Author: A. Gouedard

An odd occurence

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

I often gaze out of my upstairs window seeking inspiration for poems and today I saw an odd thing, which could perhaps be a poem, but I just want to describe what I saw this time.

I was looking down from above and saw three wood pigeons on the lawn. They seemed to like symmetry, they expressed it. They were arranged on the points of an invisible equilateral triangle. The triangle had sides that were to my eye three metres long and so each wood pigeon was three metres away from each of its companions. Two pigeons sat, nested in the grass, at what I thought of as the base of the triangle, exactly parallel to each other and facing outward toward the garden wall like silent sentinels or guards on an invisible door to the triangles centre.  The third pigeon stood at the peak and made rare pecks at the grass.

I watched this for ten minutes. Nothing happened. None of the usual cats turned up, thankfully. I left. I have no idea how long they held this shape between them. It was an oddly still scene.

Twenty-Four Shipwrecks ~ a haibun

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How many wrecks in the uncharted depths? Century after century of shipwrecks, seaweed shrouded and armoured in barnacles, iron ribbed rusted skeletons of the vessels they were.

Sea born we are by that life giving ocean that can swallow men whole, drowning in storms, when dark clouds are broiling.

Lost sailors bones rest on the bottom at a depth that is deeper than the height of the highest of mountains ~ fish eat their flesh, their bones a part of the sea ~ they rest there from war, work, exploration ~ they rest there now in water rocked graves where no sunlight, starlight nor moonlight can ever reach in the ebb and the flow and the sway of deep tides.

 

stars hidden in cloud

winds howl darkness, no mercy

a wave wall, a void

 

sea throat swallows, whole,

spinning, deep to sea grave,

sand grains their worn bones

 

wind drop, empty light,

nothing there on the surface

tranquil cloud mirror glass

 

 

(the title Twenty Four Shipwrecks refers to a figure I saw online when reading about Trawler Fishing in Britain – twenty-four was stated as the number of trawlers lost each year)

In the Garden of the Gods

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they are not far away, they are near

the old gods cry out to us

from beneath city streets

come closer, if you would hear

 

the moon is hidden in daylight

waiting to light the path of the night

in silvery tones and pearl

come closer, if you would hear

 

the trees whisper a constant prayer

the voice of the leaves, the dance of the branch

the breath of exchange that holds us all

come closer, if you would hear

 

the rivers run out, the veins of all life

the clouds pour down a blessing

the sea is the constantly beating heart

come closer, if you would hear

 

above the rooftops venus shines

the daidem, a star, entwined in her twilight hair

she sings the song of the life spark and the long dark

come closer, if you would hear

 

they are not far away, they are always here

the world is a garden for which we must care

before the old gods slip silent away

come closer, if you would hear

The Moonlight Lamp – a book

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http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=a.gouedard

This is a collection of poems – some have appeared in my posts here and some have not

Old Love

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there was no need of explanations

when all was accepted and understood

 

sunlight filled the clearing

a path of soft grass

lead through the wood

the rapids on the river

a source of delight,

exhilaration, excitement

the boat spinning and whirling

a reason for laughter

as we clung closer

what cared we for danger

when in evening we returned

to sit warmly wrapped

at the fireside, together

 

the paths have become hidden

overgrown with bramble and thorn

twisting back on themselves

the Prince in the fairytale

hacks with his sword

to find his way through

to the sleeping Princess

who waits alone, for a kiss,

only a kiss and a promise,

in stories he is never exhausted

you don’t hear tales of his scars

he always succeeds

what a miracle worker he is

what a wonder to behold

astride his white horse

shining in silver armour

despite the darkness

 

there is a path where the rich scent

of old fallen leaves fills the air

the banks of this path are cut deeply

amongst the roots of the ancient trees

they hold the path, embraced,

they are not there to trip us

but to keep the way open ahead

the road is old and worn

 

Words

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‘Sticks and stones may break my bones

but words will never hurt me.’

Ha! who arrived at that

pat down potted wisdom

shrugging off truth

with an easy phrase and a lie

 

Words are life savers and killers,

blessing givers, tormentors, thieves

they can make you grovel

they can make you free

they can make you feel loved,

wanted and cared for, or

disgraced, misplaced, dispossessed

 

words are power

words are spells

one misplaced word

side-tracks, sharp edges, confusions

all is lost and undone

 

don’t ask me to speak with words

let me show you, not tell you

give me the language of eyes and skin

my hand in your hair, the quiet night air,

the bird song, the breeze, the river

my arm under your head,

your breathe in my ear,

tangled limbs,

these are the words of love

 

The Sacrificial Rite

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naked and bound at the foot of a tree

hands lashed to feet and kneeling

an embryo, a seed curled in submission

without resistance, i saw,

in the sacrificial rite

as time released me

 

in the woods the oak grows tall

the acorn falls to dark earth, maternal

stripped from the shell, the sapling springs

in the labyrinth of time, the wheel eternal,

in the vernal equinox, the turn,

up from the seed, limbs stretching

reaching to light, no death is here

take heart in the strength of oak

 

daffodils, toadstools, the bluebell

nothing of worth is ever lost

time gives life to the tender seed

to be reborn

you first must die

The Minstrel

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Peering through a mist

parting a veil, dusty webs,

staring back at fate.

I see the entrance vividly,

the exit all too clear

 

He rode into London in a cavalcade

his lady seated before him, bedazzled by all they saw

exchanging glances with his boisterous brothers

they rode in a merry troupe, loud laughter and youth

lute and tabor, bells and fine embroidery.

They roamed the streets at night

joyful pups in a rainbow of rags and finery

mocking wealth they cocked a snoop at death.

They attracted wide attention.

 

red ribbons and green

her hair swings in the sunlight

her eyes, her arms, life

 

Ah! but to stay in the streets and courtyards would have been far wiser.

What does youth know, exuberant, thoughtless, unwitting.

Attention a flattery, alluring.

Beckoned through wider and higher doors

they entered in. Gardens of delight, sweet scents and song

gentle harmless beauty, so it seemed to him.

A peace fell upon him there, he dreamed in poetry.

Darkness approached. The shadow of a cloud on the grass as it crosses that summers sun.

 

lavender lady

seats herself amongst roses

charming, so disarming

 

Requests made, favours granted ,

twisted meanings, things not understood,

so many whispers in quiet corridors,

the web of intrigue draws tighter,

he spoke the wrong words too lightly

spilling his thoughts into treacherous ears.

This tale reveals all that was feared.

The shadow of the Tower looms closer.

He longs to leave this city, they will flee at night,

run to the countryside

where the hills are wide and sweeping,

where the willows lean gently

over the Avon weeping.

All too late.

He prays she got away.

 

dark walls draw inward

music screams loud in the silence

of la oubliette

 

this is not his final end, the world is too unkind

better to be forgotten than to suffer such a fate

still unsatisfied they dragged him out

it turns and troubles my stomach now

to watch the rest of this

the pain became too great and ceased, he rose

floating high above himself, looking down on horror

seeing things no-one should see

and my pen grows silent, as he fades away in light

 

red roses spread out

he flies above the woodlands

butterflies of light