rain

Journey in Ancient Hills

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

This is a found poem. Found using two index pages from Welsh Folk Lore and Folk Customs by Thomas Gwynn Jones.

Journey in Ancient Hills 

The midwives pour milk and curd into wells,
with molten lead cures.
They bow to the moon,
mumbling magic.
The mountain hag is murdered
by trembling ghosts.

Naked infants, unknown,
with no names,
hear the night howl of dogs
predicting the omen days
of the one-eyed fish,
but no saviour remains.

Lost with my Otherworld lover,
we huddle with ravens
and brindled oxen
against the rain,
protected by trees
at the pre-historic hearth,
making offerings of pins and keys,
awaiting the reformation
and some incorruptible sign
of inseparable souls, at the last

The Oak

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where to go
when i am lost
i know i knew
it’s somewhere there,
beneath the oak

when the rain fell
though the leaves
i heard them splash
and felt refreshed,
shaded by tranquility

shelter still beneath the sun
green light filters
reaching branches high above
reaching always for the light

clear bright veins within the leaf
an open palm, resembling mine

November 5th ~ Fireworks

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this is the time when salmon leap
strong swimmers against the flow
reaching the calmer pools

it’s rained all day, softly falling
soaking my old worn coat
silencing all the birds

November trees stand stark and bare
black against flattened clouds
where sodden leaves cloak the paths

when evening falls
the children stand huddled
shining eyed, gripping sparklers
in safely gloved hands
tonight the world explodes
a riot of colour
glittering stars in the dark
rockets reach high
past the chimney pots
bursting in bright mandalas
they fizzle and fall to the earth
acrid smoke fills the cold air
lingers and hangs, long into night
awaiting the grey of tomorrow

the rain keeps on falling
flooding the rivers
soaking into the earth

this is the time to kindle the fires
replacing the summer sun
before the winter comes

Little Rainbow

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there’s a rainbow over the hill
in the distance
where I used to play music
with friends
under the trees, by a fire

do the trees remember me still
on quiet Sunday afternoons?

there is gold spilled on the ground,
between sunshine and gentle rain

 

Renewing Alice

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An ageing Alice sits in her room
Leading a simple life.
Her big adventures are done.

An ageing Alice sits in her room,
Her once pretty face losing its’ bloom.
This is the nature of time.

An ageing Alice sits in her room
Remembering, quietly smiling,
Making a note in her diary ~~~

”The Mad Hatter sees to the deeply crazed core,
The central heart of the matter.
When he dropped in today, escaping the rain,
I was thrilled and delighted to see him again

When you look at the world in a different way
There is wonder, adventure, in each new born day.
Mad, a bit sad, never bad,
He’s the dearest friend I ever had.

Next time it rains I hope he comes back.
He reminds me so much of something I lack.
It’s always good to have a long natter.
There is wisdom aplenty in tea time chatter.”

April Showers

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rainbow
high arching
rain on eyelashes

wind
whipping leaves
in a loop

blackbird
flies upward
singing the sky

puddle
reflects me
shimmers and shivers

you
a stranger
do not smile

rain
for you
obscured the sun

From Alice

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The Mad Hatter sees

to the deeply crazed core, the heart of the matter.

When he dropped in today , escaping the rain,

I was thrilled and delighted to see him again

 

When you look at the world in a different way

There is wonder, adventure, in each new born day

Mad, a bit sad, never bad

He’s the truest friend I ever had

 

Next time it rains I hope he comes back

He reminds me so much of something I lack

It’s always good to have a long natter

There is wisdom aplenty  in tea time chatter

 

 

 

 

Travellers

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From dolmen and hilltop in sunlight and rain
We travel the path as it opens again.
From mountain to ocean through woodland and glade
The way and the telling are already made.
The circle is whole and the pattern will grow
From time immemorial it’s always been so,
Sharing the joys of a journey that starts
In the melding of minds and the opening of hearts,
Recalling the magics that words cannot say
Finding the wending winds of the way
In the voyage of discovery we know who we are
As we follow the light of the mariners star

I will walk beside you as you walk beside me
Our story is the story that’s unbounded and free

Scorched Grass

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the grass my father cut that day
was parched and scorched
by burning sun

his ashes rest
beneath the roses now

the rain pours down
and bounces on the lawn
bending down the peony heads
and flattening the fern

the grass has grown again
will he?