Arthur

At Arthur’s Tomb

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I sat down by Arthur’s Tomb
and wondered how it is I failed
to find what I am seeking.
I keep the faith with diligence
though I might die in trying.
Did I misunderstand what Merlin taught
in following this sleeping Lord?

A noble Knight must tread a path
founded on true justice
but I looked down and saw my soul
laid out weak, at my own feet,
in quiet, sad submission.
Though my sword was naught but rust
it had been my own defeat
and I had shown no mercy.

I asked many questions then,
conversing with the silence.
Arthur heard and answered me.
We spoke long of honesty,
integrity and kindness.
Those were easy subjects.
Then he called my honour out,
to short and swift account.

”You do not wield your sword aright.
You fear to cut and injure
but care not for your safety.
It isn’t wise to be so kind.
You sacrifice your own true heart
to spare the life of others.
That is not your purpose here,
nor is it your duty.
A Knight must not forget to fight
when keeping faith
with his own soul
so obviously requires it.”

From Acorns, Oaks (a haibun)

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

I was an acorn, many years ago,fallen from an ancient tree to the earth below.
One day Arthur came, dreaming of the land and his ambitious plans. Absent-mindedly he stooped, bowed down to me, reaching out a hand.

with heavy footsteps
men will come, their battle plan
disturbs the forests

He held me in his palm. I saw him softly smile. He placed me in his pocket
where it was dark and warm. He was not a king to me, he was just a man. I stayed with him throughout his golden age.

here amongst blossoms
they sit and speak of glory
petals softy fall

When Arthur fell,I fell too. He fell into his long sleep of death. I fell to my birth, pressed into the earth by a careless foot, an unwitting gardener pushed me into mud. I was cradled by the earth while the country still mourned.

cradled by the earth
in knowledge of high branches
I reached up to light

I reached up to light and became a sturdy oak. Now we are a forest. We whisper this old story as wind sighs through our leaves. My children tell the tale.

Beyond the Mists

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

When Arthur’s Golden Age had ended
and the country fell to mourn,
its true, some beauty fair had ended
like the sparkling morning dew.
The earth took on a darker hue.

But I was one who bore him safely,
far away to other shores,
where the mists hung thick and shrouded,
and all good hearts can be renewed.
We sailed close and he was lifted
in our gentle loving arms.
We sang for him to soothe his sleep.

Our sails of gold and white were lovely.
On tender winds we sailed away
to the land where all know kindness
and the fair can ne’er grow old.
We of the Fae have understanding
of the tales to still unfold.

In the fabled land of apples
Arthur sleeps the sleep of dreams.
We laid him in his Tomb to rest.
There, he awaits the day of waking,
in the land that’s ever blessed.

Beyond the Mists

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

When Arthurs’ Golden Age had ended
and the country fell to mourn,
its true that some fair beauty faded
like the sparkling morning dew.
The earth took on a darker hue.
But I was one who bore him safely,
far away to other shores,
where the mists hung thick and shrouded,
and all good hearts can be renewed.

We sailed close and he was lifted
in our gentle loving arms.
We sang for him to soothe his sleep.
Our sails of gold and white were lovely.
On tender winds we sailed away
to the land where all know kindness
and the fair can ne’er grow old.
We of the Fae have understanding
of the tales to still unfold.

In the fabled land, Avilion,
Arthur sleeps the sleep of dreams.
We laid him in his Tomb to rest.
There, he awaits the day of waking,
in the land that’s ever blessed.

 

Arthur’s Seat

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

High on Cader Idris’ peak, the lake,
bordered, bearded by reeds
not a ripples passes
across its silver mirrored face
the day is grey, enchanted

Arthur’s seat, a granite throne,
where I sit today, alone,
in quiet, dreaming contemplation
of golden days that may return
to bless the green land far below

”Are you here, are you there?”
my words escaping to air
the reeds sing and sigh in return
as they bow and are still again
as a wisp of a mist roles in