She gave me the simple gift of a daisy
that shone in the sun for one day, long ago.
He gave me a strong staff to walk the wild hills,
I am walking them now, wondering still.
Both gifts are of equal value to me.
For these gifts, in return, I invited them home.
When the night falls the twins of the heavens hang high above
Symbolic stars in a union of love.
the girl runs from house to garden
from garden to house and back again
thinking only of running
thinking only of the garden and the house
this house, this garden
the breeze and the sunlight pooled on the grass
and the swaying of the poplar trees
she has no memory of any other place
or time
the delusions of the world unravelled
unspun they slipped away
this world complete enough
can be heard here :)
http://www.poemhunter.com/a-m-gouedard/
I will add more in time
The reader is Eala Du
don’t let all i do be about her
we all have a past,
it’s passed
i know how rejection feels
and the pangs of an unhealed wound
and a skin still sorely scarred
now you prick your finger on nothing
the thorns in the roses are gone
i cut them away, with precision
my thoughts are wrapped up in you
spilling onto the page
hidden in hundreds of words
don’t let her be the ghost
that walks through our rooms
shattering dreams
the vase in the house is full
with flowers of many seasons
picked and arranged for you
she was only a daisy,
crushed under your foot,
never a full blown rose
Beautiful paintings
tell me your dreams and tell me them true
tell me of days when you were a child
i need to better remember you
when it all comes round again in a while
tell me your hopes, tell me your fears
tell me the paths of your ancestral home
tell me your journey through the long years
let our lives link wher’ver we may roam
meet me again on the other side
reborn again, a boy and a girl
stars will cross and circles collide
when we awaken anew to this world
we will be young, but we can be wise
let me see love again shine in your eyes
Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day’s useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?
But I will be carrying on here as usual.
And the next inspiring event comes up later on – with the free on-line Poetry Course with the Creative Writing Dept at Iowa State University – when that date is announced I will post it (it lasts for 5 weeks)
It is strange to see the old branches there
Twisted with thorns on the hillsides, cloud swept
A hundred yards from the mountain peak
centuries cling together, cloud covered
We will follow the restless ravens flight
dark soaring darts as they pierce the hard rocks.
We were given a whole country to keep,
land is proof we insist on still living
The old harps, played in the far distant past,
Are memories dripping from hawthorn leaves
The moss covered seat is hedgerow hidden
Stone monument to old and wise story
I remembered all that I knew of you
As I followed the flow of the river
I’ll walk beside you over many paths,
though they will say you are not beside me
I remember the smell of bran mash and horses,
steam rising in winter sun
the creaking of leather out in the yard,
saddles and straps, the welcoming whinny,
the course hair of manes caught in the brush
the sharp hollow ring of shod hooves on stone
echoing round the stables
the first time a horse stood on my foot
leaning shoulder to shoulder and pushing
feeling the strength of sinew
and above all the stable doors
the names of old horses, long gone
I remember the bluebells
blueness in scented shadows
fallen branches and fungi
the huge tree, blown down in the winter,
still full of life,
and the rooks crying above
to the echoing shouts of young children
we play hide and seek amongst the trees
until someone falls over
and it’s time to get them to bed
the days are still shorter than summer
I remember in summer, sweet jasmin,
the buzz of the bees in the hedgerows,
the heat of the day, a sizzler
the smell of sun warmed railway tracks
where the weeds grew up through the sleepers
the shimmer ahead where the sun met illusion
my sandal strap broken, mended with string,
when we sat on the banks
while the dogs raced away
to the river
I remember lovers
Autumn is gold with nostalgia
summer is over
it’s time for fires
fires on the beach
fires in the house
the chill air makes us snuggle
there is no need to go out in the evening
time to find last years old jerseys
and let them embrace us again
The Dreaming Path 