dawn

Venus

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Venus wears a diadem
tangled in her outspread hair.
I saw her rise above the hill
and life was not the same again.

Her hair, the night,
deep and black,
yours the dawn.
the sun on fire.

Venus rules the lovers knot.
We lay entwined beneath her spell
and lingered by her flaming fires
where passion is a sacrament.

Now Pan is here.
He came at dawn.
I scent him on the morning air
as I lay sweating in your arms.

Diamonds are dust compressed,
lust and love are all the same.
What I say I say with touch,
words of love without a sound.

Pan is dancing through our sheets
and Venus shines and smiles above.

Butterflies

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

see the butterflies
flying in a light formation
over sunlit, dew-wet meadows
where the cornflowers
bow and sway

love brings pleasures
with the glorious newborn day

the sun will reach its central zenith,
and it’s light will cast no shade

we may burn,
but day is short
and in turn,
by the evening’s well-stoked fires
sweet memories will grow, not fade

the light will deepen into night
when the moon and stars arise
and paint the fields in gentler shades

their magic light dispels the dark
’til sleep brings rest to closing eyes

and in the morning,
rise the lark,
rise up,
rise up,
higher,
soaring,
day is dawning

see the butterflies
flying in a light formation
over sunlit, dew-wet meadows
where the cornflowers
bow and sway

love,
beyond the weight of measure,
rises with the glorious,
precious,
treasured,
glowing pleasures
of the shining newborn day

Or, horses

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The days go round and round,
One dragged hour at a time,
In minute variations of the same,
With no specific aim or destination
And no aid to emptiness in passing.
The gradual fading grey of shallow light
Towards a long and lonely night
May lead to near-forgotten dawns
Of frosted daisies growing in damp grass,
Where the hawk cries out in grief above the meadow
And life is full of streams and running horses.
What a sight!
What delight!
How willingly I’d follow.
Damn the clocks.
Damn the wishing.
Damn the dark tomorrow.
Damn the hollow call that draws the heart to sorrow.

Peaceful

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

it’s a quiet early morning in springtime
rooftops arise from a gentle grey mist
the dawn streets are in silence and empty
and all in the drowsy town are asleep
it’s then i go out, in to the garden

it is then that my heart, sighing, grows still
in peace, alone with the trees

it’s a quiet time of day in the summer
when the dusk starts to fade slowly away
the sun sinks behind the far distant hill
and the birds in their nests lower their songs
with an occasional voice they settle

it is then that my heart, sighing, grows still
in peace, my mind flies away

it’s a quiet autumn day by the river,
a mirror, shining, reflecting the sky,
where white swans silently glide by in dreams
and the willows bow, heavy-headed,
a soft breeze makes the calm water shiver

it is then that my heart, sighing, grows still
in peace, lost in the beauty

it’s a quiet winters day at the fireside
coals caverns burn in a cast iron grate
casting shadow as flames leap and fade
imagination wanders in landscapes
the world outside grows forgotten and dark

it is then that my heart, sighing, grows still
in peace at the end of the day

Summer Solstice

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

This short sweet night is full of stars,
crossing slowly east to west,
the circle of the ancient stones
by dark and moonlight blessed.

The air alive with music now,
soft steps and voices echo.
Through the tender bending trees,
They enter to the clearing.

The circling dancers, as before,
leave traces where their steps fall
on grass in silvered shining dew.
The dark of night is fleeting.

They come to silent rest at dawn
to stand and watch in awe
the line of light rise in the east,
grow swift to sun, uplifting,
to reclaim the turning year
in blazing light and glory.

This day’s the longest in the year,
tomorrows will be shorter.

Each moon passes swiftly.

Then we’ll dance into the dark
retelling the old stories.
We’ll sit beside our winter fires
’til summer comes, repeating

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!

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

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!