Poetry

Girl on the Green (revised)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i saw her on the green
laughing, dancing, she glanced at me
her smile entrancing, soft and warm
i thought i dreamed her face before
like sunlight shining in a glade
all that night i couldn’t sleep
seeing her arms, her hair, her lips
the gentle curve of her hips, her eyes
ah if she would only love me

if i had a treasure house of gold
and a tree where emeralds grew
i would harvest every ounce and go
to give it to her fathers hand
to be allowed to speak alone with her
but what can i, poor minstrel, give
who left all servants and his land
i would be by far the richer man
if she would only love me

the world feels very old to me
though i am but five-and-twenty
emeralds and gold i do not have
but songs i have aplenty
and i would sing them all for her
the world would then be fresher
for she outshines the finest flower
i would give her joy and pleasure
if she could only love me

she dances on the green again
i will take her in the dance for now
turn her, lift her, spin her, hold her.
If luck is kind and favours me
perchance this day I’ll win her.
the world bursts into bud and blossom
the air is filled with scents of May
we will leave this town today
if she will only love me

Night Music

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

at night, by the waterfall
amid the music of water,
I heard the distant sound of a harp
and a nightingale sweetly singing.
i felt my spirit lift

all was miraculous harmony
magical symphony,
rare gift
beneath the turning stars

the earth under my feet
soft with falling leaves
and the dark smell of loam
silently sounded a deep bass note
to make the concerto complete

Wayfarer

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

when i am fire
i burn away anger
when i am tree
i bend with the wind
when i am water
i wear away stone
and know all the wise ways of flowing

when i am cat
i narrow my eyes
when i am dog
i am joyfully willing
when i am horse
i turn with the wind
this is my freedom in going

when i am hare
magic is mine
when i am raven
i watch still and clear
when i am wolf
i see who you are
this is the seeing of knowing

i will leap, bend and flow,
run, turn and go
return as i please
see what i see
magnetic paths pull above treetops
clouds cap the mountains that hide me
dark cool shadows in water
hidden things amongst leaves
as i make my own journey
i follow these old ways alone

water is a life giving blessing
the trees shelter us, breathing
the lone wolf protects the pack
energy runs with the horse
the world is mirrored in the eye of the raven
hidden, unhidden, bidden, unbidden
the hare runs the path of the circle unbroken
running fleet foot in pastures and hills
on horseback i chase the illusive hare
while the raven sits still in the oak
and watches, waiting for me

 

 

Blue Silent and Deep

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

blue silent and deep
loud white rolling
thundering in
green light through wave curl
sun sparkle shimmering
drawn back slowly, heavy
to rush fast back toward me again
holding my eyes for fast passing hours
captured in a spell
moving with my breath
the moons pull
spins me in force
pulls me down
throws me out
gasping to the sky

La Marseillaise

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

My dead fathered wandered from his bed

complaining of the cold.

His bed, too empty,

needed my mother for warmth.

I told him, then, return to your bed,

warm it ready for her.

 

My mother had fallen down.

I lifted her, naked, onto the marriage bed

and ran through the dark night house

seeking her fresh cotton gown.

 

Children ran through the corridors,

laughing, hiding and seeking,

when they should have been sleeping,

but I let them play

 

When the blackbird sang in the morning

we went out to feed the horses,

the beautiful, lovely horses,

their warm breath steamed in the air

as the night watchman strolled away.

 

The courtyards smelled of new-mown hay

in this city of ancient archways.

The theatre people were waking up

and lighting breakfast fires.

In the hall, behind closed doors,

the band tuned up to play.

They played La Marseillaise.

 

I walked through the city that morning.

I smiled to myself, at the gift of imagination,

and the comfort it always brings,

as the starlings deafened my ears.

 

 

Landay

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Shangri-Lah (landay couplet)

you are out of reach, away so far,
i set out, on a hopeless journey, to Shangri-Lah

*******

Landay
A form of folk poetry from Afghanistan. Meant to be recited or sung aloud, and frequently anonymous, the form is a couplet comprised of 22 syllables. The first line has 9 syllables and the second line 13 syllables. Landays end on “ma”  sounds and rhymes and treat themes such as love, grief, homeland, war, and separation.

Try one :) Try more ! :)

 

(This one is not anonymous – I wrote it)

 

 

masked by towels

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

she neatly folds

the his and hers towels,

a wedding gift

embroidered with flowers,

hung

in the steam of the shower,

steam that obscures the mirror,

dripping with infidelities

no washing will ever erase

 

presenting a mask to their guests,

but most of all

to themselves

 

 

Never Lost

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Does the path through the woods feel my feet?
Does it care I am there, not lost?

I never sat down beside it and asked it
that question.
I only know it’s there,
seeming to beckon to me
through the trees
when I stray.

Whether the path notices me
or not,
I am still walking along it,
thankful,
I will never be
lost in the dark.