in time he will return to this peak
And gaze out, as a wise man

 

the-fool

 

 

Postponement of Course

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POSTPONEMENT: HOW WRITERS WRITE POETRY 2015 The launch of How Writers Write Poetry 2015 has been delayed. We’ve postponed the course opening in order to ensure that How Writers Write Poetry 2015 will offer you an outstanding environment for poetry writing, discussion, and community. We hope to open the course within the next few weeks and will let you know of our new opening date as soon as possible. – See more at: http://iwp.uiowa.edu/iwp-courses/distance-learning-courses/moocs#sthash.SUlGk29q.dpuf

Free Poetry Couse starts today – enrol now

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https://www.canvas.net/browse/canvasnet/uofiowa/courses/how-writers-write-poetry?utm_source=IWP+Distance+Learning+Mailing+Lists&utm_campaign=606e46f289-HWWPoetry2015_announce2_3-17-2015&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_8e7ac6f5ba-606e46f289-187805945

just chance

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

have you ever experienced
several unfortunate failures
of communication in one day
at the wrong moment, ill placed?
it was innocent, not designed
it all happened by chance

I can believe
several impossible things
before breakfast
but it’s harder
to believe them
after dark
when the door
was shut
in my face

it must have been fate
so fickle
i suppose

Thinking

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the complications of the heart are so many
as complex as the veins that carry our blood
i am no cardiac surgeon to feel your delicate pulse
but i feel my own heart beat and my aorta throb
there are times when it hurts and i don’t know why
there are times when i know every cause

some words cause my blood to pound
my head to spin and my arteries swell
though they are small words in themselves
words that perhaps meant little to you
said in some casual off-hand way
you don’t see the surge on the line

i will ingest yet another tablet
that will take care of that, i hope
but my brain needs greater attention
it’s harder to tell what goes on in there
it’s not just the moment that matters
it has all those memories, stored too well

i could go with my guts of course
base animal instinct and insight
the one that makes our hair stand on end
it’s as strong as the sense of smell
it’s the one that sees through it all
but then i would have to trust

walking cures many things
it’s good for your health
it clarifies thought
or retreats from a bad situation
but it brings you home again
i have always trusted my feet