love

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.

Fantasy

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

fantasy can rip you apart
and take you into the dark
or it can be lovely
and brighten your heart
the dark is behind us
may happiness bind us
when the dream is of love
and sweetens the night
it can lead us into the light

The Book of Love

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the book of love should be re-written
so we can’t hurt the ones we love
it should be written out in music
with lyrics sent down from above
lovers dreams should all come true

i read this book when i was learning
the hieroglyphs keep shifting now
complications make it so
if only we could make it simple
then we’d know the way to go

there was a time i understood
but that was very long ago

In my eyes

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I may not deserve to be loved
but I have served my time
in the hard knocks school
maybe breaking some rules
but trying to learn

Too long I have felt as if nobody feels me,
wrapped in a bubble that touch doesn’t pierce
locked in a transparent vacuum,
surrounded by screens,
trying to silence my head

‘I see nothing but love in your eyes,” she said
Her words raised me up from the dead.

Melting Snow

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

a summer breeze blew in today
it swept me off my feet
all the world has turned about
my madness is complete

but this is not insanity
it’s sanity profound
magic cast a sudden spell
and I’m still on the ground

the earth is still beneath my feet
the sun is in the sky
this perfumed breeze is one i know
from very long ago

love returns with brighter stars
above, around, below
this gentle, soft, return of love
has melted all my snow

Valentines

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

sixty years of Valentines
since they had their first sweet kiss
through years of war and separation
and all their married bliss
the floral card was always sent
inscribed with love all through his life
”with love to you my darling wife.”

now he’s dead she places flowers
on the piano by his photograph
i hear her say, in tender words
”here’s to you, my old love.”

Measure for Measure

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

In love

I used to give,

and ask for nothing

in return.

It was a selfless gift I shared

expecting no rewards.

 

Now I need a different love.

I’m tired of purity.

 

Now I stand and ask

for love,

the love that I can give.

 

Penelope Pritchard

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Penelope Prichard planned a grand party
she pondered upon who best to invite
‘only the best of the gentry delight me’
she thought to herself as she pottered about
and there must be pies of impressive proportions
plumped up with partridge, pheasants and phish
(spelled p-h- plus ish)
(Penelope never learned to spell anything totally right!)
she wanted to make an impact in her own social class,
and make it quite fast,
whilst denying the fact she was lonely

plenty of party food must be procured
there must be beer, and wine,
champagne and cider
something to suit every visitors taste
apples and artichokes, custards and cakes
delicious delicacies
edibable sculptures of jelly and ice
fancies and folderols,
grapes and …. oh,
to avoid a whole alphabet,
or a preponderance of p’s,
lets just say, everything nice !

so she collected her purse
and wore her best hat
bustled about
said farewell to her cat
and without further ado
trotted off to the shops

on her way she passed Peter
who lived by the docks
i have to admit
he wasn’t well dressed
his hair was a mess
he played a good flute
but to own a good suit
was beyond his reach
to tell you quite frankly
he resembled a person
who sleeps in a ditch
suffice it to say
Peter, quite simply,
had never been rich

he had a liking for Penny
he thought she might be
the sort of woman
he hoped she might be
the sort of woman
he probably needed,
one he could love,
but their eyes never met

he knew she was older
there was nothing from her
he expected to get
but he liked her walk
he liked her hair
he just wanted to know her
to meet her and talk
to get to know how she thought

she wasn’t playing hard to get
to her he didn’t exist at all
he was zero, nada, nothing, nought
he wasn’t a man who could pass her inspection
he wasn’t the type to invite to her house
she’d think his manners were sure to be bad
she never one glanced in his direction
this made Peter feel sad
her disregard made him feel small
he thought he had nothing to offer
nothing she’d want, nothing at all

but on her way back from the shops
Penelope suffered a terrible fall
she tripped on the curb
her shopping was scattered
she couldn’t get up
everyone passing by just ignored her
one of two stared but walked straight by
peoples reaction left her shattered
she couldn’t believe that nobody cared

but Peter rushed forward
and held out his hand
pulled her up
helped her to stand
gathered her shopping
spoke to her kindly
brushed her down

she looked in his eyes
he was smiling at her
he had held her hand
she couldn’t remember
the last time
she’d been touched
she found her self
not wanting to leave very much
she looked at him then
she didn’t look at his clothes
or his hair,
or his youth
she suddenly found
she didn’t care

he carried her shopping
back to her house
she canceled the party
she made him a meal
and now Miss Penelope
Miss Quiet as a Mouse
sings in the kitchen
and dances with him
and she’s learned how to feel
and less how to grieve
and Peters her lover
and he’s not going to leave