Poetry

The Masquerade

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

she is dressed like an angel
she is so perfect
he thinks
she may sprout wings
flying away in a moment

a heart is embroidered on the cuff
of his well-worn sleeve
it’s enough that she sees it
examines the finely made stitches
and smiles

he sees her eyes
clear, gentle, kind
as she flutters her swan feathered fan
across her lovely face,
a beating wing
allowing a glimpse of her mind

he wears a masque
his eyes, not well hidden,
bewitch her, and keep her there

the music is enchanting
they dance in a dream
tentative touching
they begin to open their hearts
in this harmonious dance
all is agreement
that this trance is worth keeping
preserving, defending, completing
even for life

in the morning
the music has stopped
the masques are removed
he bows, revealing his face,
he sees all that shows
beneath her smile
she curtsies with grace
they move away slowly
one unwilling step at a time

 

 

But it was only a bubble – pop!

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

This day was supposed to be special

I foolishly saw it that way

I didn’t expect it to be special

for anyone else but me

 

that’s selfish perhaps

but it could have been nice

 

every day could be special

every day could be nice

if we all thought twice

before we burst others bubbles

with a blunt device

 

It was only a bubble

– pop!

 

 

 

 

Frozen.

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

Now here before me I see
the uncrossable bridge,
a drawbridge raised beyond.
It’s made of ice.

On the other side,
holding on to imagined hurt,
clinging to thoughts,
counting,
saying nothing to me,
quivering in rage or sadness,
confused perhaps,
a victim to perception sits
in visions I cannot change.
I cannot know what she thinks.
She won’t allow me across.

I watch as I stand.
I can’t reach out,
hold
or help.
Locked out.

This is often the worst,
the worst of the worst of all.
Misunderstanding
breathes in the silence
between us,
in unspoken words
through closed doors,
no air.

This is injustice.
Heartless.
A vacuum.
A chasm.
A void.

Unwise.

Silence, a solid structure
of ancient deeply grained timbers,
sealed and barred,
a simple torture device
that stands on immovable stone.

Left with a hard decision to make,
for myself and how I feel,
the choice between anger
or sadness or nothing,
nothing at all.

I could ignore it again.
In nothingness
there’s no pain.

On days like this
I would willingly give up
on words
or thinking at all.

I can’t help myself either.
I am frozen,
emptily sad.

A Minstrels Art

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

To the tune of Midnight, performed by Loreena Vacano on Archlute

 
fortune favours those who strive
in darkness still to see the light
always keeping hope alive
as they journey on the path

though our troubles bring us pain
causing hurt and leaving scars
in time our hearts will heal again
when love is there to make us wise

not in judgement, nor in strife
will we find our perfect dance
with heartstrings tuned we play our song
bringing notes both sweet and strong
that reverberate in harmony to life

all is lovely, all is joy
as we turn and slowly spin
in life’s repeating endless dance
threading out and turning in
spinning dreams and mending all your hearts

 

 

Timeless

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

how sweetly jasmin scents the air
its petals gleaming in the night
against the dark stones of the tower
my lady never looked so fair
as she looks tonight

leaning in her window there
her gentle hand against her cheek
with tender breezes in here hair
my lady never looked so fair
as she looks tonight

i know that she is thinking now of me
her lips curved in a smile of love
and she is dreaming peacefully
my lady never looked so fair
as she looks tonight

i could watch her hour by hour
passing time in loves delight
in moonlight she’s the loveliest flower
my lady never looked so fair
as she looks tonight

time will not fade her lovely face
an endless beauty shines within
a light, illuminating grace
my lady will remain as fair
as she is tonight

Seven Words for Tootsie

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

 

a judge

a plea

a decree

no mercy

sentenced

final

 

it only took seven words to say

the saddest sentence in the world

– i really  love you, but i … don’t

 

The Truth

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

i made a long journey
like many before me
i had my fair share
of incidents, mishaps
some were of my own making,
others were simply there,
awaiting the unwary traveller

i learned much of the woods
how to read all the signs
and hear the approach
of the seekers of prey

i had little respect
for robbers and bandits
i had seen all their kind before
i held no vendetta against them
i dislike them neither more, nor less, now
than i did when i took to the road

i had made my own problems too
i wished to be left alone
sometimes yearning for home
it’s true

woods seem full of shadows
but darkness contrasts the light
and lets in the brightness of day
where is gleams through the branches
making clearer the safer way

i came to a clearing and rested
enjoying the peace,
listening to leaves sigh high on a breeze
above in the trees that whispered

if only i could stay
resting here forever
i looked at the paths leading on

it was a beautiful day
i felt some sense of completion

a sharp snap and an echo
the silence was gone
the sound of movement,
coming towards me,
secretly, fast

i felt a moment of panic
caught unaware
as they gathered around
to circle and slay me at last

calming my mind
i looked at the paths
the choices were many
which one should it be

i heard a signal
the voice of a raven
he stood in the sunlight
on a broad ancient branch of a tree
lit against shadow
by a path i instantly knew

it was as i had always imagined
well lit and wide open
it shone out beckoning me
nothing to fear any more
my weariness melted away
i saw i was home
this open wide path
lead straight to the door
where my soul awaited within