wise

Homespun Twaddle

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

a fae should never wear feathers
they would float much too far off the ground
they’d soon blow away and might not get back
that’s what the old wives say

*****

don’t drag people down rabbit holes
until you’ve been there and back by yourself

*****

meddling with magic has unforeseen results
thinking you’re clever is the act of a fool
wizards and chess masters think they see all
but they have no control of the stars

*****

if you live in stone houses
don’t cast the first glass
we are all far too fragile for that
looking tough never works
when you’re shattered
false dignity makes it worse

*****

I am not wise
I’m an idiot
So I never bother with fools

Fools!

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

the subtle changes of seasons
repeat and repeat
as they always have done
the wind and the rain
the storm and the sun
returning again and again

i notice each flower that grows
each new sapling that quickens
each ancient tree that sickens
so much is happening,
so much that threatens
this turning circle of life

i don’t understand the reasons
treachery thickens
the world’s full of war
and while we’re distracted
by power and strife
nobody works together
to care for these most precious things

nothing is ever foreseen
by those who claim to be wise
they cover confusion with lies
they don’t look to the future
they don’t look behind
while they squabble
the world turns to havoc
and dies

if i looked down from above
if i looked down from the stars
if i looked with no love
I’d laugh

The Opinion of the Dormouse

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

This interminable tea party is terribly boring.

We’ve moved round this table for years.

I’m not asleep, I’m listening and snoring.

I have excellent ears.

 

The Hatter was always so gloomy before.

Since Alice came here he isn’t the same

He seems to like chatting very much more

I’ve heard him whisper her name.

 

He still goes on drinking

Cups of cold tea

But I know what he’s thinking.

It’s not about me.

 

He’s never asked me which cake I prefer.

We have all her favourites each day.

He even taught her how to quadrille.

He summoned musicians to play.

 

Banana cake’s banned.

Alice dislikes it.

The birds eat cake from her hand.

She passed me a nice bit today.

 

They all love sweet Alice,

Even silly March Hare.

There are threats everyday from the palace

But Hatter and Hare, being mad, never care.

 

I know Hatter’s thinking she’s young and naïve,

But I think he’ll have a surprise.

All will be well if she doesn’t leave.

Alice is curiously wise.

A Minstrels Art

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

To the tune of Midnight, performed by Loreena Vacano on Archlute

 
fortune favours those who strive
in darkness still to see the light
always keeping hope alive
as they journey on the path

though our troubles bring us pain
causing hurt and leaving scars
in time our hearts will heal again
when love is there to make us wise

not in judgement, nor in strife
will we find our perfect dance
with heartstrings tuned we play our song
bringing notes both sweet and strong
that reverberate in harmony to life

all is lovely, all is joy
as we turn and slowly spin
in life’s repeating endless dance
threading out and turning in
spinning dreams and mending all your hearts

 

 

Go Gently

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

 

Go gentle, gentle, into that good night

Old age brings acceptance of this last fate

Fly, fly to the beckoning, golden light

 

All seasons will end by pre-ordained right

The wise men know that when the hour is late

Their soul will take leave for eternal light

 

Good men do not fear the long, deep dark night.

Do not rage, sadly berating your fate,

Go gentle and rest, return to the light

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

Will sing in their dreams with no wish to wait

They will fly swiftly, to shining, bright light

 

Grave men will ponder the beauty of night

They will pray tenderly, knowing their fate,

Remembering all that was loving, bright

 

And you my father,  in that blessed night

Look upon me, with no sadness, and wait

I will not rage at the death of the light

I will go gentle into that good night

 

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(sorry Mr Thomas – you know this means no disrespect – you are my favourite poet after Shakespeare – and I will pray for you often)