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 Jun 2014 A Gouedard
Octavio Paz
Perhaps to love is to learn
to walk through this world.
To learn to be silent
like the oak and the linden of the fable.
To learn to see.
Your glance scattered seeds.
It planted a tree.
     I talk
because you shake its leaves.
 May 2014 A Gouedard
Tate Morgan
We received the news late one night
there was to be a special show
A broadcast from the Moon to the Earth
of what we had no way to know

I was a boy then nine years old
the Moon seemed exciting and cool
As each of the rockets took off
we would get to watch them in school

This time something was different
it was on Christmas eve that year
The pictures sent back from the moon
made it seem as if it were near

The commander then addressed us
showing pictures he called Earthrise
He began reading from Genesis
my mother wiped tears from her eyes

The viewers numbered in billions
for the first time we were all free
To hope and dream of a future
and the wonders of what may be

The whole of the Earth held their breath
for that moment in history
When we learned how it felt to say
every soul on Earth was like me

That was man's greatest achievement
not the landing upon the Moon
Planting the seeds of brotherhood
in fertile soil where they might bloom

That night the heavens echoed out
a cry that felt more like a plea
That shook the core of modern man
all the way to Antiquity


Tate
I remember that night as if it were yesterday. It was Christmas eve 1968. The missions to the Moon which originally were an attempt to beat the Russians. Turned out to be more than the sum of their parts. It was a great time to be an American. But on that night there were no nationalities. As we looked back upon that little blue marble in the vastness of space. I realized everyone who ever lived came from there. from Adam to Da vinci. The largest crowd in history watched in awe that night as Apollo 8 rounded the Moon. Then without a script the crew decided that they would read from Genesis. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day. Then from the mission commander came " From the crew of Apollo 8. We wish you all a Merry Christmas all of you on the good Earth." I had never seen an adult cry as my mother did. And on TV the members of Mission command were all in tears as well. As each and every one realized the enormity of what they were doing. Martin Luther King, Bobbie Kennedy and John F Kennedy had all been assassinated in that decade. The world seemed poised to tear itself apart. But for that brief moment something grander in the human spirit shook the world. It brought us back from the brink. It is hard to imagine now but they did all this with little more than a slide rule. I remember my great great grandmother who had been born in 1878 and was then 90 yrs old watching in absolute astonishment. As a boy at the time I remember we all studied math and science. We knew that was essential to passing the grade as an astronaut. To us the old idea of wanting to be a fireman or policeman was now for slackers. We wanted to be hero's. We watched fearless men who knew they were atop the worlds largest Roman Candle. Any one of which could in an instant become the tragic Titanic of the age. Most astronauts seemed not to fear anything or anyone. To a boy of nine they were the personification of the pioneering men who won the west. They lit the fuses of those candles and rose into the heavens. Taking the hopes and dreams of this little boy, all of his friends and the rest of humanity along with them for the ride. I have to admit the Americans know how to put on a show. Who else would take a four wheel drive golf cart to the moon to play golf?
This was mans finest hour! I was watching the history channel the other day. A World War two veteran and holder of the Congressional Medal of Honor was speaking about his latest talk to a high school. He said he was introduced by a high-school senior as being a veteran of World War Eleven. If this is the case we will never walk on the moon again in our lifetimes.
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 May 2014 A Gouedard
Tom Leveille
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic

i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents

you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door

sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor

i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips

i practice things i'll never say to you

i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl  swingset misses children

rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach

for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray

this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep

i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes

i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one

in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume

i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice

if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"

i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem

the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****

we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you

nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps

sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
 May 2014 A Gouedard
Sylvia Plath
the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight
 May 2014 A Gouedard
Lola
I'm sorry I loved you
So dreadfully whole,
And with the white-washed candidness of soul.

I'm sorry I loved you,
And that with everlasting breath:
I praised your song,
Sung, as if to the death.

I'm sorry I dared raise
All hope's expectations,
By reaching out a childish hand
To cold adult's gaze,
And thinking my love untrue -
Why else then, my innocence razed?

I trusted you.
Like God trusted man with Paradise.
I fell in love with you -
Your untainted beauty and miraculous eyes.

I'm sorry.

For youthful naivety,
I´m sorry.
For universal chord that ties us together,
And untied us forever,
I´m sorry.

For praying to a fallen God,
Loving a pig's gall and sod
Dreaming that from the clod and dirt
Of the earth's mud
A Prometheus of love returned might rise -
But rise the love did not
And child's heart was shot
And child's innocence did die
I'm sorry I loved you,
You with the miraculous eyes.

— The End —