Poetry

Apologies BUT…..

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Although I haven’t posted much on here lately (because I am studying Eng Lit and Creative Writing) it’s not long now until napowrimo starts on April 1st (National Poetry Month) where I annually pledge to write one new poem a day each day in April. Then I will be FORCED to write :)

If you would like to take up the same challenge keep a watch on this website http://www.napowrimo.net/

If I write a poem before then I will post it here of course. The muse hasn’t run off to the woods – she just knows I am busy (writing essays, fulfilling assignments and reading). Even in lockdown there is never enough time.

Olive Oil

/ A. Gouedard / 3 Comments

through passage-ways in shaded morning

heeding not the subtle warning 

of the burning sun to come 

I follow you as best I can

after all, you are the man

all we explore is known to you 

to me it’s strange 

though once before I wandered here

in some dreams I had alone

and so I feel it is my home

we pass the mosques where people pray

we pass the dates and figs piled high

I catch a glimpse of you ahead 

if we are parted by the crowd 

will I be lost or only free?

your words repeating in my head

‘go to the cafe by the door 

wait for me if you are lost

ignore the crush, meet me at the olive oil,

there beside the beggars gate’ 

oil to soothe?

oil to blend?

oil to smooth a slippery path?

oil to heal your ravaged skin?

I turn away

I turn and walk the other way.

She is

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

gentle as a breeze, she is
after summer rain
i watch her blossoms fall

warm and tender then, she is
hot as summer days
when heat consumes the grass

encircled by my heart, she is
and when she isn’t here
I stir in bed all night

blossoms fall
heat consumes
ah! my beating heart

Stones in a room

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

A collection of seven small horses have been gathered into a herd. I dust them when I must but rarely change their positions. Quite often I dust them too late.

There is another horse in this room, a tired horse in a painting, ridden by a knight. His armour has turned to rust. The horse has a drooping head. The knight is reading a gravestone with words I can’t translate.

The plants here are all artificial. I am not sure when that happened, but I confess to finding it sad. There are far too many cushions. There are books all over the place. There are stones I have silently gathered, each from a special place.

water and stardust

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

why are you weeping?
the music of water sings to the stars
and falls to the earth in the rains
seek out the rainbow
satisfy thirst
rest when the sun sinks in the west
the fire is still lit in the hearth
night becomes day soon enough
we are made of water and stardust
we must go with the flow
water will find it’s own course
nothing will stand in the way
dry all your tears and shine
open your heart to the source

The Cow Chorus

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i have found cows to be very sympathetic creatures and so enjoyed reading this

Nimue Brown's avatarDruid Life

There are a number of fields not far from my home that have cows in for all, or part of the year. It’s not unusual to hear the cows of an evening. However, lockdown and reduced traffic noise have cast this in a rather different light for me.

It’s become obvious, walking in the evenings, that the cows are calling to each other. With far less traffic noise, it has become obvious that the evening cow calls are conversational. You can hear cows from one herd call and then a response from somewhere else – perhaps miles away. The sounds cows make turn out to travel well over distances when they don’t have much to compete with.

I suppose it’s possible that the different herds have been able to hear each other all along, but I suspect not. I have no idea what the hearing capacity of a cow is…

View original post 165 more words

The Big Floyd (in memorial of Chris)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

start the engines
clear skies
time to fly
sunshine blue
on the wings
rising fast
stratosphere
don’t ask why
have no fear
nothing real
is as it seems
pass the gulf
look back to earth
we’re flying clear
take control
start the dream
my soul is high
my heart is wide
feel the love
there’s no divide

swim

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

so strange this feeling of separation
locked in a bottle gazing out
floating on a shelf where you placed me
fixed in time, preserved perfection
can’t grow, explore or breath

uncork me, pour me out
a river will flow around you
an ocean of endless love
where the surf rises high
on the evening tide
swim with me
home at last

Day 30 – Entrenched Opposition

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

You, foot soldiers,

who yell from your solid ranks

and dig moral trenches

embedding yourselves

in self-defined virtues

patting yourselves on the back,

won’t survive when the chariots come

with their innovations and rapid manoeuvres

and the flash of their wheels in the sun

if you don’t learn to adjust

and be flexible, knowing your failings,

your flailing, a horror to watch

you won’t survive this defeat

your offers of gifts won’t work

this is not a puritan country

rigidity of thought is never a blessing

if you don’t regroup or retreat

you will lose every battle

you must learn all these lesson

if you ever hope to return