eyes

Day 4 ~ The Man with Lambs in his Eyes

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Today’s prompt was to write a triolet.

 A triolet is an eight-line poem. All the lines are in iambic tetrametre (for a total of eight syllables per line), and the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines. This means that the poem begins and ends with the same couplet. Beyond this, there is a tight rhyme scheme (helped along by the repetition of lines) — ABaAabAB.

But I decided to play with it so I have written a double-triolet and a triad.

The Man with Lambs in His Eyes

the Ocado man came today
the sunshine arrived in his trail
he saw the spring lambs on his way
the Ocado man came today
he’d been watching the spring lambs play
they’d danced all his worries away
the Ocado man came today
and sunshine arrived in his trail

seeing the mirror this morning
I looked deeply into my eyes
I saw a strange sign and a warning
seeing the mirror this morning
no recognised face was forming
it gave me a total surprise
seeing the mirror this morning
I looked into faded dark eyes

the Ocado man came today
with lambs dancing in his eyes
and wiped all my troubles away

© A.Chakir 2023

100 words ~ Taxi Driver

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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.

Sun-splash

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we crossed the bridge
grey river
hard pavement
heavy bags
traffic
you nudged against me
laughing

and there it was
the sun splash!

bare cafe
formica tables
coffee tastes good enough
food just doesn’t matter
people chatting
you smile at me
that little light
in your eyes

and there it is
sun splash!

it can rain
it can pour
the wind can howl
the town can fall about my ears
i feel your warmth
close, so near
i don’t quite reach to take your hand

but there it is
sun splash!

everywhere
sun splash!

Tales from the Woods

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My children had an uncle.
He took them all out hunting,
they never did say what they sought,
out in the woods, for hours and hours
playing amongst the tall trees.
I stayed home tendling the fire,
baking the bread
and stirring the soup
in the endlessly bubbling pot
I had set to warm with the dawn.
They came back at dusk,
happy and tired
with mud on their shoes
and big sparkling eyes
and when i bathed them at night
and combed out their tangled hair,
sparkling dust fell to the floor,
twinkled and disappeared.
We saw him less and less,
but strange gifts
still arrived at the door
when a wind blew in from the west
(the time i always like best).
As they grew up, he faded,
or maybe he just went away.
The world was never the same after that,
their focus had shifted and torn,
until they had their own children
and told the old stories again.

When the blackbird sings

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

You tell me of bad weather news
And how the price of food went up.
You quote the words of politicians,
I agree they’re open lies.
You worry there will be a drought.
I think about the falling rivers
And how the willows give it shade.
My mind begins to drift.

I know my eyes are far away.
I try to hold on to your words
Like broken branches floating by.
I sense a sigh you’re holding in.
Yes,
I’m doing it again.
I smile and look in your eyes,
Signifying my return.

You speak about the greater issues,
How your life is troubling you.
I nod.
You know I understand.
It’s true that life is problematic.
It’s true I’m tired of being strong.
I wish to tightly grasp your hand
And take you through another door,
The door that’s slowly opening now,
That leads into another land.
I hear your words,
I hear a song,
That echoes in the depth of pools.

There’s only one place left to hide.
The leaves are growing up our walls,
There’s mud and ash across the floor.
The wind that’s blown the window wide
Brings a scent of woodland paths
And bluebells by the flowing stream.
I can hear the blackbird now,
It signals that it’s time to leave.
My heart is very far away.
I dream of other worlds.
I’ve seen.

Escaping Jaipur

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

a rickshaw boy
with torn trousers
stops for rapid repairs
I am surrounded by monkeys
one jumps clear over a goat
another tugs at my hair
a guide tells me follow
begging hands reach out
a bell softly rings
beside the temple gates
around spiraling corners
each one leading in
we enter a bustling square
the stalls are piled with olives
oranges, spices and dates
marigolds piled on tables
garlands strung in the air
the tea-wallah cries out his wares
a radio blares in the distance
clanging, clanging, clanging,
ringing the sun, beating down
it’s madness and radiant sound
the heat is stifling, whirling
pigeons fly up in the air
against the blue sky above
kites are spinning and diving
hidden in gathering crowds
I catch glimpses of gentler eyes
fixing me with a stare
two brown dogs lay in the shade
beneath a flowering neem
I no longer want to be there
I close my eyes,
i vanish,
into a starlit pool
and slowly float away

Written in Faith

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from the dark the sunshine comes
and fades again to dark
in hope and loving trust we sleep
to greet the kindling spark

time brings change
i do not fear
i accept the hidden path
love is always here

and that is all we need right now,
high upon the bough,
to sit amongst your singing trees
in harmony and peace

Beloved World, take note of us,
thought we are fleeting in your eyes
we have fought to reach this place
the travelling made us wise

In my eyes

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I may not deserve to be loved
but I have served my time
in the hard knocks school
maybe breaking some rules
but trying to learn

Too long I have felt as if nobody feels me,
wrapped in a bubble that touch doesn’t pierce
locked in a transparent vacuum,
surrounded by screens,
trying to silence my head

‘I see nothing but love in your eyes,” she said
Her words raised me up from the dead.

Swans

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the clouded sunlight through the trees

casts shadows, stilled, across  the  lake

the silvered white of floating swans

shines out against the gathered gloom

eyes that shed slow tears  recover

with beauty there,  to rest upon

 

swan

 

Calling My Sister (or, Women Observed in a Chat Room)

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I saw the word
Sister,
full of light,
inscribed on an empty white page,
roundly formed and concise.
Such a lovely word.
It illuminated my night.

If I had a sister what would she say?
I would ask her to come beside me and stay.
I would see the world through her different eyes
and I’d hope that her words would be wise.
I would listen to her advice.

The world is full of ‘Sisters’
That’s what I hear them saying
“Sisters doing it for themselves”
Sisters, Goddesses, Earth Mothers
That’s what I heard them say.

They are better than you or I, little brother.
Little brother, we’re lost.

Yet I can’t help noticing something else.
I see them betray each other,
telling each other lies,
as they warmly embrace and smile.
I see their ambitions writ large
as they stab each others backs
and argue the details of facts,
dividing in feminist factions.
This is sure to be controversial,
But I’d hoped they’d be better than that.

If I had a sister I’d ask her to visit.
I’d hope she was kind,
I’d hope she was honest,
I’d hope she knew how to keep her own promise.
I’d hope she knew the right way, to be strong,
nor precisely the same perhaps,
but the same general direction
as you and I, my brother.

“The sisters of virtue they are not departed or gone.”
Those are some words from an old song.
Perhaps they will cease to subvert each other
the day we all stand up together,
the day we are all clear and strong,
clear, strong and united
with one word writ large on that page
People
against oppression.
People
who love one another.