Poetry

Beach Fire

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

all week we gathered driftwood
following the storm
and dragged it to the yard
to dry out in the sun

i watched you racing children
jumping rock to rock
always sure-footed
you never made a slip

pied piper running,
Cheshire cat grin
always on the tide line
when the tide is coming in

the tides come in
the tides go out
sunset, moonlight, dawns
each day the wood is drying

we built the fire together
just beyond the waves
carefully constructed
encouraging the flame

we threw more wood on
as the light began to fall
we sat and watched the sun go down
a blazing golden ball

passing strangers watching
stood on the path above
they thronged like curious moths
you called them to the fire

they ask do we live here
they say how fortunate we are
you smiled and wandered off
always to the tide line

i watched you from afar
the waves rolled in
the waves rolled out
beneath the evening star

In Luxulyan Wood

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the disused viaduct spanned the valley
a leap of arches, stone piled up on stone,
where old channelled streams, cut into cold clay,
flowed away from the hazed heat of the day

i followed to the ancient, cool damp wood,
no longer frequented, my secret place
i was lost in thoughts and wandering daydreams
wrapped in deep silence, woven with bird-song

surrounded by scents, the creaking of trees
the soft bubbling sounds of the nearby streams
a rustle of leaves on a sudden breeze
that hushed and sighed with the fall of the wind

leaving deep shade for dazzling sunlight
i entered the clearing, briefly stood, blind
as my sight cleared, he was suddenly there
he in the east, i in the west, both transfixed

suspended in time, an unbroken gaze,
we stood in communion across space
the race of my heart the only sound
i slowly knelt to the ground without thought

he stood in a sunbeams magical glow
a fox, the like of which i never saw,
tall, strong, gleaming in deep red coat, he shone
the King of the woodland for evermore

kneeling before him quietly, i smiled,
making my respect and intention clear
our eyes held, i his bondsman and loyal kin,
in a place that stretched through air, almost near

a moment of true beauty kept me there
when, turning quickly, he vanished away
leaving me, standing in awe and pure joy
a vision of gold, held still in my heart

The Celtic Knot

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

a tenuous thread blown on a breeze
woven into a net, to save us
you pull on the thread, i feel it,
a bowline that twitches under my rib

sometimes that pull can hurt me
then i know that you’re feeling pain
wrapping the thread round my fingers
to bring you back closer again

the connection between us all is frail
we can twist it, strain it, break it,
or twine it, thread it, weave it,
a beautiful knot that is strong

*****

The bowline is an ancient and simple knot used to form a fixed loop at the end of a rope. It has the virtues of being both easy to tie and untie and it is easy to untie after being subjected to a heavy load. But the bowline knots name has an earlier meaning, dating to the age of sail. On a square-rigged ship, a bowline is a rope that holds the edge of a square sail towards the bow of the ship and into the wind, preventing it from being taken aback. A ship is said to be on a “taut bowline” when these lines are made as taut as possible in order to sail close-hauled to the wind.

The Queen of the Greenwood (a Corona)

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i sit by the fire in the woodland
all is peace, gentle, quiet, dear,
yet my heart rises to my throat
rises like a spring, a songbird
wings beating, bursting
the well is deep, the moment fleeting
my pulse like water singing
drumming, humming
all fades away on the breeze
even as its golden light glows
shining out in the darkness
known, yet unknown.

home is her, and now.
it comes, it goes, the rose

it comes, it goes, the rose
the wild rose of the woodland
i run, trying to reach it
eagerness grasps only thorns
no perfume, no tender pink heart
better admired where it grows
soft petals shine out in the dark
dark trees loom all around
lost or found it blooms there
where is she in all i seek
she who holds the rose
why does she always leave

turning always to look back at me
she comes, she goes, holding the rose

she comes, she goes, holding the rose
i saw her up on the green hill
weaving in and out of the dance
i bow to her and take her hand
spin her, never win her
that wild, unruly, so gentle glance
as she turns and runs away
always looking back at me
always a footfall further
she haunts me still, never stays
she of the hill and the greenwood
where the paths all lead inward

deeper and ever deeper
into the wood i travel, willingly

into the wood i travel, willingly
this forest so wide and vast
these paths turn on fortunes wheel
darkness and light
all things future, all things past
shadows and clearings
silence and voices
a harp song on the wind
flute and owl hoot
the flash of a birds wing
in the night
i follow the ravens flight

i follow the Raven to the Tower
the gate is locked and barred

the gate is locked and barred
all is empty here
a hollow echo from before
i will not venture in
i stand and feel no fear
the Tower crumbles all to dust
i lay down my ancient sword
my armour turns to rust
my horse is faithful still
i trust to him and the Raven
i will follow his path
it is my own at last

all travellers have a quest
we ride on, finding the way

we ride on to once upon a time
over the hills and far away
where all paths twist back on themselves
always to the greenwood
the distant rainbows end
the treasure at its heart
the place where the rose unfolds
i dream amongst the trees
unafraid of any foe
guarded by a wall of thorns
protected in her circling arms
where all my dreams come true

i will travel on with her
wherever she may go

wherever she goes i will go
i follow in the dance
my pulse like water singing
she of the hill and the greenwood
queen of the shadows and clearings
my armour gleams again
i will be her hero
until my breath gives out
guarded by twisted paths
we rest in peace, with the rose
over the hills and far away
where time will never end

*******

 

a Corona is a series of sonnets strung together by the repetition of a line

Shadowed

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

in springtime we wandered into the wood
walking through carpets of bluebells
their deep throated scent filled the air
we spoke of golden dreams, hopes shared,
tenderness, beauty, love

the air seemed to change, birds silenced,
a shift in the wind carried a chill
leaves rustled, foretelling a storm,
we drew closer together, light faded,
the wood grew still, night fell

owls hooted, trees shivered
off in the distance a twig snapped
shadows shifted, moving closer
limbs crashed down in the wood
we sought the forgotten way out

in a world full of shadows and light
lighting fires, frightened of witches,
huddled like Hansel and Gretel
holding on to each other tight
hoping to find the trail

cursed from the start
curses piling upon us
doomed by darkness and gloom
demons and traps closing in
too fast for any escape

in a world full of shadows and light
sunlight flashed through the trees as we ran
black bars pierced by illumination, too brief
we couldn’t see where we were going
how could we find our way?

finally we found a door, too narrow,
i went through it alone
‘Go!’ you said, ‘I’ll be here.’
but you became lost in there
while i wandered on in the world

the paths never took me back
it was all so long ago
i forgot
how will i ever find you now?
i have no key for that door

city profile feather

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i walk through Hyde Park

as dawn rises to morning

my head still full of music, trance dance,

spins in the freshness of early risen light

i head for the river, embankment, bridges

passing a cafe window i catch her glance

a smile, she turns away to her coffee

the image of her profile engraved on my retina

i walk on and never forget her

such are the tricks of chance and no chance

i watch the arc of a pigeons flight

a feather drops at my feet

a second gift from this city

the only gift i can touch

 

My Candle Burns

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i take a flame, my

blessing candle

shines and burns.

i will light another at

the end, to bless us both,

for nothing truly ends

 

whatever comes of it

i shall always have the will

to keep it kindled, not

a flame guttering at the last,

it will always show the

way through even darkest night

 

this is my solemn vow to you, but

though it be hard to keep, ah

it is worth long vigil. my

valour vanquished foes,

the battle always won, and

when the night is over, oh

such victory is mine, my

foes become my friends

 

and here’s the path it shows, it

bathes us all in love, gives

my life a blessing spell, a

pool of bliss so lovely,

a glory, full of light!

 

*****

 

if you read the last word of each of my lines you will see a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay –

 

My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—

It gives a lovely light!

 

The Ride

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

at the edge of a western wood we stood,

quiet horse, forest breeze, golden wheat

all was good, all was plenty,

spread out far and wide beneath us

 

he set his head

to the distant east

master of power

master of grace

 

the miles rolled away

under his feet

drums to his gallop

beats to his pace

 

ahead in the distance

minarets shone

gleams of the sun

reflected heat

 

he slowed in the fields of asphodel

a place of quiet and gentle shades

on the cedar scented summer air

he stopped to rest and gain his breath

 

I never found my purpose there

nor the reason why we came

I left him then, journeyed alone

still haven’t found my way back home

from the dangerous, thrilling, sudden ride

to the fields of the asphodels

Ode to the Horse, so Fine

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Riding in from the fields of scented heather

Leaving the hills of our home behind

We entered into the city on a horse so fine.

All decked out in embroidered leather

His deep chestnut skin like satin gleamed,

His mane was the gold of a polished crown,

A white diamond shone on his brow.

 

Wonder of wonders, this horse, and the maid

With the sparkling eyes, were mine.

The rings on his bridle jingled

In harmony with her sweet ankle bells

As he sidled, side-stepped, pranced.

 

His ears flicked and turned to every sound.

The curve of his neck showed pent up power.

Who would not admire such a horse

As he insolently passed them by?

He circled and danced, lord of the ground,

An enchantment to hold every eye,

A part of the seeds of our undoing.

Such seeds there were aplenty then,

One was surely jealousy.

How could I know we rode him to our ruin.

 

What else did they begrudge me

While I sang the songs of my homeland,

The land I loved so well.

This city was never ours for the taking,

The world was ne’er so good to our kind

Though we were royally welcomed there.

Youth is innocent, trusting, blind.

 

His eyes were wild and wide,

His tail held high, a flag of joyous defiance.

His bridle caught the sun.

He tossed his head to show his fire.

His hooves rang out on the cobblestones

The horse and I moved as one

As I danced him round the town,

and the sun went down.

a worm

/ A. Gouedard / 3 Comments

blackbird below in the garden
after the fallen rain
turns his ear to the ground
listens,
poised, focused
strikes

me, up here in the window,
watching, looking, searching,  
seeing, focused
writes