poetry

napowrimo

An Angel in New Jersey

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I flew the far Atlantic
to a place unknown
I flew to see a stranger,
a mystery. to me.
The streets were full of cars,
humming as they passed.

I climbed an empty stair.
The steps were cold and bare.
The door was open wide,
I entered there

A crumpled body,
in the corner of a room.
I knew that he would die
If I had not been there.
I spoke to him
he did not reply.

I cradled him
I shook him
dialled 911
the paramedics didnt come
i left the building at a run

i became so lost out there
the city was so huge
i was in despair

in a square
above the town
an angel came to me
and took me to the river
i saw a spanning bridge
the angel told me wait
don’t cross, the time’s not now

i waited in a rocking boat
by the river shore
and there the man came to me
a woman by his side
i knew she was his bride
dead long years before
he spoke to me
he shook my hand

‘we are going now” he said
i knew that he was dead
they danced off down the street
their happiness complete

i asked the angel ”can i dance?”
”when the time is right” she said
”that dance is for the dead”

With Passion

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

frustration fills the air
our breath beats out our pace
no embrace is tight enough
to seal the bonds of love
glancing at your face
through tangled hair,
damp with sweat, urgent,
i look into your eyes
i hold you to my chest
i hear your moans express
a need for ever more
a need to leave this place
to fly
the planet is too small
the earth not great enough
to hold this burning love
the fervour is too strong
i hear the cosmos sigh
towards the urge of life
and children to be born
my heart is full of stars
i shower you with them all
my soul begins to fall
we call our angels in
to circle us above
suspended from their wings

Loneliness

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

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

Seven

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

One for sorrow.
Time is borrowed.
Lost and broken by our fears
All our dreams will fly away.
When we know our days are few
We treasure all we have by this,
No time to waste in bitter tears,
The years will pass us soon enough

Two for joy,
When dreams come true.
For every sorrow, comes a kiss
And love is found, in simple things.
Profound delight, the way to bliss,
The bursting throat, the leaping heart,
The song of life the blackbird sings.
Bring the rainbows, bring the flowers,
Joy is brief and flies away.
Remember it in darker hours

Three for the gentle girl i met.
So easily she passed me by.
I never thought to question her
Where she went or even why.
Three times she passed,
Three times she went
And now she’s here,
Before time’s spent

Four for the boy, now a man
He tries to grow, he tries to know,
He tries to do the best he can
And in the trying finds his strength.

Five is starlight’s silver sparkle.
The moon above shines down on us,
Pulls the tides where waters flow.
Silver rings and ankle bells,
Unicorns and secret spells
Mark the paths for those who know,
In the land where magic dwells

Six for gold, the loving cup,
The treasure of the alchemists
Wrapped in story,
Ancient rhymes
All the mysteries unfold

Seven, the secret never told
The one we learn as we grow old
Seven Sisters in the sky
And all the stars mapped out above
Predicting love and harmony
And we so blind we do not see
Eternity may beckon us.

The wise ones never know the answer
There is no truth in certainty.

***************

Based on this old magpie omens rhyme ………

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

No Red Poppies for Them

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

this is not death in the trenches
this is not genocide
nor incurable disease
they have no poppy fields
no proudly treasured medals

they will never be heroes
in trouble and strife, they depart

our young men, so easily gone
in the aftermath of wars
in poverty, in aimless despair,
without hope
and with nothing to leave

they take their own lives
from a nation that has no heart

************

The #1 top killer of young men in the UK is suicide

sorry

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

I am not posting much poetry just for the moment as i am working on third book of trilogy (slowly) and also writing a short tale for Halloween (which I will post here later)

So the muse has eyes elsewhere and i don’t want to make her too dizzy :)  But I never know what she will turn up with next anyway.

Build

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Fun Platform.”

The question here was ”If you were the new leader of your country and had the chance to transform something that’s currently an annoyance (or worse) into a very fun activity, what would it be? How would you go about the change, and why would you choose that particular thing?”

I think one of many possible answers is that I find the slow response to our housing crisis MORE than annoying and many things could be done about that but the FUN version would be in helping, guiding and to some extent assisting and certainly encouraging people to get involved in building their own homes and helping each other to do so as this has some advantages

  1. the houses would be more expressive of peoples creative selves
  2. the owners would have far more understanding about how the house works when it comes to maintenance
  3. they could look into ways to make living in their home cheaper (re power etc) and this would be ecologically enlightening
  4. The whole exercise would be empowering and many skills would be learned and people would be truly proud of their neighbourhood
  5. If people built their own houses and neighbours were all helping each other to do so (which did use to be the case) a community would be built in the process, as well as the houses

I do not suggest that this should be the only solution to our housing crisis but it would be nice if it was encouraged rather than obstructed as much as it is in the UK now

The Fun Platform

The Circle

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I look to the East at the sunrise
and the day, shining, awake,
the dew falls on the grass
I think of all  we can make

I look to the South for warmth
where fire burns and renews
and the noon of day and completion of youth
and my heart opens, eager for truth

To the North I look to the sky
and the pattern of stars in the dark
seeing the light that shines, long after they’re dead,
from one strong kindling spark

I look to the West and the rivers that flow
remembering the salmons leap
and have faith in all we can do
and all of life’s treasures we keep

as the wheel turns and turns again
the centre remains ever still
one fixed point that sustains us all
to do whatever we will

I stand at the centre at last
to feel my own soul and know
that future, present and past
are all a repeating flow

I stand at the heart of a circle
my heart warmed by the sun
aware of the world that’s around me
beginning and end are all one

and where many circles overlap
and all of them intertwine
a wondrous, eternal flower is formed
of all the worlds souls, and mine