imagination

5.15am

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The voice, a breath on a breeze,
stellar, shining, white feather floating,
scattered stardust, soft twinkle,
a warm whisper close to my ear

”Yes, the light was the beginning,
the beginning of the myth,
the myth that brought us all here,
the myth that we had to be.”

”Then the stars gathered round
humming and singing,
singing celestial sound.
The world started spinning,
spinning the loom of itself.”

”No one said, LET THERE BE LIGHT!
Light was, light is.
There is light and darkness,
it’s shadow.”

”But in the great-long-forever-timeless-nothingness
it was suddenly 5.15am!”

When I asked for the theatre prompt sheet
for the book of love and imagination,
(I already had the script),
she projected this onto a board,
along with a dim, faded photograph
of the Mad Hatter leaning against a screen,
nonchalant, in a space
beside a gap in a tattered curtain.
He had stood still there a long time
a very long time ago.

A crowd of children passed by,
wandering home from school,
pushing, shoving, chattering,
telling how they knocked all the apples down
from the garden wall,
but that wasn’t it at all.
They’d forgotten paradise.

When I am Old (revised)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Dedicated to my Mother ~

 

when i am old i wont do anything
but think
and run my life back and forward
in my mind
in translucent back-lit visions

the trek to the kitchen and back
a long journey
re-gaining at last the armchair
i sleep
to dream dreams of the long gone

i will develop a liking for jelly and custard
milk pudding
soup from a can and cheese with jam
cream cakes
and forget what i meant to have for breakfast

the taps will drip, the fire will burn cold
windows rattle
and the mice will move in unafraid
as company
and eat the fabrics to tatters

I will confuse the books i have read
with memories
i will see the ghosts of my family
standing by
and wonder if they wait for me in the night

I wont care about any of this
watching light
watching shadows move across the walls
distant birds
i will ignore all bad news and live in imagination

drifting back to childhood again
so clear
with all my family gathered around
the dead ones
now is just a space between sleeping and waking

 

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

Thanks for Poetry

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

thanks for the light on the walls and the taps

that light that shone through the kitchen window

when i was small and nothing was named

 

thanks for the lazy cat sleeping in sunshine

the cat i cared for as mine for a time

she gave me my first gentle knowledge of death

 

thanks to the brother dead before i was born

who taught me all a brother could be

a fantasy figure of unbroken virtues, Galahad vanished

 

thanks for daffodils that blazed in the garden,

giant hollyhocks, blood peonies, roses,

the gnarled apple tree branches and pears

 

thanks for the nursery school teacher

who tortured my mornings, her ice cold eyes

made me throw up at the approach to her door

 

thanks for the blackbird, the song-thrush, the night,

daisy chains, faery rings, the jackdaw in flight

the souls and spirits that danced in the garden

 

thanks for Arthur’s round table, Robins arrows,

my imaginary horse, all my hidden companions

who jumped out of old dusty leather-bound books

 

thanks for the love that i found here and there

and the help from unexpected places,

strangers, wise friends and wanderers all

 

and thanks for that mighty punch on the jaw

the blow that almost left me deaf in one ear

driving me inward to find myself in escaping

 

thanks for clouds, forests, mountains that rumble,

dogs that tumble in grass, running horses,

the endless crash of giant waves on the shore

 

ravens, seagulls, all things that fly,

the moments i saw true love shine in eyes,

the curve of a lip at the start of a smile

 

tangled limbs, sleeping faces, blessings,

grace, beauty, rivers that rush over stones,

my search for Excalibur out on the moors

 

daydreams, music, rhythms and words,

the strength of an oak, the willow that bends,

the magical, mystical weave of the world

 

i give thanks for will power, imagination and hope,

for knowing how to cope and survive

most of all i give thanks for being alive

 

When I am Old

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

when i am old i wont do anything
but think
and run my life back and forward
in my mind
in translucent back-lit visions

the trek to the kitchen and back
a long journey
re-gaining at last the armchair
i will sleep
to dream dreams of the long gone days

i will develop a liking for jelly and custard
milk pudding
soup from a can and cheese with jam
cream cakes
and forget what i meant to have for breakfast

the taps will drip, the fire will burn cold
windows rattle
and the mice will move in unafraid
as company
to eat all the fabrics to tatters

i will confuse the books i have read
with memories
i will see the ghosts of my family
standing by
wondering if they will lead me away tonight

I wont care about any of this
watching light
watching shadows move across the walls, my clock
distant birds
i will ignore all bad news and live in imagination

drifting back to childhood again
so clear
with all my family gathered near
the dead ones
now will become a space between waking and sleep

Me and my Shadow

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

thoughts of Peter Pan
his shadow shut inside a drawer
poor fellow, incomplete
no old companion at his feet

and what if all the shadows went
not just your own
imagine a wooded glade
no contrasts there at all
sun shafts and no shade
no place to hide alone
in sweet repose and rest
and in a darkened room by firelight
no shadows dancing on the wall
by shadows we are blessed
where would imagination go
with no escape from endless bright
and crystal clear illumination

I recall a walk long ago
at full moon with my love
as my shadow played with hers
crossing and blending in our path
I wondered if my shadow
was as happy then as I

a childhood friend to play with
my shadow made me think
and wonder at the world
it’s a link to see ourselves
it shrinks and stretches, grows,
depending where we go
my shadow makes me
more aware of light
it connects me to the ground
when the sun is bright

I never see it in my dreams
I wonder what that means
leaving me to sleep
it disappears at night
I wonder where it goes
no-one knows that truth
I only know that when I die
my shadow wont exist
nor me, not I
perhaps we vanish into light

Travel Tales – # 1

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

Having seen a phrase about a mountain path beset with tigers I recalled a dream I had in which my dream horse (a frequent visitor) was unusually allowing me to guide and choose our path (usually I just go where I am taken) and I began to ascend a very steep mountain track and my horse began to struggle but yet still obeyed me until I felt ashamed of the damage I was doing to the horse so I stopped and apologised. My horse immediately forgave me and turned to pastures and galloped to the sea. I took this dream to mean that if we ‘’go with the flow’’, that is Awen, we learn far more than by forcing our own view and decisions upon our life and the way – the sea is not high like a mountain (where perhaps I had foolishly wanted to ‘dominate the peak and look down on all’) but it is a symbol at the very least of the source of life and it ‘’goes with the flow’’, and the moon.

I have also written a poem about a year ago about encountering a dragon in a steep place and the Tower (interspersed with some comments from ordinary daily life when when my dreaming is not looked upon favourably by others).  All I longed for was peace by the river (with my muse) in the realm of imagination and the natural flow of the path. Obstacles can be overcome with some determination but most of all with imagination.

 

Escape from the Tower

 

Climbing the mountain, trying to reach the tower

Confronted by a dragon, endlessly asking me riddles,

While a great storm gathers all about us

Thunderbolts roar, lightning reflects on my shield

 

(“What do you do in that room all the time?

What are you thinking about?’’

I stop and get the food

And gather the rubbish that needs to go out)

 

I am losing my footing on the slippery rocks.

The dragon flashes his eyes with desire

I have to succeed, cannot be overpowered,

I call on the rain to quench his fire

 

(“Always off in imagination,

What’s wrong with you?

You spend hours on that

And it’s not even true’’)

 

I answer the final riddle, the dragon steps aside.

My way no longer barred, I struggle on up the mountain.

The tower reaches up to the clouds

Eagles circle above, come to help me in my troubles

 

(“I know you have talent?

Why don’t you use it?’’

“I work too!’’ i say

“You could work more!’’ says she)

 

The eagle carries me up to the princess, we hover.

She reaches out to me. I swing her onto the eagles back.

My arm circles her waist, her hair flies in my face.

She leans back on me in relief.

 

(“You always were some other place,

Even as a child. No different now than ever.

Why can’t you just be normal,

And stay in reality?’’)

 

We circle together above the now sunlit valleys

Looking down from above, we avoid all the cities and castles

And land in a summer meadow by a singing stream

She adorns herself with flowers, I dream

Escaping the Tower

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Climbing the mountain, trying to reach the tower
Confronted by a dragon, endlessly asking me riddles,
While a great storm gathers all about us
Thunderbolts roar, lightning reflects on my shield

(“What do you do in that room all the time?
What are you thinking about?’’
I stop to get the food
And gather the rubbish that needs to go out)

I am losing my footing on the slippery rocks.
The dragon flashes his eyes with desire
I have to succeed, cannot be overpowered,
I call on the rain to quench his fire

(“Always off in imagination,
What’s wrong with you?
You spend hours on that
And it’s not even true’’)

I answer the final riddle, the dragon steps aside.
My way no longer barred, I struggle on up the mountain.
The tower reaches up to the clouds
Eagles circle above, come to help me in my troubles

(“I know you have talent?
Why don’t you use it?’’
“I work too!’’ i say
“You could work more!’’ says she)

The eagle carries me up to the princess, we hover.
She reaches out to me. I swing her onto the eagles back.
My arm circles her waist, her hair flies in my face.
She leans back on me in relief.

(“You always were some other place,
Even as a child. No different now than ever.
Why can’t you just be normal,
And stay in reality?’’)

We circle together above the now sunlit valleys
Looking down from above, we avoid all the cities and castles
And land in a summer meadow by a softly singing stream
She adorns herself with flowers, I dream