love

Walking on

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

yes – there was strong attraction
some instinctive pull caught our eyes
there was little value in that
when we couldn’t look into the future
hindsight is always wise

the first time i think i loved you
was under the trees near the river
when you asked why i never chose you
i wanted to wrap you and hold you
i answered politely instead
my words were gentle and kind
but i don’t recall what i said
and i had to walk away

later, much later,
after many days had passed
as the river flowed under the bridge
when i told you i loved you
i didn’t feel loved in return
so ironic
i left you
so much walking away
so many crossings of bridges
to reach the love that was there
under the trees that first day

now we are back where we started
but so much further on
now we are walking together
with a love that is deeper and strong

2016

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

a child that wakes from a nightmare,
bewildered and shadowed by fears,
stumbles in hazy panic
to the warmth of his parents bed
and crawls to their welcoming arms
beneath the sheltering sheets

a child in the war torn city
alone, a stranger to hope,
wanders though shattered streets
his eyes wiped clear of all dreams,
his eyes empty of tears,
in a world too dreadful for weeping
his face is a silent grimace
he clutches dry earth in his fist
to feel that he still exists

in a world with no semblance of peace
in a world with no certain sanctuary
in a world consumed by evil
a child cowers down in a corner
to be laid on the plate for consumption
surrounded by knives, trapped on the tines,
of the meal being served at high tables,
the meal of heartless greed,
the meal where the heartless feed

the scales of justice are tilted
in favour of keeping us blind
our good words are strangled and taken
twisted in tortuous ways
in Orwellian double-speak
by leaders and politicians
aided by media giants
the beacon fires are forsaken
our noble desires serve their lies

this is no bed time nightmare
this is reality
there is no protective sheet
no arms wait to embrace them
no place for the victims to hide
the world is falling apart
bring me your huddled masses
will never be spoken again

that voice in the crack of the pavement
is silenced or never heard
refugees, with nowhere to shelter,
rot at the side of the road,
driven and slaughtered cattle
washed up on the incoming tides,
their quiet insistent whisper
swishes in blood and rain

all for the lack of honour
all for the lack of justice
all for the lack of love

Return

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

tell me your dreams and tell me them true

tell me of days when you were a child

i need to better remember you

when it all comes round again in a while

 

tell me your hopes, tell me your fears

tell me the paths of your ancestral home

tell me your journey through the long years

let our lives link wher’ver we may roam

 

meet me again on the other side

reborn again, a boy and a girl

stars will cross and circles collide

when we awaken anew to this world

 

we will be young, but we can be wise

let me see love again shine in your eyes

 

 

“Late Lament”, By The Moody Blues

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day’s useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?

How to Capture a Mermaid

/ A. Gouedard / 7 Comments

These instructions come with a warning.
Beware! She might capture you.

The first thing to do is convince yourself
That mermaid tales are true,

Then take a trip to the ocean,
But some inland lakes will do,

And go alone.
Mermaids are very shy.

Never go unprepared.
You will need to take a supply

Of gifts and music and stories.
Some that the sailors knew.

You can’t deceive a mermaid
A mermaid looks right though you

Mermaids love flowers and spices
But go with a heart that’s true

Scatter the beach with spices
Cover the water with flowers

Play to her on a lute
And wait for hours and hours

She will seduce you if she can
She has powers to hypnotise

She sees your soul in an instant
Never look into her eyes

To capture a mermaid don’t use a net
Never use bindings or ropes

You must sing to her very sweetly
Sing of your dreams and your hopes

Trail your hand in the water
Sing yourself to sleep

As you drift between worlds she will come to you
Rising up from the deep

She will want to hold and touch you
She will love you, if you are wise

Never be overbearing
Just take the mermaids hand

When you walk in your sleep, still dreaming,
She will follow you to the land.

All the Roses

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the red rose and the white
standing sentinel
on each side of the path

the red rose of passion
the white for purity
so it was told to me

with time the bud unfolds
they litter history
more stories must be told

how Alice met the mad ones
walking nervously alone
in there amongst the flowers
i pondered that for hours
the red queen and the white
would haunt my childhood nights

and then we went to York
and thought of Lancaster
and roses making war
i never saw such violence
shaking petals, thrusting thorns,
tattering the tender growing rose

and then the Tudors came
the doubled rose of white and red
its petals widely spread
holding all in thrall
with gold and iron rule
while it blossomed

a treasure, was The Rose
where actors took the stage
Shakespeare came of age
its name was at the heart
emblem of poets art
that blooms as nectar overflows

now, in the garden,
i plant my roses
i plant them for their scent
i plant them for all they mean to me
they guard my families ashes
i strip away the stories
watching as their gentle petals fall

full of passing glories
but every year repeating
shining out with soft simplicity

a sign of lasting love
given from above
that’s all a rose was ever meant to be

Baking Bread

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

knowing you were coming home tonight
i resolved to bake you bread
and fill the house with warmth

i gathered driftwood from the beach
i rose at dawn to light the fire
so the dough could rise

i went down to the cellar
to find a fine red wine
i stumbled on the stair

when i came back the fire was out
the fire beside the stove collapsed
it needed swift repair

by the time i mended it
my hair was full of soot
i had to take a shower

i went out to the market next
i bought the finest cheese
and olives black and green

time was growing short by now
i sank my hand into the bowl
almost in despair

i slammed it on the board
i kneeded it, i pummelled it
and left it there to rest

i went out to the beach again
to calm my savage breast

a good bread must be blessed

the kitchen is a peaceful place
when baking scents the room

good bread is earthly grace

my mind filled with the thought of you
i conjured up your face

good bread is an embrace

returning through the garden
i picked one summer rose
to set beside your place

when you came the bread was there
with olives, yellow cheese and wine
mixed with salt sea air

blessed with love and welcome
and smiles to greet you home

good bread is like a poem

The Sea

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

watching the sea
as it rises and falls
always awaiting the seventh

the rock pools are flooded
deep water drums
as each wave hits them again

the green at the heart of the wave
as it curls in the sun
and comes crashing down

fading, dying, it washes the shore
white frothing bubbles of foam
leaving smooth darkened sand in its wake

the line of white shells and pebbles
defines and records the retreat
and, for a time, holds the imprint
of my feet as i walk away

love, like the ocean, is endless
life and death on the tide
makes the cycle complete
and the loving more sweet

Clearly he adores her

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

– he is the one at fault
remember that,
keep a note,
don’t be fooled by what follows,
– but remember he loves her
and wants her love in return
– be sure to get the full picture

he told her the truth
he needed time to think

she dragged words out of him
words he didn’t want to speak

not then, not there, maybe never

later, when the storm was over,
one romantic evening
when the stars were bright,
and music was playing sweetly,
he told her a story
one that reminded him so much of her

she analyzed it
explored his sub-conscious for clues
she only saw her own eyes looking back
she denied she was part of his vision
she twisted the tale out of all shape
leaving a big gaping hole
that only she could ever fill
– later she said she was sorry

he took her out dancing,
she probably never wanted to go,
she sat there is total silence
and when he asked what was wrong
she said she had bought the office files along

his pride, for a brief moment,
made him think he should stand up and leave
but he was fascinated by the file contents,
of course,
everything about her
and the life that they share
fascinates him
– it’s all part of their love anyway

he gave her a gift
she asked if he was trying to change her
why would he want to change her?
– it’s totally clear he adores her

if she was late would he wait for her?
yes he would, of course,
as long as she liked
– time doesn’t matter

when she returned, rather late,
she chose to remind him
(how could he ever forget it)
of her rules and his own folly
(if folly it truly was)

she had remembered the storm
and was still feeling angry
just sometimes
– just then

now he’s angry too
– angry he is sad
– sad he is angry
he can’t sleep
because
he has always
truly
loved her
– it’s so clear,
he
simply
adores
her

*************************************

for those with a short attention span
here is the abbreviated version

– he was the one at fault
– it’s all part of their love
– time doesn’t matter
– sad he is angry
– angry he is sad
– it’s totally clear he adores her
– the truth is she loves him too

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.