Poetry

It

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

it’s out there somewhere, hovering
at the edge of my mind as i turn
it’s out there somewhere, that haunting
form, a musical note, a flute

it’s out there somewhere, in the glide
of a kestrels wing above the moors
it’s out there, somewhere it’s waiting
just beyond my reach, in light

it’s out there somewhere calling me
persistent, it pulls me, always
out to the hills, the woods, out there
somewhere on the blue horizon

it’s out there somewhere, I call out
asking it to come for me now
it’s out there somewhere, answering
follow me, move, get up, come, walk

it’s out there, somewhere inside me
in every dream and whispered sign,
footfalls to follow, blown open doors
i live with it, out there somewhere

i knew it all so clearly once
high on a rock strewn windswept Tor
i saw it spread out across the land
a flying shadow, a glow, a gleam

i heard it in the forest close
tracking my every cautious step
smiling behind my back, laughing
it’s out there somewhere, i saw

it’s out there somewhere, I know
i smelled that scent of old, ancient,
it’s out there somewhere, primordial
lobe, in the depths of memory

it’s out there somewhere, alive

 

 

 

A Question of Numbers – for a New Moon

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

In one year we travel four billion miles around the Sun

Without even stirring a limb.

We dream fifteen thousand dreams,

Remembering almost none.

How significant those that we do.

 

In a lifetime we may see nine hundred New Moons

Twenty-five thousand sunsets,

Twenty-five thousand dawns.

How many do we really see?

How significant those that we do.

 

How many times might my love smile at me?

How many times will we kiss?

How many dreams can we make come true

Before time flees and is gone?

How significant those that we do.

 

If I thought I’d be gone tomorrow

What would I say and do?

Nothing significant.

 

The light comes and goes across the earth;

A clock hand that sweeps us away.

 

Butterflies, unaware

 

 

 

Falling

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Falling

I hurtle through space
velocity pushing my breath back
choking on air, falling, eternal spin.
Seven aeons, seven hundred,
Seven days, seven minutes
No sense of time or a reason

I land in a world of stone,
hard and unforgiving.
My left wing broken, unable to fly
I lay on the rock alone.
She comes to me with a scalpel blade,
unpicks every stitch in my wound
with exquisite, fine pointed precision

lost in space, I roll from the rock
drifting downward in free fall
the earth rises to meet me again
old greeting, old paths, old ways,
days barely remembered
this land of archways and doors,
doors open, doors locked, a mystery

I escape from this place
to the trees by the river
where the castle shadow still falls.
Staggering I fall to one knee.
I try to hold on to what’s left of my heart
tired, broken winged, exhausted.
Time and space don’t matter to me

I wish only for peace, tenderness,
to know that she will remember me

Hollow

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Hollow

Above the frozen water meadow winter sunlight flashes
frail birches stand in line, a guard against the traffic,
their silvered arms outstretched above the dying rushes.
Icy wind blows bitter from the east, fills my eyes with tears.
The trees, in faint whisper, sighing, leaning,
speak of vanished woodlands they will never know

Far away, in the West, two hundred miles and more,
a brook bubbles, dancing, sings in a hidden hollow.
Twisted oaks, clothed in moss and lichen, entwined with ivy,
born of wilful acorns, rooted in ancient rock, remain undaunted.
From dawn to dusk, the air is full of bird song until the owl hoots.
Peace surrounds, enfolds, and, with night, bewitches.

I stand on this path at the side of the road
gaze at the birch trees, the sunset spread behind them.

This place is so empty.

Escaping from the Tower

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Climbing the mountain, trying to reach the tower
Confronted by a dragon, endlessly asking me riddles,
While a great storm gathers all about us
Thunderbolts roar, lightning reflects on my shield

(“What do you do in that room all the time?
What are you thinking about?’’
I stop to get the food
And gather the rubbish that needs to go out)

I am losing my footing on the slippery rocks.
The dragon flashes his eyes with desire
I have to succeed, cannot be overpowered,
I call on the rain to quench his fire

(“Always off in imagination,
What’s wrong with you?
You spend hours on that
And it’s not even true’’)

I answer the final riddle, the dragon steps aside.
My way no longer barred, I struggle on up the mountain.
The tower reaches up to the clouds
Eagles circle above, come to help me in my troubles

(“I know you have talent?
Why don’t you use it?’’
“I work too!’’ i say
“You could work more!’’ says she)

The eagle carries me up to the princess, we hover.
She reaches out to me. I swing her onto the eagles back.
My arm circles her waist, her hair flies in my face.
She leans back on me in relief.

(“You always were some other place,
Even as a child. No different now than ever.
Why can’t you just be normal,
And stay in reality?’’)

We circle together above the now sunlit valleys
Looking down from above, we avoid all the cities and castles
And land in a summer meadow by a softly singing stream
She adorns herself with flowers, I dream

The Music Room

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two notes echo
still
near the piano
they hover
middle C, B flat
a warm scent
jasmine and almonds
hangs in the air
footsteps
softly retreating

I remember that
whenever I think
of the music room
the passageway
door to the garden
open a crack
the window
looks out to the sea
where the tides
roll out and back
washed over grey
to the distant blue

Ghazal – Not the Moon

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

When happiness eludes us in the dark,
dying in the wane, forsake not the moon

It will wax again, shine its silver light,
the turning tide will ache. Not the moon.

When spring is young and full of love, the sun
brings pleasure, gladdens day, wake not the moon.

The morning chorus brings us new born day.
Birdsong floats above the lake. Not the moon.

It is dawn above the soft horizon
that will our tenderness untimely break. Not the moon.

When Venus orbits high above, my love is in
my arms again, the night, delight, take not the moon!

Good Evening

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Good evening

 

The day of death comes when it comes

that’s the sum and the wonder of it,

it teaches us how we should live.

 

If I find the wait for departure

too gruelling, or late,

I won’t stand about on that grey platform

in the cold, without a companion,

huddled up in a worn out old coat,

my collar turned up and shivering.

So tiresome!

 

When all is prepared, right and ready

I will die with delight

on a bright moonlit night,

clear stars filling the sky,

I will hold up my soul

to the moonlight above.

I will tell the world

how much I have loved it,

give thanks, state my intention.

strip off the old coat

and accept the warmth

that comes with the cold

in a garden at night

very old.

 

The rest will be history

written by others

if written at all

in a never ending story

Morning ~ a rubaiyat

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Morning ~ a rubaiyat

impatient for your arms again i rise
to sit and watch your secret sleeping eyes
what dream is this that keeps you lingering there
with smiling parted lips and tender sighs

what joy in sleep so fills your captured heart
while i wait here alone, to watch apart
and gaze upon your much loved gentle face
more lovely than a work of perfect art

i wander in the garden late at night
to gather perfumed roses, pink and white,
while I my patient lovers vigil keep
to bring your morning wonder and delight

the dark, the stars, the moon are gone away
across your sleepy pillow sunbeams play
in this new world refreshed, renewed, be mine
awaken to another golden day