windows

We Can Dream in the Dark

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Some people share joy, some spread defeat,
By placing small obstacles under our feet.
Any small weapon for them will suffice,
Any device that comes to their hand
Will be used with full force when they can.
I’m flat on my back, stunned, on the floor,
but I too have a weapon, I dream in the dark,
so I’ve turned off the lights and opened the door.

Putting guards on our the windows shuts everyone out
And that’s never been what this house is about

Words have been spoken that filled me with doubt,
Thoughts have been scattered and tumbled about,
They crept round our building dispelling delight.
The carpet was swept from right under our feet,
So I stare at the ceiling and wonder all night
What we ever did to cause such dislike.

Putting guards on our the windows shuts everyone out
And that’s never been what this house is about

Act what you say,
Say what you act,
Say to our face
What you say to our backs.
We will still party,
Despite your attacks.
If the cap fits wear it.
We know how you are.

Putting guards on our the windows shuts everyone out.
That’s never been what this house is about

After the Storm

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

A storm was above and the wind was intense,
Rattling resistant windows,
It battered against the glass,
Salt patina crazed, obscuring the view.
The sea wall boomed, a dark drum.

The rocks, veiled by mussel shell
Opening wide to the tide,
Lay hidden beneath the wild surface
Of broiling and tumbling water
Turned in a pool of cross currents

The fog horn sang out
Above the deep throated echo of sirens
Who lure sailing men to their sea graves.
The tides of the turn leave us debris,
Strange treasures with rope and mast beams,

Blue glass rolled smooth by long tides,
Smashed shells and well polished pebbles.
Fragments of cuttlefish bone.
After the storm we gather them home
To make decorative frames for our mirrors

All our mirrors face out to the ocean.
Wind chimes of shells hang in the light.
Cuttlefish carved into faces unknown
Hang from blue string on our walls.
The storm did no damage at all.

 

 

Captive Carer

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i see the streets from big wide windows

i wouldn’t cage a wild bird

i see the magpies perched

on nearby roofs and chimney tops

 

i haven’t left the house for months

except for weekly hurried visits

to the bank and back again

to pay the hired help who come

for one lone hour a week and leave

 

i look up maps of nearby woods

woods to which i cannot go

i have started planting trees

within the sheltered garden walls

i see the rolling hills so distant

the snow will come to cover all

the winter nights are drawing in