Poetry

The First Monday

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The teddy bear is home alone until tonight
An eternity of days spreads out ahead
The garden is forbidden until evening
The time for growing up has just begun
It’s time to say goodbye to childish things
The world is new defined and fenced about
The satchel, stuffed, sits heavy on the floor
Sharp pointed pencils and a clean eraser
The ruler for the measuring of lines
The uniform hangs new and pressed against the door
Faint excitement evaporates in dread
A sickening thought sinks into an empty stomach
The Monday morning sun has just arrived

 

 

 

At the Tower

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Over heights in turning  winds that swept the hills where gorse and broom, in golden banks, flowered amongst the thorns,

running on long legs he came, flying from the  west, in rags, at sun sink hour

His coat tails torn, flapped and flew,

his hair dishevelled knots of midnight hue,

he called the dark of thunder in, he made the lightning sing.

He cleared the earth and fed the grain

with rolling storms, falling in torrential rain, washing dust away

and in his wake, the ravens came

their feathers tossed and ruffled wild,  their cawing cries split the sky, calling up deep days and shallow graves.

They circle now above the Tower and cry for Bran’s return, to prophecy a wink in Odin’s eye, a star that heralds dawn

But all is quiet, all is still, this is not the time, this is not the hour. There is no awakening.

We can only wonder here and wait.

The Opinion of the Dormouse

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

This interminable tea party is terribly boring.

We’ve moved round this table for years.

I’m not asleep, I’m listening and snoring.

I have excellent ears.

 

The Hatter was always so gloomy before.

Since Alice came here he isn’t the same

He seems to like chatting very much more

I’ve heard him whisper her name.

 

He still goes on drinking

Cups of cold tea

But I know what he’s thinking.

It’s not about me.

 

He’s never asked me which cake I prefer.

We have all her favourites each day.

He even taught her how to quadrille.

He summoned musicians to play.

 

Banana cake’s banned.

Alice dislikes it.

The birds eat cake from her hand.

She passed me a nice bit today.

 

They all love sweet Alice,

Even silly March Hare.

There are threats everyday from the palace

But Hatter and Hare, being mad, never care.

 

I know Hatter’s thinking she’s young and naïve,

But I think he’ll have a surprise.

All will be well if she doesn’t leave.

Alice is curiously wise.

No Twinkle

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

twinkle, twinkle little star

what misguided fools they are

they blot you out with city lights

the ruination of our nights

they never look, they move too fast

their sky is always overcast

Clearing House

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Wisteria and heliotrope tap upon the window

Cascading canopies of blooms obscure the lace of light

These antediluvian drifting dreams needs a careful cleansing

 

Wander though the rooms

Trail a finger here along the shelves

Leaving lines behind, each one holds a story

 

The old clock with a muffled tick marks time,

A perpetual metronome to music echoed in the hall.

Polished, worn piano keys, lid closed now and silent.

 

Take a yellow dust cloth, wipe it all away

Open wide resistant, creaking window frames

Shake the dust out, flying to the stratosphere.

 

Life is not for fragile vases, balanced near the fire.

Crematorium dust belongs beneath the roses

Sheltered in rich earth.

 

At the kitchen sink, elbow deep in suds,

I recall a rubaiyat, I sense reverberation

Somewhere in my memory, a penetrating message, from Arcadia.

 

 

 

Morning Ritual (a sonnet)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Each day the morning ritual’s the same,
I wake to hear the traffic in the street.
My mother, from her bedroom, calls my name.
I wish that I could stay in longer sleep.
Preparing breakfast, brewing morning tea,
I throw the heavy window open wide
Breathing in cold air, throwing bread and seed
to waiting birds that gather there outside.
But now my lingering dreams all fly away
A Raven came, down swooping from the sky!
His presence here a blessing on the day
My heart awakes and lifts my spirit high.

Mythic bird, bringing darkness from the night
On wings outspread and lifting up in light.

Never Mind the Kardashians

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Have you ever noticed that tulip leaves squeak?
Have you wondered what it is that excites them?
Could it be the touch of your hand?

Could it be the touch of your hand
in the earth that may sometimes heal you?
Does energy rise up through your sickening veins?

Have you ever wondered what it is that excites them –
the way a moth, expecting rapture, leaps in a flame?
Young children love repetitions – that’s a puzzle to me!

Have you ever noticed how tulip petals squeak?
I prefer to ponder these ridiculous questions
Than wonder what the Kardashians think.

Kardashians think?

From Acorns, Oaks (a haibun)

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

I was an acorn, many years ago,fallen from an ancient tree to the earth below.
One day Arthur came, dreaming of the land and his ambitious plans. Absent-mindedly he stooped, bowed down to me, reaching out a hand.

with heavy footsteps
men will come, their battle plan
disturbs the forests

He held me in his palm. I saw him softly smile. He placed me in his pocket
where it was dark and warm. He was not a king to me, he was just a man. I stayed with him throughout his golden age.

here amongst blossoms
they sit and speak of glory
petals softy fall

When Arthur fell,I fell too. He fell into his long sleep of death. I fell to my birth, pressed into the earth by a careless foot, an unwitting gardener pushed me into mud. I was cradled by the earth while the country still mourned.

cradled by the earth
in knowledge of high branches
I reached up to light

I reached up to light and became a sturdy oak. Now we are a forest. We whisper this old story as wind sighs through our leaves. My children tell the tale.

Horse Totem (for Asphodel)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

far-strider
ditch-leaper
wind-chaser
free spirit of open fields

grip-to-my-thighs
pulse-of-my-blood
joy-of-my-eyes
path to ancestral home

star-raker
myth-maker
soul-bridle
guide to my dreaming
painted in clouds
washed by the surf
hoof beat and heart beat
bound into one
crossing the blue horizon

How to Capture a Mermaid

/ A. Gouedard / 7 Comments

These instructions come with a warning.
Beware! She might capture you.

The first thing to do is convince yourself
That mermaid tales are true,

Then take a trip to the ocean,
But some inland lakes will do,

And go alone.
Mermaids are very shy.

Never go unprepared.
You will need to take a supply

Of gifts and music and stories.
Some that the sailors knew.

You can’t deceive a mermaid
A mermaid looks right though you

Mermaids love flowers and spices
But go with a heart that’s true

Scatter the beach with spices
Cover the water with flowers

Play to her on a lute
And wait for hours and hours

She will seduce you if she can
She has powers to hypnotise

She sees your soul in an instant
Never look into her eyes

To capture a mermaid don’t use a net
Never use bindings or ropes

You must sing to her very sweetly
Sing of your dreams and your hopes

Trail your hand in the water
Sing yourself to sleep

As you drift between worlds she will come to you
Rising up from the deep

She will want to hold and touch you
She will love you, if you are wise

Never be overbearing
Just take the mermaids hand

When you walk in your sleep, still dreaming,
She will follow you to the land.