path

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

What is

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The names of the paths are these;

‘What was and is gone’,

‘What may or may not be’,

‘That which should have been, but isn’t’

Or ‘should not be’ and ‘I wish’

 

I have travelled them all in the past

Now I travel the path of ‘what is’

That is the path that runs straight ahead

Step by step, I follow,

Whether I run or walk

Or sit on the verge and dream

It leads only to that which will be.

 

The Dreaming Path ~ a poem

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Entering this fantasy
Leave not the Grove
That is my home.
However far
You may roam
Walk straight ahead
To find me.
Let no dragon,
though he be fierce,
Bar you from this vision.

Ignore the bridge
That is not mine.
Turn right
Onto a dreaming path
Where woodlands grow
In beauty.
Walk on
Along the river bank.
The way across
Is secret.
Travel
In the midnight hour
To better see
The lighted way.

See the heavens
Crystal shine
Across the dreaming river
Where currents flow
In silence
And sunset glows
Forever.
You have the key
Inside your heart
The waters will not part us.

Old Love

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

there was no need of explanations

when all was accepted and understood

 

sunlight filled the clearing

a path of soft grass

lead through the wood

the rapids on the river

a source of delight,

exhilaration, excitement

the boat spinning and whirling

a reason for laughter

as we clung closer

what cared we for danger

when in evening we returned

to sit warmly wrapped

at the fireside, together

 

the paths have become hidden

overgrown with bramble and thorn

twisting back on themselves

the Prince in the fairytale

hacks with his sword

to find his way through

to the sleeping Princess

who waits alone, for a kiss,

only a kiss and a promise,

in stories he is never exhausted

you don’t hear tales of his scars

he always succeeds

what a miracle worker he is

what a wonder to behold

astride his white horse

shining in silver armour

despite the darkness

 

there is a path where the rich scent

of old fallen leaves fills the air

the banks of this path are cut deeply

amongst the roots of the ancient trees

they hold the path, embraced,

they are not there to trip us

but to keep the way open ahead

the road is old and worn

 

Five Haiku to start five stories

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

a girl surrounded by fairy wings
sees what others don’t see
the gate stands open

 

guarded by ravens
the tower stands in the forest
twigs snap in the dark

 

a man hurried past
his breathing heavy
shadows obscure the path

 

the bus is surrounded
bright eyed boys in the dusk
starlings flock to the rooftops

 

after a hot day

silver crack on the horizon

a line in the dark

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

The Queen of the Greenwood (a Corona)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i sit by the fire in the woodland
all is peace, gentle, quiet, dear,
yet my heart rises to my throat
rises like a spring, a songbird
wings beating, bursting
the well is deep, the moment fleeting
my pulse like water singing
drumming, humming
all fades away on the breeze
even as its golden light glows
shining out in the darkness
known, yet unknown.

home is her, and now.
it comes, it goes, the rose

it comes, it goes, the rose
the wild rose of the woodland
i run, trying to reach it
eagerness grasps only thorns
no perfume, no tender pink heart
better admired where it grows
soft petals shine out in the dark
dark trees loom all around
lost or found it blooms there
where is she in all i seek
she who holds the rose
why does she always leave

turning always to look back at me
she comes, she goes, holding the rose

she comes, she goes, holding the rose
i saw her up on the green hill
weaving in and out of the dance
i bow to her and take her hand
spin her, never win her
that wild, unruly, so gentle glance
as she turns and runs away
always looking back at me
always a footfall further
she haunts me still, never stays
she of the hill and the greenwood
where the paths all lead inward

deeper and ever deeper
into the wood i travel, willingly

into the wood i travel, willingly
this forest so wide and vast
these paths turn on fortunes wheel
darkness and light
all things future, all things past
shadows and clearings
silence and voices
a harp song on the wind
flute and owl hoot
the flash of a birds wing
in the night
i follow the ravens flight

i follow the Raven to the Tower
the gate is locked and barred

the gate is locked and barred
all is empty here
a hollow echo from before
i will not venture in
i stand and feel no fear
the Tower crumbles all to dust
i lay down my ancient sword
my armour turns to rust
my horse is faithful still
i trust to him and the Raven
i will follow his path
it is my own at last

all travellers have a quest
we ride on, finding the way

we ride on to once upon a time
over the hills and far away
where all paths twist back on themselves
always to the greenwood
the distant rainbows end
the treasure at its heart
the place where the rose unfolds
i dream amongst the trees
unafraid of any foe
guarded by a wall of thorns
protected in her circling arms
where all my dreams come true

i will travel on with her
wherever she may go

wherever she goes i will go
i follow in the dance
my pulse like water singing
she of the hill and the greenwood
queen of the shadows and clearings
my armour gleams again
i will be her hero
until my breath gives out
guarded by twisted paths
we rest in peace, with the rose
over the hills and far away
where time will never end

*******

 

a Corona is a series of sonnets strung together by the repetition of a line