embroidered

Mandolin

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

this beautiful instrument of carefully chosen wood
its resonant round back sits warmly under my rib
its aged neck nestled lightly in the palm of my hand

it travelled with me to Ireland, Morocco, Poland, India, Spain
giving pleasure to strangers in wayside and stations
helping me find friendships in far away lands

i walked with it slung on my back in a desert valley
pausing as a strange music haunted my ear
looking about for the source of mysterious sound

the strings vibrated in response to a greater musician
the lone song of my mandolin played by the wind
it had no need of my hands. my hands long for it now

safely home, hung again on my wall, a thing of beauty,
resting, its grace and my love of it inspired hatred
one who wished to hurt me, hurt it in anger, vicious spite

while i was locked out, unable to reach you,
gone, a place under my rib left empty
no light glints on silvered strings

the wind will no longer touch them, nor i
one hundred and fifty years, gone in one moment
full of tunes played and tunes not written

all that remains, a strap embroidered
with roses and ivy entwined

Ode to the Horse, so Fine

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Riding in from the fields of scented heather

Leaving the hills of our home behind

We entered into the city on a horse so fine.

All decked out in embroidered leather

His deep chestnut skin like satin gleamed,

His mane was the gold of a polished crown,

A white diamond shone on his brow.

 

Wonder of wonders, this horse, and the maid

With the sparkling eyes, were mine.

The rings on his bridle jingled

In harmony with her sweet ankle bells

As he sidled, side-stepped, pranced.

 

His ears flicked and turned to every sound.

The curve of his neck showed pent up power.

Who would not admire such a horse

As he insolently passed them by?

He circled and danced, lord of the ground,

An enchantment to hold every eye,

A part of the seeds of our undoing.

Such seeds there were aplenty then,

One was surely jealousy.

How could I know we rode him to our ruin.

 

What else did they begrudge me

While I sang the songs of my homeland,

The land I loved so well.

This city was never ours for the taking,

The world was ne’er so good to our kind

Though we were royally welcomed there.

Youth is innocent, trusting, blind.

 

His eyes were wild and wide,

His tail held high, a flag of joyous defiance.

His bridle caught the sun.

He tossed his head to show his fire.

His hooves rang out on the cobblestones

The horse and I moved as one

As I danced him round the town,

and the sun went down.