Poetry

Meeting My Inner Child

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

in the midst of a storm of thunder

when hail stones fell from dark skies

a child came crawling to me

he came to me from his mother

sent into my protection

he was little more than a babe

 

i stopped and stooped to lift him

i looked into his soft little face

i saw bright eyes full of wonder

he seemed made of wonder and grace

i placed him onto my back

 

i told him to cling very tight

but he flung himself backward to earth

beyond where my hands could reach

i turned and raised him again

held him in tender embrace

 

i explained he had to be strong

for a journey

arduous

long

but we’d be safe

in the end

 

he smiled at me

like a friend

 

 

 

Loneliness

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when i sit by the fire in the evening
my memory flickers with flames
so many images flare up again
warm hearts, other places, old names

we sat by the hearth together
so many years ago
in days of love and friendship
now it isn’t so

i live alone in a quiet room
old pictures, old treasures, past days
my thoughts are drifting slowly by
there are things I will not say

emptiness is hard to describe
and words have too much power
there are things I don’t confess to myself
in the fire-lit, shadowed hour

Boost My Immune System Baby

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Boost my immune system baby.
I have a fever, right to the bone.

My condition is getting worse.
I can’t do this alone,
it just wont work the same.
The solution is quite plain.

Give me that tender touch,
the one that does so much.
The doctor says its wise.
No pill can take your place.

Boost my immune system baby,
make my molecules sing.
That’s the only thing
that guarantees good health.

The Wisdom of Bees

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her heart is so tender
a delicate pink
with a deeper rose tinge
where the petals unfold
there is fire in the centre
but the bud on the outside is white
she has her thorns too
I am glad of that
she wont be harmed

how can i not love
a heart that’s like that?
it’s a flower
it’s a rose
the rose that entwines
winding its way over my walls

flowers grow far better unpicked
and the wisdom of bees
is that they know the value of honey
while they thirst for the nectar within

Buttercups

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There is a beautiful meadow of buttercups.
They catch the light of the sun.
I want to lay down amongst them
and strip right down to the skin
to feel the breeze and the air
and feel a full flood of life.
There is no-one around to care.
But when i draw closer to them
I see the electric fence.
The buttercups need defence
from a barbarian soul like mine.

Skin

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passion is passing, affection is pure
love doesn’t have to be physical
i will quell this desire

but my skin is on fire
it burns to be touched

if I didn’t love you this feeling would never exist
there is no satisfaction anywhere else
there is no temptation I can’t resist

but my skin is on fire
it yearns to be touched

there are so many other things we can do
i don’t understand why i want this so much
it’s not the most important aspect of you

but my skin is on fire
it burns to be touched

turning my mind away as far as I can
filling my head with other thoughts
thoughts that cool, hoping for peace

but my skin is on fire
it longs to be touched

I Never Knew

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I never knew how true love was
Until after my father was gone
I never knew all the things he did
The care and kindness he hid

I never knew so many things
I drifted through life unaware
I thought I knew where I was going
Until my father was gone

He tested me
He challenged me
He was always there
The rock in a stormy sea

I never knew he was proud of me
Until those last years of Sunday leisure
How can you measure anything
Until it’s over and gone

Beyond the Mists

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When Arthurs’ Golden Age had ended
and the country fell to mourn,
its true that some fair beauty faded
like the sparkling morning dew.
The earth took on a darker hue.
But I was one who bore him safely,
far away to other shores,
where the mists hung thick and shrouded,
and all good hearts can be renewed.

We sailed close and he was lifted
in our gentle loving arms.
We sang for him to soothe his sleep.
Our sails of gold and white were lovely.
On tender winds we sailed away
to the land where all know kindness
and the fair can ne’er grow old.
We of the Fae have understanding
of the tales to still unfold.

In the fabled land, Avilion,
Arthur sleeps the sleep of dreams.
We laid him in his Tomb to rest.
There, he awaits the day of waking,
in the land that’s ever blessed.

 

Balancing

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such shadows come and fall on me
from joy to sorrow, like a switch
i fight to turn the light back on
i don’t know where the joy has gone

a single note in some old song
a word not said
a thought unwise
i try to see where i went wrong

the tender sweetness
on a breeze
can turn my heart
and make me freeze

and then i go and sit a while
and lean against a steady tree
and wait to smile again
and see

like the earth we reach for warmth
and the thirsty kiss of rain
all things in nature
are the same

it’s all a mirror of ourselves
dimmed and scratched
things unclear
and things not seen

this constant flow
of dark and light
is just the deep souls day and night
and the turning of the year

Owl

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the distant moon is on the wane
circled round with frosted light
it shines upon the silvered grass
and lights the windows of the town
the rooftops wear a coat of white
the night is still, the lamps are lit
the diamond sprinkled stars shine down
the air is chill, the house is quiet
but i would wander back again
to old familiar paths and lanes
where hedgerows cloth the hidden walls
and up above the rounded hill
with all the land stretched out below
from wood to barn in silent flight
the owl swoops past in shadowed night