brave

100 words ~ Taxi Driver

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Tired, I climb in the taxi expecting a boring drive. Taxi drivers do often talk.

He tells me about a woman he heard on the radio, ‘Very brave woman’ he says ‘against all the dangers, full of integrity, loyal to the people, you know?’ His accent, I don’t recognise.

He smiles. ‘They are making a film about her. She has children now and peace. She went to live in Turkey. God bless her. I love her,’ he says.

His eyes in the rear-view mirror, oriental, dark liquid, could see right through to your soul.

I smile. I am really surprised.

Hot As Hell

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

there she stands
at the bar
over-exposed
painted face
no bra
blanked out
sensitive skin
one thought
‘is this all you are?’
stares at her hands
painted nails
tiny scar
above the wrist
heart screaming
NO!
locked in a box
she straightens her spine
fingers the key
holds up her head
shakes her hair free
chooses living
not dead
political husband
stands at her side
all he ever does is hide
hides who he is
hides what he does
smiles with false eyes
justifies violence
disguising soured love
taking the soap box
he holds forth again
demonstrating
obscuring the view
playing the hero
explaining his views
defending her rights
for all to hear
back home
he’s the terror of her nights
now he’s wolfing his whiskey back
necking his beer
later he’ll drag her round
by her hair
but she stands firm
this side of despair
with time on her side
she’s looking at him
a slight smile curving her upper lip
hypocrite
stupid shit
little boy
he thinks she’s his toy
to parade on his arm
to other men
again and again
and again and again
she mistook his weakness
for some sort of sweetness
but she sees through him now
right down to the core
she knows that he likes her
to dress like a whore
tonight he will try
to break her down
she’ll spit in his face
it’s war, all out war
love displaced
she walks out the door
leaves it swinging
a wave of farewell
cold as ice
hot as hell
on her way
to a far better life
he weeps with self-pity
his last strong-hold
she takes no prisoners
she belongs to the world of the brave and the bold
yes
his loss

To my Sons

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

There’s no lasting thrill in luxury.
Luxury, of its nature, should be rare.
It’s hard to feel real pleasure
when everything you ever want
is instantly supplied and there.

The credit card, a chain around you neck.
will bind you into deep despair.
Be a worker not a slave.
Be kind, be vigilant.
Be true to who you are.
Be brave.

Don’t linger in the darker places
of a troubled mind
Turn your face toward the sun
Your journey here will make you wise
Give daily thanks that you’re alive
Use your heart, your brain and eyes

Enjoy each small surprise
that life decides to send your way.
Expect nothing, receive with pleasure,
little things that bring delight
delivered quietly every day
or in the sweetness of the night

Whatever life may bring to me
I am always glad of you
This perhaps you do not see,
You will always be my chosen ones.
Your light shines bright
You are my sons.