moths

Shooting Stars

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The lamps shine down from windows high above,
Burning moths, white wings singe against the light.
Old roses hang against the well worn walls
Amongst the darker tangle of the leaves,
Their blossoms gleaming as each petal falls,
While lovers sleep entranced in tender dreams,
Turning now and then throughout the long night,
Entwined and locked together by their limbs.
I stand below here, pierced and polarised.
The galaxies are singing psalms and hymns.
Seeing, I lose all sense of who I am.
I see a sky that’s full of shooting stars.

No wish I make can change our mortal fate.
It’s beautiful, it’s passing and it’s late.

 

 

Beach Fire

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

all week we gathered driftwood
following the storm
and dragged it to the yard
to dry out in the sun

i watched you racing children
jumping rock to rock
always sure-footed
you never made a slip

pied piper running,
Cheshire cat grin
always on the tide line
when the tide is coming in

the tides come in
the tides go out
sunset, moonlight, dawns
each day the wood is drying

we built the fire together
just beyond the waves
carefully constructed
encouraging the flame

we threw more wood on
as the light began to fall
we sat and watched the sun go down
a blazing golden ball

passing strangers watching
stood on the path above
they thronged like curious moths
you called them to the fire

they ask do we live here
they say how fortunate we are
you smiled and wandered off
always to the tide line

i watched you from afar
the waves rolled in
the waves rolled out
beneath the evening star