fox

Day One #napowrimo (the prompt was a book title)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Practical Taxidermy

Here I am
strapped to a frame,
a never changing armature
holds me in its tight grip,
preserved in formaldehyde,
polished and preened,
displayed on a shelf
under a spotlight
my guts torn out
and burned on the fire.
My skin is so cold.

How is this me?
Where are my entrails,
my being,
my soul.

The eyes remain dead,
despite all their efforts
to keep the light twinkling in glass.
It’s not me.

Why preserve a thing so lacking in spirit?
They should have installed me
inside a badger,
a crow or a fox.

© A.Chakir 2023

Nervous

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

sitting alone here, in my room, lost in my thoughts,

sifting ideas, drifting in dreams

 

but stop!

 

was that a sound I heard outside?

is something sneaking about in the night?

i hear my heart beating loud in my ears

ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom

 

i had a nightmare about this once

people were climbing the garden wall

they were hooded, and secret and carried long knives

i barred up my windows and locked up my doors

i fought then with fury

i beat them off

ba-ba-boom ba-ba-boom ba-ba-boom ba-ba-boom

 

waiting, listening the time passes slowly,

my ears are alive to the sounds of the night

i turn off the light and look from the window

a thief in the darkness  rummages about

then delight

i see there’s no danger

it’s only a stranger astray in these parts

a beautiful, nervously watchful

red fox

The Bones They Talk (a terzanelle)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

in whispering voices, the bones, they talk
through the rolling curving lines of the land
they lead me gently, unconscious I walk

on the moss covered stones I rest my hand
to feel their quiet presence lingering there
through the rolling curving lines of the land

in the haunt of the fox, home of the hare,
where all is as it was before, I come
to feel their quiet presence lingering there

guided by moonlight, stones, spiral and sun
I walk the path of the ancestors bones
where all is as it was before, I come

to the place of the barrow, long dark homes,
with lasting respect for all that they knew
I walk the path of the ancestors bones

the stones they placed and the ancient ditches
where the blackthorn at dawn sparkles with dew
inform me still of their deepest wishes
with lasting respect for all that they knew

In Luxulyan Wood

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the disused viaduct spanned the valley
a leap of arches, stone piled up on stone,
where old channelled streams, cut into cold clay,
flowed away from the hazed heat of the day

i followed to the ancient, cool damp wood,
no longer frequented, my secret place
i was lost in thoughts and wandering daydreams
wrapped in deep silence, woven with bird-song

surrounded by scents, the creaking of trees
the soft bubbling sounds of the nearby streams
a rustle of leaves on a sudden breeze
that hushed and sighed with the fall of the wind

leaving deep shade for dazzling sunlight
i entered the clearing, briefly stood, blind
as my sight cleared, he was suddenly there
he in the east, i in the west, both transfixed

suspended in time, an unbroken gaze,
we stood in communion across space
the race of my heart the only sound
i slowly knelt to the ground without thought

he stood in a sunbeams magical glow
a fox, the like of which i never saw,
tall, strong, gleaming in deep red coat, he shone
the King of the woodland for evermore

kneeling before him quietly, i smiled,
making my respect and intention clear
our eyes held, i his bondsman and loyal kin,
in a place that stretched through air, almost near

a moment of true beauty kept me there
when, turning quickly, he vanished away
leaving me, standing in awe and pure joy
a vision of gold, held still in my heart