dreams

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.

Whisperings

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

There’s a song that wafts so gently
in music faintly heard,
a song with words so fleeting
I cannot hold them still.

Where many paths are meeting
in the tangle of the shadows,
just beyond your glance,
in the patterns of the dance,
from a farewell to a greeting
they will spin you into trance.

In a fluttering of wings, do you hear them speaking?
”No time today for sorrow, no time for needless weeping.
Mortal though you are, follow your own star”

I sense them in a twinkle,
in a gleam, a flash of star-fire
the silver light behind a cloud,
across the moonlight sweeping
in the rhythm of my breathing
and a heart that’s wildly leaping,
to the strings of their desire

”It’s a dream within a dream within a dream”
i hear them whisper
as i rest,
almost sleeping,
almost waking,
only seeming to be here.

Portrait of my Mother

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

here she is, playing tennis
powerful serves slice the air
the leap across the court to save
the forceful twack of backhand grace
her skin aglow with summers sun
dancing on the well kept lawns
her dark eyes, dark hair, her pixie face
lit with pleasure in the moment,
of care or trouble, not a trace,
her family are around her, close,

the world’s too fast
now her face is lined with care
her family history written there
years have passed, flesh has failed
long lost father, mother, aunts and uncles
her lover was the last to go
they surround her now in dreams
they gather to her in the night
her only pleasure is a book
with writing big enough to read
back lit by the Kindle light

Snowflakes

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the summer,
always beautiful,
does not survive the storms
that winter brings

pierced with bitter icicles,
shattered hearts,
when lover part
with dreams they cannot mend

I see it every day,
a blizzard of bitter sorrow
snowflakes whirl and fly away
as lovers often do

snow drifts hide the paths we knew
banked around, too close, they hide the longer view

The Well in the Wood

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i have seen this well in the wood, long ago
my dreams are hid in its moss covered walls
treasures I secretly left there before
its slippery sides plunge down to dark depths
where water is constantly dripping
drip, drip, dripping,
into my thoughts

aware of the trees leaning over
dropping their leaves into the pool
hanging over the side,
feeling the coolness,
i drop in a pebble and wait

long falling before an echo
this well is old and deep

 

 

Be Kind

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

I look at this world. It brings me to tears.

No changes, no choices, no power, no voice.

Our fears come true instead of our dreams.

Our words echo, reverberate, into a void.

 

I have a dream, just like that man,

the one they killed for speaking the truth.

I have a dream just like the one

that lead to a man being hung on a cross.

 

I wish the world was more like our dreams.

People could base all their actions on love.

I wish we could be all that we want.

I wish I could be all that I need.

 

I have nothing to offer, words don’t cast a spell.

Be kind to each other, remember this well.

 

 

My Obsessions

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

this is a found poem – it comes from my tag cloud on this blog and so it consists of words I use a lot in poems……….

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

My Obsessions.

 

Ancient bards and books,
a breeze full of butterflies
above the Celtic hills.
Cities, clouds, the dance of death,
a desert dragons dream,
dreaming dreams with evening eyes
of fateful fantasy and fire
with firelight in the forest garden
where a girl with a haiku
plays a harp and sings
of heart and home and horses.

Imagination kindles lakes,
leaves, land and love,
love, always love,
magic memories of moons
moonlight, morning music.

At night, the oak overshadows
oceans of passion
paths of peace and perfume,
poems of rain and ravens,
the rocks, the river,
roses by the sea.
The sky a silver smile
when the snows come,
then the song of spring,
sunlight and starlight.

Time towers above the trees.
The wings of winter spread again
above a woodland made of words

Through the Nets

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

if dreams were liquid we’d all be oceans
notions of fish would swim in our depths

the tides are tirelessly churning the sand
the weeds below sway in the flow
in time the ocean will swallow the land

our silvered skins flicker and shine
I feel your slick side stroke against mine
circling back I seek you again
we swim through life escaping the nets

 

 

Nothing at all

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

all our conversations
are becoming like this.
what are you thinking?
nothing of importance
what are you doing?
nothing right now
what were you doing last night?
nothing much
is anything wrong?
Nothing at all

i can’t fathom your tone
nothing is not an empty void
it fills the room
it’s so real I can’t breathe
then you say if you knew me
you wouldn’t be asking questions.
i thought you knew me completely

you don’t say what you have on your mind
you tell me nothing serious is happening
you say so much amidst your questions
you ask if I should have been an actor?
what the hell do you mean by that?

you ask can I find what I’m looking for here
and suggest I am lost in my dreams
not all can get lost in fantasy, you say
like its a blessing, and i get an award

you think I can’t see.
i see the nuance.
you insinuate
as you circle
herding me in
with maybe it’s this
and maybe it’s that

i am becoming impatient
this is becoming ridiculous
i say in exasperation
maybe i should have run off with a clown
maybe i should have been lead singer
when i played in a band back then
i start to feel sarcastic
and I don’t like the way i sound

maybe i am not looking for anything
did you think of that?
i followed a path that lead me here
if wishes were horses I’d be riding
but I’m not wishing
I am trying to write a poem
sitting by a river
it can help sometimes
and that’s what I do

yes, sure i get sad, who doesn’t
but it’s never that nature no longer delights me
I don’t forget the glory, even when it’s hidden
behind a day in the grey, with no shine
the trees against the clouds still have grace
i am thinking of what i am seeing

the wind that blows blow all away
that’s where I am,
that’s what I am doing
that’s who I am
Nothing at all