19 December 2013

by the time it matters

wisdom is but sharp experience read
against the peal of years and given weight
still by the time it matters we are dead

so all your chiding some good thought has bred
within each mind before the hour turns late
wisdom is but sharp experience read

in the cold pages of the tale of dread
as drear hours pass until we reach the gate
still by the time it matters we are dead

and all good judgment given up and fled
since it is past all moment for debate
wisdom is but sharp experience read

as text to the dark music in each head
that echoes in deep tones against the slate
still by the time it matters we are dead

therefore avoiding all those who have fled
into the perils of a different state
wisdom is but sharp experience read

still by the time it matters we are dead

16 December 2013

some good word to say

our world turns all experience into test
just so we're measured each and every day
each purpose is the same to be the best

the angry and the ones who acquiesced
in the strict rules by which we willed to play
our world turns all experience into test

they said to us and we thought it a jest
until the last good choices went away
each purpose is the same to be the best

at this long game and not to be depressed
is what the teacher said and we were grey
our world turns all experience into test

with each achievement losing all its zest
once skill has turned it into just more play
each purpose is the same to be the best

so that is all the worth we may attest
while each of us has some good word to say
our world turns all experience into test

each purpose is the same to be the best

13 December 2013

the last short trip

so much is lost inside the space of dark
where what we see and hear is felt so hard
that when we tear or find the door is barred
to every vision and without a mark
we turn to go we hasten to embark
on one more journey while you stand on guard
with eyes close watching on the final yard
as all our choices now have come down stark
no names are mentioned in the frozen place
where all are sorted for the last short trip
out to oblivion yet there's a chance
that these sad agents of the human race
may for a moment get themselves a grip

so joining in the finest kind of dance

09 December 2013

no dark to hate

no matter what the peak arcs all descend
unto the earth from which they first arose
that's the most certain the most profound trend
even for one who best withstands the blows
of evil fortune or of cruel fate
falls to despair then rises to high state
no epoch should be measured by one rule
yet we insist that far beyond the cool
and shaded halls where measure has its sway
all things are governed by a simple tool
so each becomes the hero of their day

just past its height the moment seems to bend
with all the weight of ages that could close
cold time's long judgment that will never mend
either warm eyes or the dull hearts that froze
from lack of feeling or the heavy freight
of knowledge that would rise and not abate
from the bright ocean to the chiefly stool
while other wisdoms might in time unspool
we were not shown the truth but in one way
which was to lead us all back into school
so each becomes the hero of their day

there's nothing more on which we must depend
between the morning and the next repose
when all the hours will with clean music blend
so that our thoughts will come out sweeter prose
all of our motion take a smoother gait
while vision leave  us with no dark to hate
returning light finds each beside a pool
bright with our hopes and in the morning cool
though being clear and apt enough for play
we can be certain that none is a fool
so each becomes the hero of their day

we have been warned against the last misrule
of ancient dodderers sunk in their drool
their grimaces the doltish things they say
enough to know we're past this basic school

so each becomes the hero of their day

04 December 2013

at the woodland gate

partway along the path that all must tread
wrong turning taken in the dusk and muck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

so easy then to say that truth had fled
give up on life along with all my luck
partway along the path that all must tread

while many voices echo no words said
could quite convey how badly one was stuck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

darkness around the human world abed
so easy then the mortal form to shuck
partway along the path that all must tread

where none could scream from simple weight of dread
no light could come from passing car or truck
no hope to find the proper road ahead

the only message was you must fall dead
the world goes on no one will give a fuck
partway along the path that all must tread

no hope to find the proper road ahead

03 December 2013

war story

from mountains coloured by no faint regret
there's never pause to think we must be past
the urgent moment when we were beset

by what seemed armies that could not forget
the banner that was once seen on our mast
from mountains coloured by no faint regret

yet we must move to wait would be to fret
and patience is for those who have not passed
the urgent moment when we were beset

from every side but still would take the bet
against despair we could not be outclassed
from mountains coloured with no faint regret

each could discern what would not be upset
till beyond hope all pilgrims would hold fast
the urgent moment when we were beset

right at the point where all the roads had met
and journeys would have reached their end at last
from mountains coloured by no faint regret

the urgent moment when we were beset

30 November 2013

blame dull fate

where no one sits there’s no reason to wait
yet there are many who with sharp regard
look in the distance with eyes that are hard
to see what they can measure of the gait
or bearing of the folk whose heavy freight
will end like all things in the somber yard
together with the honest and disbarred
and all that we can do is blame dull fate
our vision does not fail yet when we glance
outside the window matters not so bold
will move us not to hope but unto ire
for what we know seems ruled by evil chance
while brilliant sunshine does nothing to cold

since long ago each chose to bank the fire

20 November 2013

hardly a storm

your choices come down fast to none at all
an echo of the truth is no reward
since none will hear you if you have to call

out through the darkness that shall swiftly fall
when hope and vengeance reach their first accord
your choices come down fast to none at all

a world once large has rapidly grown small
and all good options have gone by the board
since none will hear you if you have to call

so half the planet listens to this brawl
while all the others look away quite bored
your choices come down fast to none at all

you've lost the plot been cast beyond the wall
finding out now just what you had deplored
since none will hear you if you have to call

in utter silence you confront the squall
with all the energy you can afford
your choices come down fast to none at all

since none will hear you if you have to call

13 November 2013

uncertain of the cure

all that we know is measured in degrees
of silence or of truth that we declare
not loudly but most firmly into air
that has been purified by these dark trees
standing impassive in the midday breeze
while we afflicted by most reasoned fear
are not so hopeful that we’ll choose to dare
go through the woods to face the heat or freeze
no options are so good are purest chance
but all our wishes end up just as vain
as when we started so we must endure
let other figures enter in the dance
hope for the sun but buck up under rain

and face each ill uncertain of the cure

01 November 2013

dead leaves

dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain
their reds and yellows dull on the dark ground
so much of sorrow is already plain

to us who listen as the boughs complain
at the winds passage with a sighing sound
dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

are one more sign of life's passing campaign
against eternity this is one round
so much of sorrow is already plain

and we're the losers since we never gain
a single inch nor hope for a rebound
dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

are but the markers of our lost terrain
someone will come and heap them in a mound
so much of sorrow is already plain

it is reality nothing arcane
our normal vista not a thing profound
dead leaves piled up in the slow steady rain

so much of sorrow is already plain