love

In the Dock

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

‘remember you’re loved,’ you said
‘always remember that’
like a life-belt handed before a storm
those storms i never see coming

but what happens
on monday, tuesday,
wednesday, this week
until the weather is fine again
on friday, saturday,
sunday, next week

it’s not about words
but the lack of them
sink or swim
I can’t ask you the reason
you won’t speak
you are floating way off-shore

you leave me
to think
on dry land
to work out
what I did wrong
and when I tell you
you will say
‘no it wasn’t that,
it was this’
something i never thought
something i never did
something misunderstood
you held onto
and kept to yourself

this time i wont think
and you can tell me
or not as you wish
you can tell me
the magic is dead
it’s not dead in my head
it’s not dead in my heart
it’s not dead in the world
it’s sitting waiting
for you to come back
from your sailing trip
so am I

The Red Rose and the White

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

My lover gave me a rose
It meant a lot to me
She placed it amongst my poems
Where it could simply be

My lover gave me a rose
I gave her all I had, gladly.
Her rose was a heart-felt gift.
Now I mark its absence sadly.

My lover gave me a rose.
It bloomed so strong and red
When she left she took it
Stale perfume remains in my head

My lover gave me a rose.
Now, in my heart, it’s a knife
It’s blade is the red of blood
But it will not take my life

My lover gave me a rose
And a rose is a lovely flower
As a symbol of love its complete
The thorns also have power

If I am asked to choose a rose
I would choose the one that is white
The rose of gentle love and hope
The one you can see in the night

The white rose is given in friendship
With a true and faithful heart
It does not burn with passion
Or vanish when lovers depart

The white rose grows wild at the wayside
Untended, uncared for yet strong
Touched by pink at its tender centre
Couched on a breeze and a birdsong

I don’t need to bind it or cut it
I love the white rose
It shines with compassion
It’s the fairest flower that grows

Sweet Repose

/ A. Gouedard / 3 Comments

at end of day when all is done

and i am in my lovers arms

i fall asleep in sweet repose

counting all her charms

any troubles of the day

mean nothing in comparison

our love has washed them all away

our day has been replete

and full of loving smiles

her head now rests upon my arm

with the sinking  of the sun

and the circling  stars

all our dreams are sweet

 

 

 

 

 

A Question of Numbers

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

In one year we travel four billion miles around the Sun

Without even stirring a limb.

We dream fifteen thousand dreams,

Remembering almost none.

How significant those that we do.

 

In a lifetime we may see nine hundred New Moons

Twenty-five thousand sunsets,

Twenty-five thousand dawns.

How many do we really see?

How significant those that we do.

 

How many times might my love smile at me?

How many times will we kiss?

How many dreams can we make come true

Before time flees and is gone?

How significant those that we do.

 

If I thought I’d be gone tomorrow

What would I say and do?

Nothing significant

 

The light comes and goes across the earth;

A clock hand that sweeps us away.

 

Butterflies, unaware

 

 

 

On the Edge, but not falling

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

was i pretending to myself again?
is it all illusion, fantasy, delusion, that life is beautiful?
am i walking in the dark, thinking there are lanterns?

are there angels in the trees? did I dream them?
can love be forever? is it ever?
will i drown in clear air for lack of hope?

when my heart leapt for joy was that all a lie?
can the world be empty darkness, as i saw it today?
where has all the glory gone that i saw yesterday?

perceptions, happiness, despondency,
the ebb and flow, what’s true, what isn’t,
no clarity, no balance, clouded vision

shadows dancing on the wall in firelight
music heard far off, the shade behind the waterfall,
a leaf turning in light, falling, landing rots to dust

the echo of a voice across a valley far away, sun sinking,
frost that silvers the hilltops, the cocks crow at dawn,
a sense that all is born to die, overpowered, as it must

light reflected in a lake, rainbows over cornfields,
swallows gliding on the high still air, above the wood,
the dark smell of mud, these are things i trust

joys, sorrows, melancholia, laugher, tears
bring what they may or go as they might
remembered or forgotten over tumbling years
a pattern, night into day, day into night,
underneath all this one beauty, shining bright,
burning light, conquering fruitless fear
a celestial light, strong and clear
thats illuminates true love
and a straight path

The White Cow

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the palace of gold and blue
stood high above on the hill
shimmering in heat like a mirage
the chatter of monkeys was shrill
in the river below elephants bathed

later that evening, so clearly recalled now,
as the sun dipped down in a pink haze
we saw a sadhu with a white cow
we followed to a tea stall
by the steps of an old temple

the cow so beautiful, gentle
its eyes lined with khol
wore a garland of marigold and a bell
that rang softly as it gazed at me
reaching my heart and casting a spell

on the temple steps we sat
slowly sipping hot tea
beneath a sickle moon and one bright star
we spoke in quiet voices
until the man and the cow both bowed and walked on

i see that cow as clearly years later
as if it was but a moment ago
i listened to the sadhu’s every word
it was the white cow i heard
it spoke only of acceptance and love

Mystified

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

How do people fall in love?
Is it purely chemistry?
How does that work
When you can only feel an atmosphere?
Body language, eyes,
A smile at all the right moments.
But more than this it must be.
All meetings are by chance
So how is one more meaningful than another?
Instantly and mutual.
With friends it’s all we have in common
That makes and holds us, long or short,
But love? We fall before we even know.
The head may struggle to hold back
But the heart is already given,
And who can ignore the heart.
So without a metaphor or rhyme
I ask myself these questions.
The older I grow the less I really know.
No certainties any more.
I am mystified.
My heart is not.

There is a Love, Like No Other

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

There is a love, like no other
I try to find the words to tell
It swells the heart
And swims in the throat

A golden burst
Both high and deep
More than passion
It glows, not burns

Soft and wild
Sublime embrace
That reaches out
Explodes, yet stays within

It reaches for the Universe
Strong and peaceful
Always growing, always huge
Yet dwells inside a human heart

Heart-long-leap
Boom-gush-torrent
Doors flung open
Wide and warm

No touch or kiss
Can quite express it
I need a word that says all this
But I can only call it Love

Sonnet 116 – Shakespeare

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 

I posted this because it’s my favourite sonnet and I believe in it not just in relationships but in life – Love is the star to every wandering bark