trust

If Only

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

If we could, if we did,
If the time was right
If I understood all you said
If you had loved me more
If I had loved myself
If I had listened to you
If you had trusted me
If it had all been different
If only

If only the fates hadn’t conspired
and left us no choice and no power
we’d be somewhere else
not ourselves at all
and would that be better for us?
who can tell?
when I think of all that
it like hell
and no heaven in reach
only circles
they go round and round on themselves

If only
If wishes were horses we’d ride them
across the far planes
out to the wide shore
the landscape of all that’s possible
with no hill too high
like free birds we would rise up and sore
If only we could decide what’s best

If only – a phrase I despise
I’d rather live in the moment
and make an attempt to be wise
and learn from where we have been

Who am I today?

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I have a sense of purpose
and the power to get things done.
I face the opposition,
fast thinking on my feet.
A fool might hesitate.
I’m only seeking happiness,
that’s all I really want,
and so I take the plunge again
into deeper life.
Turbulent emotions
stir the muddied waters.
Intemperate behaviour
can only hold me back.
Trust can be deceptive.
Instinctive moves are strong.
Moonlight pierces darkness.
All is clear and bright.
Patience and compassion
are the watchwords of the night.
My heart is always brave
when the time of movement comes,
and in the time of changes,
help is close at hand.
When considering my options
I take the straighter path,
remembering tradition;
the tried and tested ways.
I look into a mirror
and meet the Hierophant.

Trust

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

Sitting beside her hospital bed,
Holding her hand as she sleeps,
I close my eyes for a moment,
Tired. Only tired.
Nothing keeps.

I must look as if I am praying.
I wonder if I should,
But before I frame the words,
The answer makes itself heard.

It’s up there, in the title.
It’s the magical word.
I know it.
I hear it all the time.

I submit. I accept.
I bow low.
I follow the path of the flow.

To Lizzie (when we were eight)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I remember you little girl,
I remember you so well,
(still with a smile in my eyes)
and our home in the hidden hedgerow
and your pink tray with painted roses
you’d dragged from a tangled ditch
and scrubbed clean as a whistle
to serve me tea, one day, long ago,
when i returned from my wandering hunt
in the unfenced, treasure filled hills.

I remember your bouncing braids
as you ran and skipped on ahead,
to the shade of the bluebell woods.
I remember your chapped lips,
dry, from long summers suns;
the lips that i kissed so chastely
and thought it a daring deed
that I waited for days to repeat,
knowing you wanted me
to practice more kisses in play.

my princess of summer meadows,
my princess of virginal snows,
my princess of warm rains and ice,
my princess of the beckoning
who thought she was only a girl

we knew how to savour life
we knew how to live for one day,
and never for yesterday.
we only wished our tomorrow
to be the same as today,
in the simple trust that it would.
now, i remember you, little girl,
i wish that it always was

Mad Hatters Lune

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

what’s the fuss about?
we’re crazy!
you want to be sane?

i’m not changing hats
or my heart
so come on Alice

let’s make a party
come and dance
while the night is here

don’t wake the sleepers
don’t trust them
they might wreck our dreams

Little Peace

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

with a double-ended stick
chance pokes at me
right off the chart
right off the map
can i be blamed
for not trusting that,
when it can shatter my world?

frying pan; liar
true-teller; fire
just about sums it up

why should it be, that in telling the truth,
the people that mean the most to me
are the ones that trust me the least?

protecting themselves
from the beast
i suppose
and who can blame them
for that

shackled by earth
from the day of my birth
my mind has done battle
to keep my heart free
a life-sentenced prisoner
i long for release
or a little grace-given peace

Empty Houses

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I leaned by a wall in the hallway
dressed in a hat and a coat
with a place to go I cared nothing for
when after his death we moved out

the thought of the way an empty house echoes
after the packing cases are gone
never fails to move me or bring  tears
it reminds me only of death

a hollow sound and an empty heart
if we had settled down after that
I might have gained more trust in the world
where only death is sure

it was after that I started to sleep walk
I have been sleep walking around that house
for years, in a world where I always move on
until death and the final box

Thinking

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the complications of the heart are so many
as complex as the veins that carry our blood
i am no cardiac surgeon to feel your delicate pulse
but i feel my own heart beat and my aorta throb
there are times when it hurts and i don’t know why
there are times when i know every cause

some words cause my blood to pound
my head to spin and my arteries swell
though they are small words in themselves
words that perhaps meant little to you
said in some casual off-hand way
you don’t see the surge on the line

i will ingest yet another tablet
that will take care of that, i hope
but my brain needs greater attention
it’s harder to tell what goes on in there
it’s not just the moment that matters
it has all those memories, stored too well

i could go with my guts of course
base animal instinct and insight
the one that makes our hair stand on end
it’s as strong as the sense of smell
it’s the one that sees through it all
but then i would have to trust

walking cures many things
it’s good for your health
it clarifies thought
or retreats from a bad situation
but it brings you home again
i have always trusted my feet

The Wound

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

I have a horse I trust and rely on
I feed him, groom him, love him.
I stroke him, he nuzzles my ear.
My heart is gladdened when i see him
When i approach he comes without call.
We move as one in the wind
In a harmonious motion and rhythm
To ride him is pleasure and joy

If he were a wild cat trapped in a corner,
Or a scorpion entering my tent at night,
I would not feel this trust and calmness,
No affection would shine in my glance.
I might expect to sustain a wound,
A wound that might even be mortal.
But my horse is not a cat or a scorpion,
He is my friend and companion.

So the wound from my beautiful horse,
When he suddenly turned and kicked me,
Hurt more than scorpions’ sting or tiger claw.
I don’t know where this blow sprang from,
Some hurt of his own perhaps.
Now we look at each other a little askance
And I wonder how to approach him again.
I only know I must heal this

This healing is bound with my love of him
But my wound is still open and sore.
An enemy is expected to hurt us
We guard against the attack
But when a creature cherished and loved
Gives the blow and the hurt
This wound ploughs a furrow far deeper
It strikes straight and strong to the heart.