hidden

The Masquerade

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

she is dressed like an angel
she is so perfect
he thinks
she may sprout wings
flying away in a moment

a heart is embroidered on the cuff
of his well-worn sleeve
it’s enough that she sees it
examines the finely made stitches
and smiles

he sees her eyes
clear, gentle, kind
as she flutters her swan feathered fan
across her lovely face,
a beating wing
allowing a glimpse of her mind

he wears a masque
his eyes, not well hidden,
bewitch her, and keep her there

the music is enchanting
they dance in a dream
tentative touching
they begin to open their hearts
in this harmonious dance
all is agreement
that this trance is worth keeping
preserving, defending, completing
even for life

in the morning
the music has stopped
the masques are removed
he bows, revealing his face,
he sees all that shows
beneath her smile
she curtsies with grace
they move away slowly
one unwilling step at a time

 

 

Wayfarer

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

when i am fire
i burn away anger
when i am tree
i bend with the wind
when i am water
i wear away stone
and know all the wise ways of flowing

when i am cat
i narrow my eyes
when i am dog
i am joyfully willing
when i am horse
i turn with the wind
this is my freedom in going

when i am hare
magic is mine
when i am raven
i watch still and clear
when i am wolf
i see who you are
this is the seeing of knowing

i will leap, bend and flow,
run, turn and go
return as i please
see what i see
magnetic paths pull above treetops
clouds cap the mountains that hide me
dark cool shadows in water
hidden things amongst leaves
as i make my own journey
i follow these old ways alone

water is a life giving blessing
the trees shelter us, breathing
the lone wolf protects the pack
energy runs with the horse
the world is mirrored in the eye of the raven
hidden, unhidden, bidden, unbidden
the hare runs the path of the circle unbroken
running fleet foot in pastures and hills
on horseback i chase the illusive hare
while the raven sits still in the oak
and watches, waiting for me

Old Love

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

there was no need of explanations

when all was accepted and understood

 

sunlight filled the clearing

a path of soft grass

lead through the wood

the rapids on the river

a source of delight,

exhilaration, excitement

the boat spinning and whirling

a reason for laughter

as we clung closer

what cared we for danger

when in evening we returned

to sit warmly wrapped

at the fireside, together

 

the paths have become hidden

overgrown with bramble and thorn

twisting back on themselves

the Prince in the fairytale

hacks with his sword

to find his way through

to the sleeping Princess

who waits alone, for a kiss,

only a kiss and a promise,

in stories he is never exhausted

you don’t hear tales of his scars

he always succeeds

what a miracle worker he is

what a wonder to behold

astride his white horse

shining in silver armour

despite the darkness

 

there is a path where the rich scent

of old fallen leaves fills the air

the banks of this path are cut deeply

amongst the roots of the ancient trees

they hold the path, embraced,

they are not there to trip us

but to keep the way open ahead

the road is old and worn

 

The Hidden Ones

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Our people were warriors, they journeyed far.
They followed the sun, the moon, the stars.
They honoured their dead who dwell with the living.
They left their mark on hilltop and moor.

They farmed the land to suit the seasons,
Skilled in crafts and rejoicing in song.
They sailed the seas and carved the stones.
They run in the blood, remembered in bone.

In spoken words, with no need of books,
Their stories passed from heart to heart.
Power and land they may have lost
But their thoughts and truths were not overcome

They have no followers yet are followed still,
With origins lost but stories repeated,
In the great glories of poetry that still lives on,
They are amongst us here, the hidden ones.