28 November 2012

into the open light


if knowledge is the end that each must seek
through all the tangled forest of the text
it is no wonder that we are so vexed
on the occasion of a sharp critique
delivered in plain words only the meek
affect to listen though they are perplexed
since they have no real sense of what comes next
and no desire to let their hurt minds speak
while up above the hunter is alert
to every nuance of the changing breeze
eager to know what comes in scent or sight
since that one thing may help or may yet hurt
but either way must fall before it flees
and be dragged out into the open light

25 November 2012

conquest


so what disrupts requires that we select
with all due art the silver from the dross
taking no notice of what's on the boss
nor even caring truth must have effect
while each must go as their own hearts direct
with grant of knowledge given in the gloss
by those who count the plus side as a loss
for what we had is gone naught will connect
into the afternoon the buzzards plunge
upon the corpse of wisdom is their feast
where all is ended save the scent of dung
here is a sight that nothing could expunge
when hope and virtue have together ceased
and only curses rise from every tongue

18 November 2012

seeking the messenger


you make your vision plain in every word
the pulse of nature moving in full heat
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

nothing is clear all eyesight is quite blurred
the trip is over none will come to greet
you make your vision plain in every word

since on your tongue all truth has been conferred
but this hard fact we're made of bone and meat
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

proclaiming season's changes have recurred
but time is motion every year more fleet
you make your vision plain in every word

including those that we have not yet heard
break out of silence still our peace is sweet
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

to wake the morning and to cry absurd
notes of redemption for each empty street
you make your vision plain in every word
and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

09 November 2012

the one great morning


what we saw was the mountain not the road
and so mistook the task and were dismayed
but still plugged onward though we were afraid
each of us frightened bearing a great load
of doubt and sorrow though it might explode
the peak above us could only persuade
our simple hearts that we were half decayed
yet we  walked on with hope our one sharp goad
so what we did was make it the whole way
not without pause and not without much pain
since stubborn hearts refused all other choice
to look from summit at a brighter day
with backs all straightened once relieved of strain
and spirits freed to sing and to rejoice