always needful

Words never matter
say our politicians
since theirs are empty;

to nourish the heart
we need poems and stories
from each fresh spirit.

All revolutions
begin with clear honest words
challenging silence.

murmur name upon name

as voices break through calms that are too deep
the echoes of the silence fill our hearts
after a time of errors and false starts
the door has opened and we have to weep
for all the things that from the dark do creep
entities of such broken and dull parts
that we cannot restore them by true arts
our healing powers have all gone back to sleep
never before have we desired the night
not to depart but neither to remain
a moment of transition that would stay
until we find out how to set all right
neither our sorrow nor our joy restrain
and once again remember how to play

verb sap

we have to be but each word has to mean
something to others something we can share
so that they'll listen in the open square
or while they picnic on the public green
words must contain a lot more than a sheen
of clarity in the fresh morning air
we have to think and we have to compare
each actor on the stage each acted scene
for truth and honesty require debate
so that we all may see things in our heads
and not be worried about every fact
lies and evasions properly should grate
even those sluggards hiding in their beds
and verity should show itself intact

fury and mire

beyond these hills are more hills and the sea
life is the same as well on other shores
the same green plants born of similar spores
the same cool shade under the morning tree
we watch the folk as they go out to spree
knowing at night we'd hear the same old snores
and morning brings the same settling of scores
all that we are is what we've sought to be
under each skin the same beating of blood
through the same veins and by similar art
the same sharp intake of astonished breath
all of these matters easy understood
take no account of every different heart
nor of the unity that comes with death

Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn

we know that love remains the only law
our chances for survival are so clear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

from time to time the card that we may draw
will not depress but will our moment cheer
we know that love remains the only law

though fate awaits our feet with open maw
we are not given more than we should bear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

we test the boundaries and find no flaw
and still we find the enemy is near
we know that love remains the only law

the happy stallion sleeps on the straw
and knows that we have always held him dear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

the truest weapon is the living jaw
and none as vital ever will appear
we know that love remains the only law
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

the eternal game

we have to choose between dragon or rat
between a fiery and a gnawing fate
by honest judgment or plain estimate

only a fool declares the world is flat
one who feels comfort in unearned estate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

the loser's always taken to the mat
we know this clearly and without debate
the impost falls and we must pay the rate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

sleep desired

there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke
to mark the spot for those who would be bold
there is a factory where fire turns cold

so we discover how to play or fold
what once seemed magical is now a joke
there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke

cul-de-sac

a simple sort of answer may suffice
for ordinary uses but right here
it's not nearly enough we're now too near
the borderlands of danger to be nice
we dare not speak of piquancy or spice
when all too soon a body on its bier
announces that there is a charge too dear
and some young fellow has to pay the price
lies glibly told may rapidly excite
the foolish sort to go out and enlist
but when they do they find the duty hard
we came to cheer the ones who youthful bright
went out and fought not thinking they'd be missed
and now the peaceful road of life is barred

a perfect moment

the lights received at this noonday angle
auriferous leaves and these silver trees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

we might with craft some of this peace wangle
listening to the drone of summer bees
the lights received at this noonday angle

avoiding all struggle fuss and brangle
to rise above the ones now on their knees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

in calm heat we hope that fruit will dangle
within our reach such courtesy would please
the lights received at this noonday angle

rushing through short life what we might mangle
are all the messages brought by the breeze
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

the withes and vines will not the soul entangle
we pass through friendly nature at our ease
the lights received at this noonday angle
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

no mystic realms

on edge of vision something not of light
nor of the darkness breeding in the thought
an image that was neither made nor caught
that we imagine just may come in sight
the rules require that everything be right
not just because we have been trained and taught
but to secure all that for which we fought
and thus ensure that we may soon requite
the pains that we endured for all these years
of waiting for the change that would not come
while others climbed the hill and found the way
past anger and the blinding salt of tears
to see the greatest enemies struck dumb
on seeing what is just a normal day

only eight miles

the road that plunges deeper through the dark
leads to no mysteries just other homes
and in the end to where the sea just foams
on shores where fading pirates left their mark
great worlds collide in what is not a park
but where the hungry child or poet roams
or where the mermaid her soft hair now combs
and yet we went there only on a lark
earth's curve hides from us more than just a tale
of who we are or were and where we've been
the past is never past but we forget
the force of sunlight and the angry gale
the image of some awful monstruous grin
and deviate from the stern purpose set
we laughing will tramp forward on a bet
without regard for the sad empty wail
of spirits that must take it on the chin
uncertain now of just what we might get
as in the distance we see the last sail
and right behind us people bob and spin
truth comes and goes when we here speak of art
the setting sun sends arrows through the heart

time has been

a voice arises from the brazen head
speaking of time and of a coming end
under the sudden wind all branches bend
we cannot tell the living from the dead
cracks in the metal swiftly seem to spread
there's no one here to cry nor to defend
nor yet explain what all these things portend
from bakery shelves now vanishes the bread
and yet the storm we fear has not yet come
we think that we are still allowed some choice
from this lowly place we may rise higher
the head repeats and we are all struck dumb
our breath is silenced by the might voice
and all our lights now lose their honest fire

time sliced in summer

small summer moments
flashes of gold in forest
restoring balance

frog hopping on lawn
tiny brown creature on green
let it be happy

green insect crawling
across the driveway goes on
to hide in the lawn

promise of rain

there are some truths we know deep in the bone
that we find out are really not quite true
there's nothing really awful in the view
but suddenly we're fearful and alone
machinery provides a steady drone
to silence voices of the angry crew
each longs for sunlight sparkling in the dew
when we were young and fear was an unknown
the hero's not the one who does great deeds
but one who does their job day after day
ignoring all the weather every cloud
comes here in answer to our deepest needs
whether or not we choose to beg and pray
and all comes swiftly and now very loud

much too early

a moment passes and the light will change
we see the pinkish colour slowly fade
in the mid-distance the morning parade
continues all commuters to derange
what stays the same and what will one day change
are matters that should make us all afraid
even the ones who know they'll make the grade
fear moments when the stable becomes strange
the deepest heat fades swiftly to the past
we turn to duty and to common task
and wait for footsteps coming down the hall
your wants are simple but respite won't last
you make demands and get just what you ask
but never invitations to the ball

the last mango tree

slaves built the road we think this as we pass
feet weary as so many feet before
the silent generations under grass

a woman passes smoking on an ass
she's heading towards a most welcome door
slaves built the road we think this as we pass

reaching the church too early for low mass
we pass on by wondering at the score
the silent generations under grass

too many here would harry or harass
any who dared ask for just a little more
slaves built the road we think this as we pass

too many years of blending race and class
have left the good folk sad and all too sore
the silent generations under grass

all is distorted memory's no glass
to see or to reflect on all this lore
slaves built the road we think this as we pass
the silent generations under grass

grown up

no simple set of words could now relate
what we have learned and what all of it means
our thoughts and hopes aren't worth a hill of beans
and all our anguish seems to come too late
the things that most we want we here debate
as if we were no more than little weans
playacting all the time as kings and queens
subjected to no laws save those of fate
the limits of our day are not so clear
that we can't moan and chatter as they come
just knowing that too soon we mount the train
for now we walk about and take the air
hoping that things will not add to the sum
and we may dance and play before the rain

hampton square

honest the voice that speaks of gentle light
beyond the trees are merely other folk
like me like us they bend under the yoke
we are all caught in the same human plight
rules change when they are kept out of our sight
all of our hope turns into thinnest smoke
and we are not the ones who see the joke
revolving earth turns every day to night
old houses standing in foreign places
that once we saw as safety and as home
do those who live in them still remember
not only form and feature of our faces
but why we had to up our stakes and roam
from summer up to constant november

music while i work

electrons turn to sound and bring release
from solemn duty turned into a game
distant but living we observe the flame

the arts of joy aren't always arts of peace
experience instructs to avoid blame
electrons turn to sound and bring release

from obligations there must come some ease
we fit the needed parts into the frame
declare an end and give desire a name
electrons turn to sound and bring release

transformation

no word escapes to tell just what began
when mountains fell and order was restored
truth is no longer under any ban
no word escapes to tell just what began

each actor in this play woman or man
knows that the story depends on a sword
no word escapes to tell just what began
when mountains fell and freedom was restored

we asked a single man to be our lord
yet he refused and swore by the great tree
that he all power and lordship abhorred
we asked a single man to be our lord

what was required has now gone by the board
we reach the points that we once could not see
we asked a single man to be our lord
yet he refused and swore by the great tree

the price we paid requires that we be free
to see the newer higher mountains rise
the world that we desire will one day be
the price we paid requires that we be free

to no lord shall we henceforth bend the knee
a fact that came as an immense surprise
the price we paid requires that we be free
to see the newer higher mountains rise

another light now enters through our eyes
another river where a dead one ran
truth puts an end to all the easy lies
another light now enters through our eyes

we leave behind the sorrow and the sighs
our vision's focused on the coming span
another light now enters through our eyes
another river where a dead one ran

miles from malvern

we know the upward road has many turns
no one who sees the mountain would have doubt
there is no easy movement in or out
no bridges cross the many little burns
the one who works is also one who yearns
to cross the ridge and give a mighty shout
looking at the new vistas thereabout
he understands who such small things discerns
each milestone tells a story that's well known
about the ones who passed this way before
and paused a moment to admire the view
the world lies open to its very bone
we have so much and yet still seek for more
what may be old for each is always new

Turning 51

For what we are, for all the debts we owe,
we pay the bills, and the payment comes slow.

A million memories on each heart batter,
the world we have is never once the same;
we live with meanings hidden in the chatter.

On certain days, the sycophants will flatter
but they won't ever want to take the blame;
a million memories on each heart batter.

Earth passes round the sun and we get fatter,
age gives us plain excuse for present shame;
we live with meanings hidden in the chatter.

The truths that we have learned will one day shatter,
and we shall be extinguished with the flame --
a million memories on each heart batter.

Tomorrow we will think of the mad hatter
and all he said to the young future dame:
we live with meanings hidden in the chatter.

We think that what we do will surely matter
that life's much more than a most subtle game.
A million memories on each heart batter,
we live with meanings hidden in the chatter

.

Blog commentary

Pseudonymous fools develop fits of pique
when first confronted with a straight critique;
all that then follows, in their twisted sight,
is further evidence of their sad plight.
So to blame those who merely took the mickey
for stupid slurs, sure indicates a thicky.
We aren't surprised that falsehoods they retail
in tones that signify moronic wail,
they hope the reader will lack common sense
and fall in line with their silly pretense.
We aren't supposed to think, merely agree
while they of fact and courtesy are free;
with idiotic threat they seek to cow
any who won't to their slight wisdom bow.

great expectations

waiting for thunder
a long summer afternoon
hope meets with desire

soon we face the fire
knowing the rain must soon come
echoes of wisdom

all hearts are now numb
truth resounds in our old minds
wisest of desires

more alarms

our task is simple witnessing the past
and bearing word to those who are to come
that's the whole purpose the magical sum
of functions into which we have been cast
to keep the future people from the blast
of bomb and cannon and the angry drum
instead they have the apple and the plum
signs of a hope that shall for long time last
news that we hear is always of more woe
than we can comprehend in our short lives
and so we stop our ears to halt the sound
i think it safer that we all should know
the dangers from the guns and from the knives
the better to protect our bits of ground

admonition

let every one of us who means to speak
not fear the coming of the daily light
for it's enough to be demure and meek
but not to show that you can still feel fright
the options that we have are not so bright
but in the end we come to understand
we can't just operate on straight command

the rules apply to both the strong and weak
it isn't that the power comes as of right
the one who vanishes is not a freak
but gifted with extraordinary sight
knowing just when to come in proper might
what matters then is what we have to hand
who cares a hoot if it is sharp or bland

who comes to us we might not ever seek
and that is the full measure of our plight
without real help we would be up the creek
trapped in a sort of never-ending night
although we know that symbol is so trite
we're yet obliged to follow when the band
strikes up and passes the reviewing stand

a sort of punishment

fill up the bucket and don't spare the time
each of us needs to work and then to rest
we see and so we fear the coming test
all of our memories have turned to slime
what's now forgotten is the steady climb
which we began with energy and zest
knowing our purpose certain in our quest
but now it seems an awful sort of crime
there's a long walk from home down to river
and back again up the slow weary hill
but we must make it to assuage the thirst
a memory alone would make us shiver
knowing that soon will come the urgent bill
so we shall drink the water till we burst

an absence

each day we wonder at the sky
and think that it may never rain
we see the clouds go scudding by
each day we wonder at the sky

no reason's left for us to try
what we can see is not so plain
each day we wonder at the sky
and think that it may never rain

requiring courage

what's left of this belief that we admire
is not the claim of any noble worth
for all that we know is fixed to the earth
finding reality goes no higher
understanding matter from star to mire
provides us with both gravity and mirth
death is a miracle as much as birth
the alpha and omega are both fire
within the turning sphere that we perceive
are all the things that we could ever need
and all the worlds that we would want to see
we can't make a thing true if we believe
for what we wish is nothing more than greed
our only choices are become or be

Profit before people

The poor don't count, we buy them at bulk rate
and they are grateful for a mouldy crust
dropped in the gutter, they're lower than dust
and should when we can do it be shipped freight.
It's not that we these humble beings hate
but that our swords unblooded sit and rust
and there's no outlet for our great bloodlust,
so we just slaughter them and call it fate.
Our enemy was a mere petty despot
who quaked whenever he heard our swift planes,
but it was easy on him to pin a crime.
So now poor folk are dying out in Mespot
in order that our glory never wanes
and we preserve our greatness for all time.

The masters speak

There is one rule that we must here obey
to win the prize and let our spirits fly
above the common sort beneath our sky,
the ones on whom we the more lucky prey.
They are our food, we can't just let them stray
over the earth. We'd just be getting by
when we should be above them, soaring high
and clouding their most ordinary day.
Otherwise, from all fetters we are free
to lie like deviant angels while the sons
and daughters of the people merely weep
as on each solemn grave they plant a tree.
We are the noblest sort, for we're the ones
who fly in comfort while the many creep.

an ancient terror

a lion roaring in the sultry night
produces fears that we had long forgot
fears of inhabiting a tiny plot
of having a huge mouth as final sight
of dying first of a gigantic fright
and being left on the hot plain to rot
in some remote and swift-forgotten spot
an echo of some early mortal plight
who dares to struggle knows that he may lose
but still insists on facing down the foe
for honour's sake not for the noble strife
we place our feet in such a great one's shoes
driven by just an urge to feel and know
whatever purpose there might be in life

no one exists alone

meaning is not inherent in the sound
we understand much more than we can say
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

there's nothing here that you would not propound
the journey's less important than the way
meaning is not inherent in the sound

the tallest mountain's no more than a mound
which we may cross at any time of day
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

the truth is neither simple nor profound
we are not ones who in this place may stay
meaning is not inherent in the sound

we may not look at what is left around
unless from the straight path we mean to stray
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

nothing remains that will the few astound
who come to work and halt a while to play
meaning is not inherent in the sound
each of us holds a tiny plot of ground

seeing it through

we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake
a truth well told must satisfy the heart
the rule requires that we must play our part

we aren't allowed more than an honest shake
and will be penalised for each false start
we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake

each brittle human soul must in time flake
we fade away because we play our part
we slowly vanish from the old sea chart
we can't avoid the fluff or the mistake

in the mirror

where there are echoes we may not assume
that they come only from a distant place
we have no power to understand or trace
what happens in the world beyond this room
we strive to grasp it all the whole the cume
of knowledge that we hide behind each face
in fear that the alternative's disgrace
when the plane passes there is a loud boom
now what we are is little more than part
of the great story but for us the fact
that we are here is what really matters
survival is our purpose and our art
we say this honestly and without tact
for a dark power at the front door batters

Intelligence report

I know the secrets and I may not tell
you what I know, for fear that alien eyes
connect the dots to fact from pure surmise.
The penalty for speaking is pure hell;
we must keep silence, enemies repel,
lest our great acts the multitude despise.
Facts are protected with a guard of lies;
I speak no truths, they have muffled my bell.
No one who speaks, I say, can truly know
all that we understand about those folk.
I speak with kindness, I could not be cruel
but nothing I can say could make things go
any better. The fear of foreign yoke
requires that on the fire we cast more fuel.

the sun for sorrow

a glooming peace and not a happy calm
hold us in place and keep us from our rest
there's never been such a deep lack of zest
nor absence here of any sort of balm
we act we think despite judicious qualm
to face the world as if a constant test
giving each time only what we give best
and singing to ourselves a cheerful psalm
debate and war are not about to cast
our pleasures and our wishes into dust
but under the grim sky we think they could
all of our truths are consigned to the past
we are required and therefore think we must
achieve just what our fathers said they would

tasks of interpretation

i see the symbols and their presence praise
the need to comprehend what's clearly art
for those whose task is just to play a part
in guiding us out of this complex maze
we cannot count the tiring hours and days
through which our philistine heroes must dart
to bury spear points in the hopeful heart
and keep the worthy victor from the bays
harsh myrtle-berries with their pungent taste
remind us most of all of changing times
requiring that our minds be most acute
there's never need for any excess haste
the rates are calculated for the climes
and do not threaten anyone's repute

staring at books

in all these words with all their basic sense
we find no heart no love and little hope
they tell us just enough for us to cope

we're used to falsely sitting on the fence
keeping our balance by shortness of rope
in all these words with all their basic sense

the weight of thought is almost black-hole dense
we cannot ever climb the gentle slope
at least that is the most apparent trope
in all these words with all their basic sense

eros and dust

What warms the body still may freeze the soul,
what soothes the ear may be rough to the hand,
we aren't surprised to find the real thing bland
for showy leaves may hide a flimsy bole.
The point, it seems, is not to praise the whole
mass of those things we've come to understand;
instead we seek to excite that hottest gland,
the one that rules us all from head to sole.
Not what you think, the one that will respond
to clean cut body or to pleasing form
of well-made muscles or of round behind.
The organ is the one we have least conned
but which, well-comprehended sets the norm
less of the body and much more of the mind.

on the contested border

a moment more and then we find the bone
worn down by weather but we still descry
that once it held a human body high
now it lies on the dirt sad and alone
waiting for someone to polish and hone
whose it was we shall neither know nor pry
this sober element that was a thigh
sharp as a tooth and one with every stone
the places we can hide it are but few
memories now fade of what it once had been
but it remains under the dripping pine
only an accident brings it to view
and it lies there obvious and obscene
not a dramatic warning nor a sign

extraterrestrial

seeing mount fuji
means nothing to a martian
still do we praise it

thus spake zarathustra

sweltering beneath the maples
there's not fleeing this great fire
we still don't lack basics and staples
but we're filled with heat and ire

rules were made and now are broken
hope was born and now has died
we have got only a token
but we know our leader lied

now we have to make the payment
when we have no ready cash
we have torn and smeared our raiment
waiting for the coming crash

all the birds of prey are waiting
for our great final fatal fall
all the while they are debating
if our taste will cloy and pall

messages sing down the wires
while the vermin sit and wait
proving that we all were liars
but that this was merely fate

each of us will tell a story
but we cannot make it nice
we have sought for greater glory
now we have to pay the price

at the last we will be tired
bowed and trembling in the heat
in our lies we have been mired
and soon justice we shall meet

the statesman

a single word will halt the swiftest deed
silence assents but silence always lies
not one of you but fails to come at need

we find the hero but a broken reed
when asked for labour or for quick supplies
a single word will halt the swiftest deed

there's never haste nor is there ever speed
the hero every barrier magnifies
not one of you but fails to come at need

we are required to subscribe to your creed
and kept quite faithful by your many spies
a single word will halt the swiftest deed

you will not come although we fall and bleed
blaming foul weather under clearest skies
not one of you but fails to come at need

your only virtue is a sort of greed
for all the things that decent folk despise
a single word will halt the swiftest deed
not one of you but fails to come at need

there's no relief

from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit
seeking the nectar to sustain its flight
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

there's no place now that is not hotly lit
by a harsh searing hateful sort of light
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit

you seek in vain to find the place where split
the rock and water gushes into sight
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

up on the branch a cawing crow may sit
its voice announcing both envy and spite
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit

you think that i just do not have the grit
to sit down on my arse and simply write
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

the fact is this you're simply full of shit
you have no purpose and your mind's not bright
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

watching the mercury

you are not watching but it still must rise
outside folk are prostrated by the heat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

the hungry bird from shade to shade still flies
into the woody shadows we retreat
you are not watching but it still must rise

we cannot hear the angry and dark cries
of creatures that are forced to walk the beat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

perhaps around there lurk some patient spies
feeling the pain from their ant-bitten feet
you are not watching but it still must rise

what happens each day cannot us surprise
we're long inured to hurt and to defeat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

dread visions rise to haunt our minds and eyes
with hope and happiness we shall not meet
you are not watching but it still must rise
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

no matter what

we crave the honesty of simple light
eyes are unfocused and our minds asleep
day fades insensibly into dull night

what's seen we note with other than plain sight
the stream is shallow but the well is deep
we crave the honesty of simple light

a bird's glimpsed blue and scarlet in mid-flight
from earth to heaven's but a single leap
day fades insensibly into dull night

what was made wrong will soon be set aright
through the slow work we will with hope now creep
we crave the honesty of simple light

the chance of suffering is never so slight
as that of finding what we cannot keep
day fades insensibly into dull night

the day will end although the noon is bright
what's sown by us others will one day reap
we crave the honesty of simple light
day fades insensibly into dull night

still we defy

let all the echoes die we'll still be heard
by those who most the naked truth should learn
to claim the lie will win is just absurd
let all the echoes die we'll still be heard

we are the ones who have the honest word
and in our minds the brightest fire must burn
let all the echoes die we'll still be heard
by those who most the naked truth should learn

those who deny the plain truth we must spurn
their faces must in memory soon fade
we take the straight path we will never turn
those who deny the plain truth we must spurn

what we achieve with hard effort we earn
the fire that rises cannot be allayed
those who deny the plain truth we must spurn
the faces must in memory soon fade

our minds and hearts require no magic aid
no magic powers and no magic bird
to teach us their as yet unseemly trade
our minds and hearts require no magic aid

enough that we may still lead the parade
each shining hero here was once a nerd
our minds and hearts require no magic aid
no magic powers and no magic bird

karma meets dogma

a simple calm for which we have not paid
beguiles our hopes leads us down the road
to some dark places where the final goad
is that our true intentions once mislaid
return to haunt us for we'll be afraid
of what our hearts say when they are bestowed
as partial payments on what we have owed
in order to pretend we've made the grade
allow some words this time to be misspent
so that we may a liberal credit claim
and we will laugh when curfew starts to chime
yet then it will be too late to repent
every excuse will turn out to be lame
and we will face the charge for every crime

Squamous, rugose was Hiawatha

Came to me a frightened spirit, came the spirit of Longfellow,
told me to indite this poem, as a message and a warning:

This is the forest primeval, the towering ravenous creatures
eager to eat hapless humans, haters of the Great Spirit
dwell here in immense numbers, with qualities squamous and rugose.
Dark is the night in the forest, filled with insidious chatter
of beings dark and malignant, hungry for human heartstrings;
long time now they have dwelled here, inside the limitless darkness.
But now they are ready to travel, seeking the blood of the lawful.

Now a voice came to Nokomis, as she readied for a journey,
readied for a troubled journey, full of ignorance and hatred;
said the voice unto Nokomis, do not mention Hiawatha
to the beings of the darkness, to the dark and evil beings.
Hiawatha has to fear them, for they hunger for his beauty,
for Hiawatha's male beauty, do the ugly monsters hunger.
Dread now came upon Nokomis, and she sought to flee the hunger,
flee the hunger of the Shoggoths, deep in rainy Minnesota.

But the Shoggoths were unwearied, on they came for Hiawatha.
Far the hero fled through forest, through the dark forest primeval
never resting from his travels, for a halt would bring his death-blow.
Still the Shoggoth came unwearied, and the evil being Cthulhu
sent his many emanations, through the lakes of that cold forest
seeking to trap Hiawatha, trap the man and eat his spirit.
At last tired Hiawatha, turned to face the coming evils,
faced them with his angry beauty, but his anger was for nothing.
Soon the Shoggoths made their dinner, soon Shub-Niggurath had feasted,
and the vilest demon, Cthulhu, for his lunch had Hiawatha.

soul of the age

there is no law that says we have to think
in clear and sharp direct and honest mode
no reason ever just to break the code
that would in other worlds drive us to drink
our minds and hearts are always on the blink
we can't bear up under the normal load
and thoughts are ever ready to explode
the message is not hidden in the ink
not for us now the easy truths of day
instead the terrors of the highest heat
until the mind sinks under the vast weight
we are the losers for we've lost our way
our bodies are worth less than nought as meat
and when we leave we will go forth as freight

into the elfin realm

a simple thought will sometimes catch true fire
no magic needed just a sudden flash
and we will have the powers that we require

the world we get imperfect and entire
but through it we just seem to haste and dash
a simple thought will sometimes catch true fire

glass you mistake for ruby or sapphire
a little moment and you all go smash
and we will have the powers that we require

your hearts to nothing always may aspire
but we will not be present at the crash
a simple thought will sometimes catch true fire

we wonder sometimes why we are not higher
seeing our enemies have failed at splash
and we will have the powers that we require

we find the law is the result of ire
our purpose calls for constant ready cash
a simple thought will sometimes catch true fire
and we will have the powers that we require

ragged claws

a million words don't enter in the song
there's never echo in the proper tone
we sing but we can never sing alone

still when we do it we feel we are wrong
there are some things we just cannot condone
a million words don't enter in the song

and we are always moving right along
not one of us but has a heart of stone
and cold has reached down to the very bone
a million words don't enter in the song

End of a series

He fought old folly with a fertile wit
giving his judgment with a careful touch
of happy sharpness. We now owe him much,
but, unlike him, we make not happy hit;
the slender wand our arrow does not split.
We're not Mike Ford, that is our claim and crutch,
still we rejoice we could encounter such
a demigod of humour, straight, legit.
The love of words brings something at the mart,
but not enough to pay for human strife;
yet as time passes we may still remember
one who spoke plainly, heart to decent heart.
Now we keep hold of the still-glowing ember.

speeches

lies told too often harden into fact
the pleasure fades from every happy lie
into a desert turns the fertile tract
lies told too often harden into fact

no living person it seems may attract
the honest true regard of every eye
lies told too often harden into fact
the pleasure fades from every happy lie

barking up the wrong horse

a table set for many may still wait
upon a late arrival shedding tears
it's just the proper time to fly the gate

tides and high surges one day may abate
the system does not have too many spares
a table set for many may still wait

there is no record safe kept on a slate
the watcher is the one who never stares
it's just the proper time to fly the gate

a day or two and there's an empty plate
left by the one who on true journey fares
a table set for many may still wait

we are the ones who will keep proper state
and yet must avoid giving ourselves airs
it's just the proper time to fly the gate

we struggle onwards always blaming fate
not one of us for travel now prepares
a table set for many may still wait
it's just the proper time to fly the gate

they dreamt and are dead

shallow rivers dry up quickly
not a one will last the summer
still we think this is a bummer
but our tongues are speaking thickly

echoes of future september
make us smile but very tightly
we can recall roasting nightly
and we don't want to remember

on the verge of sudden rages
we may halt and think a second
not a one who has not beckoned
and then swiftly turned the pages

rain may fall in its due season
but right now it isn't falling
for relief each one is calling
with an anger beyond reason

name a time for honest measure
we will stay right in our places
anger shines in all our faces
we have lost the final treasure

who desires an honest answer
will with reason wait for ever
answers we have obtained never
the whole world has got a cancer

not soft the sea

magic in the woody sunset
no reward for our stern duty
a single flash of urgent beauty
no surprise and no regret

hours and hours of happy sleeping
not a thought of earthly power
a small glimpse of eldritch tower
and the dormice ever creeping

on the banks of the swift river
where there is no time of waiting
and the flood is slow abating
we keep arrows in our quiver

for the golden flying creature
that will satiate our hunger
while the day's not getting younger
anger fills each human feature

sleep and rest are ever fleeting
work devours each waking thought
and yet comes at last to nought
there is never merry meeting

every heart's a fading flower
in the sticky noontime sunheat
not a chance that we may greet
happy damsel in her bower

all our thoughts are inward trending
to the point of final pallor
no room here for heart or valour
sun and shadow are now blending

in the dark we're sad and fearful
daylight strips away all veils
no one's left to hear our wails
we have not been wise and careful

at the end there's no escaping
choices made in simple fury
tell that story to the jury
with the proper bow and scraping

as the sun destroys our pleasure
others wait to eat our dinner
each in turn will be the winner
as they view the world at leisure

name the day we won't remember
how we made our happy choices
silence covers all our voices
and our fire is now an ember

necronomicon

a thousand nightmares and still on they sleep
frozen by terror in the horrid dream
there can be nothing but a silent scream
as every spirit sinks further in deep
caverns of slumber where no one may keep
firmhold of things that are as well as seem
in those dark spaces there's not happy beam
of light to banish the foul beings that creep
now there's not much that human flesh may bear
without the madness overcoming hope
but still we have no choice and little light
a myriad chitterings are coming near
we're at the bottom of an endless slope
nothing remains but endless dark of night

No more hunny

The wind was heavy on the wooded hill,
all creatures waited for the hungry bear
fearing the Great Old Beings darkest will.
Yet all the time, the Pooh without a care
ignored the squamous terrors and the fear
that caused even Eeyore to cast a shoe.
We find that now all nature is laid bare
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

The Shadow poisons every stream and rill,
we sense a monstrous presence in the air.
There's no escape, not even poison pill
can keep us all from falling in the snare
where rugose horrors still await their share.
There's naught but evil that lies in our view,
not one of us will the Dark Power spare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

Now falls to silence factory and mill,
there are no masses waiting in the square.
The Woods now dark and horrid creatures fill,
and Kanga, Roo and Piglet are past care.
The author screams that things just are not fair,
and thinks that he's announcing something new.
Through the long darkness must we all now fare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

Prince Robin, riding on your spavined mare,
give us some thought as you your last meal spew.
Now all that's funny has become quite rare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

murmur name upon name

who sees the truth and hides it always lies
there is no hope for those who will not speak
and who expect you to go out and seek
for better statements under stranger skies
wind that may laze upon this shore still flies
to hunt down those whom you may deem too weak
and bring them down from their deserving peak
so that the heart lacking nutrition dies
allow us but a word and we might flee
to places where your writ shall never run
and there make sport with those things that remain
a little effort and we shall be free
to live clean lives under a gentle sun
and dance with pleasure in the healing rain

A comment on LJ for Sajia

When pianofortes try to be sitars
one quickly learns there are too many strings,
the music limps, it has no soaring wings
to bear it to the realm of noble stars.
A thousand glasses tinkle in the bars
when a small angel lifts her voice and sings
telling of life and of the myriad things
that touch our hearts and leave upon them scars.
We aren't supposed to stray beyond the lines
that a mad culture in the sand has writ;
for surely in the foreign there lives pain.
Still we ignore the sad and plaintive whines,
rejoice both in our freedom and our wit
and are most thankful for the autumn rain.

in the midst of all

all that is shallow we here now embrace
we're far outside the normal human zone
the lie is stamped so clearly on each face

far from our hearts are normal signs of grace
we've worn our fingers down to weary bone
all that is shallow we here now embrace

the rabbit's loose and every dog gives chase
while laughed at by the maiden and the crone
the lie is stamped so clearly on each face

wisdom will not ever such fools displace
nor are their hearts much warmer than a stone
all that is shallow we here now embrace

hours come and go but we shall leave no trace
not even echoes on the telephone
the lie is stamped so clearly on each face

above us stars cycle through empty space
each one of them will live and die alone
all that is shallow we here now embrace
the lie is stamped so clearly on each face

a stone of the heart

no words remain to give us any shape
of mind and heart with which we may confront
those facts that may present themselves in blunt
manner and form we've but to bow and scrape
but still the human hides behind the ape
we are afraid for at night comes the hunt
and we can't use just any magic stunt
to aid in flight or to help our escape
the rules allow for no uncertain turns
we have to go along well-chosen tracks
but no maps guide us as we hopeful roam
the rivers freeze and the high sun just burns
too much we feel the weight upon our backs
the journey's long and we may not see home

bring them on

if we delay we might as well deny
all right and justice to the normal sort
we'll settle all their cases out of court
leaving them saddened under the bright sky
they cannot walk they cannot ever fly
they are not absent but they suffer tortbre
their ships will founder ere they reach the port
all of this happens because of one lie
our promise that our actions would be just
honour would flow like water down a vine
and decency at last would be restored
now every promise crumbles into dust
we can do nothing except moan and whine
and truth lies bleeding where she has been gored

evening thunder

a distant clashing as of saucepan lids
enough to tell us that a storm will come
the season seems to be upon the skids
a distant clashing as of saucepan lids

nobody's waiting for the final bids
we listen to the wires throb and hum
a distant clashing as of saucepan lids
enough to tell us that a storm will come

the common task

a cycle up or down will never matter
just so we do the job and end the task
then for a while in evening sun to bask
and end the day in happy idle chatter
no need for us to coddle nor to flatter
the one who hides behind the solid mask
it's far far better if we broach the cask
all other things we may let crash and shatter
no working duties hold us in our place
but other obligations intervene
to keep our eyes upon the final line
our prey should be worth the effort of chase
our destination be a pleasant scene
and we should never have to sigh nor pine

humanity marches on

we aren't the ones to hold the gate in place
while herds pass through to better grazing land
that's not the purpose of the human race

the cattle will breathe right into your face
and still not take the fruit from out your hand
we aren't the ones to hold the gate in place

we can't allow the beasts to force the pace
they have to learn just who is in command
that's not the purpose of the human race

after the workday no time to embrace
unless the meeting is most subtly planned
we aren't the ones to hold the gate in place

none of us is quite sure just what's the case
nor if the small stream with a bridge is spanned
that's not the purpose of the human race

once we are started no one should give chase
although our full aim was for long time banned
we aren't the ones to hold the gate in place
that's not the purpose of the human race

what purpose?

a journey once begun may never cease
until the final end of moral life
the last best trip will lead right to release
a journey once begun may never cease

we constantly are fighting for some peace
we seek for calm by ever making strife
a journey once begun may never cease
until the final end of mortal life

world on the edge

let us remember that we cannot win
unless we're willing to forfeit the prize
honour will be forsaken in your eyes
since we are never the masters of spin
thread comes with speed out of the working gin
the final purpose we should not surmise
we wait now for the temperature to rise
and make us suffer with those not our kin
what we can see is horror and hot pain
the weight of air on every downbent head
and all the earth wanting to quail and die
we are not promised any future rain
our only options are torture and dread
and every hope has turned into a lie

proportional representation

we give each other reasons to rejoice
our hopes are not confined to ones or twos
what is reflected is a range of views

we want the many options complex choice
no single power is left to turn the screws
we give each other reasons to rejoice

what must be heard at all times is the voice
of those who have been victims of abuse
it's their demands that must provide the juice
we give each other reasons to rejoice

cooperation

The shadow of the future does not fall
only on those who claim to know the past;
we, every one, can never live so fast
as to be absent when there comes a call
to urgent duty. All of life's too small
to be defined by the ensemble cast.
The next plain iteration may be last,
and then the shadow will not be so tall.
Rules may be made, and logic may require
that when we act we do so for a reason,
but no one could believe that they'll be firm.
What we now have others will soon acquire
and then a simple choice will seem a treason;
the final victor is the hungry worm.

adulthood

all that we know turns out to be a lie
every idea becomes another loss
we aren't supposed to give a flaming toss
the day continues far too hot and dry
life as a whole is still passing me by
but that's no reason to be mad or cross
who does not speak does not disturb the boss
and things will never simply go awry
such are the pains of every working day
off to our jobs and then to suffer long
before the final punching of the clock
we know that this is not the human way
but have no words to say that it is wrong
no key will now open the rusted lock

falling city

within the gates there never has been peace
what duties each may have matter not much
our time here's not a freehold but a lease
within the gates there never has been peace

so it won't matter if we halt and cease
those acts by which we all are kept in touch
within the gates there never has been peace
what duties each may have matter not much

long applause

a sound of water flowing over rocks
we seem to waken from too long a sleep
our world is broken by too many shocks

old men will shave to hide their hoary locks
the reason it turns out is not too deep
a sound of water flowing over rocks

each of us hides our secrets in a box
but they stale easy and will never keep
our world is broken by too many shocks

no one will laugh we fear the one who mocks
because so many of us turn to sheep
a sound of water flowing over rocks

the proudest will be clapped into the stocks
as they have sown so must they ever reap
our world is broken by too many shocks

the fleet is lying ready at the docks
it will take longer than a sudden leap
a sound of water flowing over rocks
our world is broken by too many shocks

terror

against the day night has the better arms
light punishes but the warm darkness hides
the emptiness and silence have their charms
against the day night has the better arms

we now are fearful of myriad harms
do not ever our dreads and fears deride
against the day night has the better arms
light punishes but the warm darkness hides

one sort of liberty

when we know just what mind and heart require
to make us whole and set us truly free
from every sort of charlatan and liar
when we know just what mind and heart require

there is no terror when we've passed the fire
no monsters anywhere that we can see
when we know just what mind and heart require
to make us whole and set us truly free

the hidden stars

a single glance and all will become known
what's seen by anyone becomes a fact
the operation's far too easy blown
a single glance and all will become known

into the duty each of us has grown
and all have learned both honesty and tact
a single glance and all will become known
what's seen by anyone becomes a fact

above the valley

no one forgets the places though the names
may vanish into darkness without thought
a single moment in the memory caught
cuts through a host of long-forgotten games
now someone praises now another blames
some person who's forgotten what was taught
and is now fearful it was all for naught
not one of us who knows our proper aims
the rule that governs us withstands all stain
we make our journeys and think that our lease
on life and hope will last for all of time
yet now we would be thankful for the rain
and wonder that we did not see our peace
when all the world and all our joy was prime

escaped significance

a means of understanding we won't get
from all our efforts and for all we try
the course we travel long ago was set
a means of understanding we won't get

the rule it seems is for worry and fret
yet every tear is frozen in the eye
a means of understanding we won't get
from all our efforts and for all we try

no magic we might have could let us fly
beyond the limits of our earthly place
we're doomed to live so far below the sky
no magic we might have could let us fly

a sort of truth requires that we must die
and vanish and become no more than space
no magic we might have could let us fly
beyond the limits of our earthly place

when we are done we find that we can trace
the roots of rivers to the mountain's feet
the answer that we seek shall come apace
when we are done we find that we can trace

we never shall behold an honest face
nor with the open-hearted will we meet
when we are done we find that we can trace
the roots of rivers to the mountain's feet

the ones who come we will not even greet
an answer may be given but not yet
a single ship won't signify a fleet
the ones who come we will not ever meet

each one is paralysed in their own seat
at least that's how we ought to place the bet
the ones who come we will not even greet
an answer may be given but not yet

drawing conclusions

we add all powers and they make a small sum
there's not enough to hold the future back
we do not want to subtract from this lack

the engine that destroys now starts to hum
our world will shortly be upon the rack
we add all powers and they make a small sum

drown we cannot in whisky beer or rum
we will receive no honourific plaque
the end comes rapidly with swift attack
we add all powers and they make a small sum

beyond dreamland

the choices we have never turn out fair
there's always some bizarre and hateful twist
honesty has been squeezed out of the air

we give no credence to the skillful player
but keep a stone hidden in the back fist
the choices we have never turn out fair

a goblin grabs us going up the stair
yet we rejoice because we think he missed
honesty has been squeezed out of the air

naughty spirits want to grab us by the hair
and leave us feeling that we have been kissed
the choices we have never turn out fair

things we discover do much more than scare
no mortal snake it was that last night hissed
honesty has been squeezed out of the air

we wander round the hills sunburned and bare
somebody somewhere has compiled a list
the choices we have never turn out fair
honesty has been squeezed out of the air

no movement of air

there is no place to which we might retreat
when light has turned all shadow into dust
and moisture does not penetrate the crust
of sullen earth made bitter by defeat
the tread of millions who admit they're beat
all hope and all ambition are a bust
we're left to do only those things we must
and all is wilted in the noonday heat
false cool above the shadows most invite
when we are drier than the sunlit stone
hope does not flourish in a hidden park
there will be no relief at fall of night
the world is dessicate as ancient bone
and rest does not come easy in the dark

Thomas Carlyle

All of us have got to smile
Who are devoted to Thomas Carlyle;
He's not very terse,
And doesn't write verse,
So we attend both to substance and style.

important thoughts

to count words simple matters not at all
to those for whom the word is just the thing
we wonder what's been hidden by the wall
to count words simple matters not at all

we cannot climb because we fear to fall
the valleys will reecho with the ring
to count words simple matters not at all
to those for whom the word is just the thing

normal obligations

we know not what abides just what we see
the air is heavy and the day's too hot
we're almost ready to be stewed in pot

the sky is framed by the greenness of tree
in the far distance sounds an urgent shot
we know not what abides just what we see

too many hours until we we each are free
we find ourselves constantly on the spot
not sure if we are needed or if not
we know not what abides just what we see

signifiers drift

write out some words and they will make all true
a moment's silence fills the hungry space
facts do not depend on your point of view

the one who loses always turns the screw
on hopeful winners of the human race
write out some words and they will make all true

another answer will not make things new
connections do not just create a place
facts do not depend on your point of view

all sorts of meats give flavour to the stew
we always seem to want to feed the face
write out some words and they will make all true

what moistens in the morning is not dew
each passing being wants to leave a trace
facts do not depend on your point of view

not one who listens ever thinks it through
we gain in pleasure but we lose in grace
write out some words and they will make all true
facts do not depend on your point of view

october 1968

hills heavy green under a watery sky
a distant cock is crowing before noon
the air tells us that rain is coming soon
all seems so rich and fertile to the eye
colours explode while vultures soaring high
wait for the foolish animal to swoon
to find a meaning you must read the rune
the distant sea just makes you want to fly
we reach each place without a formal choice
the world itself seems no more than a toy
and mysteries reside within each tree
yet there are never reasons to rejoice
most tears will not be products of true joy
and nothing matters even when you're free

reaching for shadows

we measure truth in very simple ways
process is not one that truly matters
we ask for little in these weary days

the sun destroys us with life-giving rays
upon our heads each photon still batters
we measure truth in very simple ways

we long for seas lapping on sandy bays
and for a shape that soft moonlight flatters
we ask for little in these weary days

the heat and sunlight anyone might craze
listening for clash of empty platters
we measure truth in very simple ways

we can escape from any complex maze
hope remains behind in shreds and tatters
we ask for little in these weary days

we are just characters in tragic plays
each of us merely argues and patters
we measure truth in very simple ways
we ask for little in these weary days

a bay of air

pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing
birds dance with purpose through the morning sky
the day is hot they will not venture high

and we down here will never hear them sing
we're lucky that we glimpse them passing by
pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing

it's never time for one true happy fling
our backs will stay bent and our thoughts are wry
though tears are shed the soil still remains dry
pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing

fuzzy logic rules

a little more and we'll be boiled to hell
another kind of magic sets the rules
on that we've nothing to learn in the schools
an answer comes with ringing of the bell
modes rise and fall with every tidal swell
and we move forward on the backs of mules
not knowing which of us remain the fools
and that's the problem we just cannot tell
time comes and goes and we just hear the call
of happy birds expending joyous breath
and when we wake have walked another mile
too soon we know will come the final fall
the year will turn with speed towards its death
and those to come will never crack a smile

a swifter burn

shadows all vanish into blurry sun
the world's been shrunk into a single need
duty we're told is work and never fun
shadows all vanish into blurry sun

silence rejects the sounds of bomb and gun
there's never reason for a soul to bleed
shadows all vanish into blurry sun
the world's been shrunk into a single need

the truest propaganda's still the deed
our hopes are focused on no other task
but quieting the anger and the greed
the truest propaganda's still the deed

each harvest is inherent in the seed
a single grape will turn into a cask
the truest propaganda's in the deed
our hopes are focused on no other task

behind the face there's still another mask
no smile is true until the sun has set
in torrid sun there is not place to bask
behind the face there's still another mask

each of us empties the expected flask
no one permits occasions of regret
behind the face there's still another mask
no smile is true until the sun has set

we aren't permitted simply to forget
nor are our weapons ever set to stun
fishes escape the inexperienced net
we aren't permitted simply to forget

the rule we're given turns into a bet
that we will not our saddest chances shun
we aren't permitted simply to forget
nor are our weapons ever set to stun

augury

shapes in the heat distract the normal eye
you breathe one moment and then swiftly pant
sense is not common it is very scant
shapes in the heat distract the normal eye

we never pause but always hurry by
fearful lest the sleeper arise and rant
shapes in the heat distract the normal eye
you breathe one moment and then swiftly pant

on the riverbed

some say that waiting does not kill
others that death's a faulty meme
they do not pay the butcher's bill
nor see harsh ending of sweet dream
theirs is the overpowering will
and natural right to the sunbeam
they just command that we be still
while they unhurried make their scheme

on the riverbed

some say that waiting does not kill
others that death's a faulty meme
they do not pay the butcher's bill
nor see harsh ending of sweet dream
theirs is the overpowering will
and natural right to the sunbeam
they just command that we be still
while they unhurried make their scheme

watering the fields

should the priests and soldiers learn
just what pain their work has brought
we might watch their faces burn
with the effort of plain thought

for one moment of straight time
they might feel the hottest fire
admit truth of cause and crime
do what justice would require

no they turn their faces blank
utter once more the sweet lie
then they stand there rank on rank
wishing that we all would die

if those crows and ravens see
what will happen by and by
a great shout of liberty
would become their final cry

yet they'll close both eye and ear
pray the tide will never come
think that rescue still is near
and not add the total sum

an honest evaluation

a measure once of simple common sense
now we demand the weight of every word
not one of us can now sit on the fence
a measure once of simple common sense

truth we discover requires some pretence
lest we dismiss the plain sight as absurd
a measure once of simple common sense
now we demand the weight of every word

a pot of message

let every voice that comes within our ken
sing praises to our sovereign lord and king
wiser by far than we mere mortal men
the music that he gives us we shall sing
knowing the tune from every heart will spring
sounds shall be nobly played by noble liar
and all our hopes be cast into hot fire

the king is not by thought or worry vexed
he leads us to a place we shan't escape
and all our wisdom will there be perplexed
we will not find it any sort of jape
being obliged to bend and bow and scrape
all of our joy shall with a wave be lost
and we will yet remain to count the cost

anger and fear will our confusion forge
this future turns out not to be so bright
the dragon's fated to defeat saint george
and every road will lead to deepest night
our eyes will seem to lose the power of sight
and though the captain make promise and boast
the ship will founder ere it reach the coast

lives have been lost and many more will go
before we see again the living sun
each will have melted like a late spring snow
power does not rise from every angry gun
but is a thing that must be subtly won
still nonsense goes ahead in fair disguise
and truth is overwhelmed by sweetest lies

let peasants die but we can ill afford
to see our leader pay the honest price
a worker's life's worth far less than a lord
and we can find another in a trice
a pile of bodies still could not suffice
to bring the victory promised in dream
for things are never simply what they seem

all we can do is hope and curse and work
changes that come may yet undo the pain
and when they do the wise would never shirk
but build the tower even in pouring rain
wall in the demons that still rage and strain
and swear that they would next be dead and cold
before they'd take the glitter for the gold

not within bounds

at times the river will not fill a spoon
but there is hope that happy clouds may come
blotting out suffering adding the sum
of pleasant waters raining down at noon
right now it's hellish hot no creatures croon
urgent desires we hear no insect hum
all life is drier than an ancient crumb
a single drop of moisture'd be a boon
instead the heat stays on a steady rise
we aren't supposed to take our heads outside
and water dries up just before it's spilled
for this endurance we will get no prize
nothing to swell our heads with vacant pride
nor will the fatted calf ever be killed

weather gauge

winds travel where they want though they may pause
yet we know they are never truly still
nature will not obey mere human laws

upon the student's arse no one plies taws
there's no restriction on the infant will
winds travel where they want though they may pause

no one now needs the wise old people's saws
nor is there fear that we will get the bill
nature will not obey mere human laws

the old ones watch and anger fills their craws
there's now a railway line goes up the hill
winds travel where they want though they may pause

here one who ought to speak out hems and haws
and hopes that hearts will answer more than nil
nature will not obey mere human laws

never before has none upheld the cause
of simple justice and of wisdom's quill
winds travel where they want though they may pause
nature will not obey mere human laws

horns re-echo

a sudden shiver right down to the bone
while outside it's still devilishly hot
no time for one to worry or atone
a sudden shiver right down to the bone

in heavy silence there's a frantic moan
anticipating the quick boiling pot
a sudden shiver right down to the bone
while outside it's still devilishly hot

brighter horizons

the rules make room for little but the past
we aren't supposed to question nor demand
on the slow stream our messages are cast

a different day will come upon us fast
what means we'll have had better be to hand
the rules make room for little but the past

at times we will just have to stand aghast
at every change that comes upon the land
on the slow stream our messages are cast

too many years we've served before the mast
and now they cast us off when we can't stand
the rules make room for little but the past

no place to hide and surely comes the blast
when an end comes it will be safely planned
on the slow stream our messages are cast

no matter what the choices are not vast
what might have been will certainly be banned
the rules make room for little but the past
on the slow stream our messages are cast

the mercury goes up and up

time rules our thoughts and tells us no lies
we get to choose no paths but lots of pain
the world requires that we all stretch and strain

much more is done than we could just devise
not one of us who does the job for gain
time rules our thoughts and tells us no lies

what comes tomorrow no one may surmise
we know that there will be no healing rain
the sun will once more drive us all insane
time rules our thoughts and tells us no lies

illumination of sound

half-mentioned half-unspoken a rising tone
takes us to realms we'd never thought to see
makes us the folk we'd never hoped to be
amidst the straining hearer's we're alone
cut off from radio and from telephone
there's nothing that will not let us agree
or take from us the sacred guarantee
that magic sound will echo in the bone
there is a dance we cannot comprehend
staying in place and swaying to the beat
that's not the music but the inner voice
drawn from the place where no one may pretend
safe for the moment from all heavy heat
the heart and mind in unison rejoice

soon comes the night

a word or two and then the silent time
echoes of emptiness in the quiet wood
still everyone has done just what they could

we fear the slippage back to primal slime
before we've managed to achieve some good
a word or two and then the silent time

none here would challenge our exhausting climb
nor say that we had not reached where we stood
nor yet hide honour underneath a hood
a word or two and then the silent time

almost a fire

there's something evil in the deadly heat
a sharp reminder that we have to die
no kind redeemer comes down from the sky
we swiftly learn that we're no more than meat
in other places we might hear the beat
of honest tales stories that fight the lie
that all will become well if we get by
label our cowardice a safe retreat
now would be a good time for hard rain
to slam into the ground and heal the earth
of all the suffering its undergone
relieve our sense of ever-growing pain
bring miracles and joy to a fresh birth
and soften the harsh face of the old sun

oppresive day

what lies the light tells anyone may see
a golden dust lies lightly on the green
a noble sight that far too few have seen
from which disaster most of us would flee
too much the filthy air for each grey tree
dull seems the day although the eye is keen
we do not know what any symbols mean
and have not learned a thing at mother's knee
we are disturbed by brassy weight of sky
and do not understand the message sent
nor who the sender or receiver are
we wait for endless worlds to pass us by
the strongest back under the air is bent
and does not get the signal from the star

no deeper thought

at no time would we open our old eyes
to see the truth with its vanguard of lies
overcoming ones that we truly despise
and yet becoming brighter we surmise
because we still can feel shock and surprise
we yet retain the vestiges of ties
to one who smiles also to one who cries
we have good friends and we have staunch allies

democracy whisky sexy

let other voices tell the bitter tale
over tall glasses of a tasty brew
minds on hard facts will bite and gnaw and chew
and wonder how the effort came to fail
under a sky both ominous and pale
all of a sudden everyone just new
that choices had come down to very few
nothing was left but the mouldy and stale
remnants of what had been an honest feast
while vermin came to fight for the last crust
and empires fell under these hateful skies
we find that every noble's turned a beast
the stable door has crumbled into dust
and we have earned the harvest of fat lies

heatwave

one moment more or less of pouring sweat
and then the dizzy calm of cooling air
as i climb slowly up the worn old stair

enough to worry panic and to fret
while not a person is around to care
one moment more or less of pouring sweat

the whole thing seems a monstrous sort of bet
but then we know that everything's unfair
and there's no sympathy or hope to spare
one moment more or less of pouring sweat

eyes in the smog

the smaller fire may leave the greater burn
choices are narrowed to a point of dust
we live and breathe but never seem to learn

what choice we have we always want to spurn
those factors that would lead to love and trust
the smaller fire may leave the greater burn

far out at sea we hope a storm may churn
while here the earth has grown a thicker crust
we live and breathe but never seem to learn

our bodies will each fit into an urn
and we the living find that so unjust
the smaller fire may leave the greater burn

we can fake truth we even fake concern
and then our shining armour falls to rust
we live and breathe but never seem to learn

for other worlds we always seem to yearn
what hopes we have may explode and combust
the smaller fire may leave the greater burn
we live and breathe but never seem to learn

humidity

the weight of air will serve to bend the back
straight though we wish to stand we have no might
that will suffice to keep our heads upright
and knowing this hate ourselves for the lack
both of some spinal force and of the track
no longer plain and ample to our sight
and yet we see this as plain chance not plight
it's all you see in angle of attack
with each nerve strained almost to breaking point
we wait to see just what affair might hap
before we cast one long despairing sigh
times we have learned are always out of joint
who may think otherwise is just a sap
and still the weight of air under the sky

development

once was a stream that down the valley ran
now choked with concrete and filled in with soil
still there are signs of natures unhelped toil
throughout the day we distant prospects scan
for what might be under some hoped-for ban
a place far from the normal human coil
of pains and troubles harsh noises and broils
untouched as yet by the hard foot of man
steams rise and swirl above the heated earth
we walk outside and cook in the great heat
but cannot pause or speak of lacking zest
for all the things that we must bring to birth
each of us listens for the great wings' beat
and hopes that we will not yet have to rest

official versus private

history is each of us all unknown
generations seem to come and to go
we would not think to dare to pause the flow
from each of us comes a luminous cone
our hearts are bleeding meat they are not stone
each of our lives seems ordinary slow
but others come all lacking what we know
we've come to be much closer to the bone
i've walked with some now names in a dry book
and thought each nothing more than an old friend
and now like gutted candles they've gone out
i cannot now go back for one last look
stories i've learned must all come to an end
and what remains is little more than doubt

oblique observation

angle of dawn light on the dark green trees
pallor deepening in the morning sky
a shadow's the last thing the slow eye sees
angle of dawn light on the dark green trees

leaves all unmoving in the absent breeze
no bird or moth is right now passing by
angle of dawn light on the dark green trees
pallor deepening in the morning sky

upon flat water

sharp the reflection from this fading sky
moments of remembrance in the slow pale
time when the day's great star begins to fail

we never think to wonder nor ask why
time moves both like an eagle and a snail
sharp the reflection from this fading sky

we find the reasons for we love to pry
life moves in curves and swoops not on a rail
sometimes a zephyr comes before a gale
sharp the reflection from this fading sky

running out of options

what's won or lost is more than just a game
prizes are valued more than for their cost
who dares to ask just what thought has been tossed
out in the wilderness of hope and blame
would not i think be angered at the name
of one who though subordinate and bossed
would not accept one second being crossed
but fry the varlet with a cruel flame
assume that none of us can comprehend
the reason for the shouting and the ire
while all around us the last cities fall
someone a higher purpose may intend
but worlds must crash into a single fire
and not one person be left standing tall

trash fire

worlds come and go like tiny flakes of ash
in a light breeze we pass clenching our eyes
not daring to look upward to the skies
until past the small fire we've made our dash
holding our noses against burning trash
above our heads the loud avian spies
cry out against all poets and their lies
the reality is we all pay cash
for every increment of love or hope
we know the price and know it is not fair
yet in the morning we smile at the light
depend on prospects and you are a dope
not fit to breathe the ordinary air
and that's a measure of the normal plight

looking aslant

it takes too long for true ends to arrive
comfort and peace are all that we should need
trees are inherent in each tiny seed

truth is too often awkward that's no jive
words hurt like crazy but they never bleed
it takes too long for true ends to arrive

with clever folk we never should connive
but one who's dumb becomes a broken reed
and enterprise required some honest speed
it takes too long for true ends to arrive

riverrrun

stories never end
we enter them and leave them
to be forgotten

buzz buzz buzz

spirits of ancient forests come to die
in this hot place and here i rest my head
the ghost and human sharing the same bed
above there buzzes one annoying fly
almost asleep but the more that i try
to conjure up a dream the sweat i shed
would float a navy of the quick and dead
and so i watch as the long hours drift by
matters discussed in daylight may not keep
but patience is each time its own reward
and every single thing another test
and so i lie the ghost keeps me from sleep
my eyes are open and my mind is bored
the night's too short and leaves no time for rest

on the edge of the forest

things that emerge from out the normal day
a million broken pieces of old light
and then the coming shadow of the night

what comes tomorrow not a one can say
no human truly comes with second sight
things that emerge from out the normal day

the little matters won't get in the way
a smaller fact that either fear or flight
is what would make a single moment right
things that emerge from out the normal day

bush league verse

every morning brings the same
actors rushing to the game
lives are measured by a line
losers drown themselves in wine
echoes of the fatal fall
rumblings of the bowling ball
green the light on every side
red the colour that we hide
marbling of the easy meat
pain the message of these feet
little more that we can take
of the messes that you make
humming swiftly on the wire
news comes of the spreading fire
failure speaks louder than truth
not allowed regret or ruth
each lie makes us hate some more
hate the worker hate the poor
hate the ones who won't obey
hate the night and hate the day
hate the ones who will not sing
praises to the mighty king
always love the noble whip
keep a tight and silent lip
do all this and we will thrive
truth and justice can't survive

mind at the proms

each lovely echo of far sound delights
ears are ecstatic as the music flows
into the mind flow many eerie sights
each lovely echo of far sound delights

forgotten now are all the slurs and slights
they're banished far by the first horn that blows
each lovely echo of far sound delights
ears are ecstatic as the music flows

the winning one is never one that shows
all of its tricks within a few short beats
its summer but we see the sudden snows
the winning one is never one that shows

hugely attentive to the highs and lows
beauty all ugliness for now defeats
the winning one is never one that shows
all of its tricks within a few short beats

we're wistful wondering held in our seats
by every trill of clarinet or flute
measure with joy in broken silence meets
we're wistful wondering held in our seats

far from us all the turmoil of the streets
while listening we're firm and resolute
we're wistful wondering held in our seats
by every trill of clarinet or flute

each knowing the most dim and dismal brute
would by this healing sound be set to rights
the need for satisfaction's most acute
each knowing the most dim and dismal brute

here there is peace and absence of pursuit
wolves are not wild and woeful in these nights
each knowing the most dim and dismal brute
would by this healing sound be set to rights

loyalty trap

release the beast and it will never flee
but haunt your house and dance behind your heels
no one but you knows just what you may see
release the beast and it will never flee

a monster crouches underneath each tree
none can escape of feet or wings or wheels
release the beast and it will never flee
but haunt your house and dance behind your heels

rapid construction

who does the work deserves all of the pay
but that won't happen thought it would be nice
this is the bosses' not the workers' day

you break your back and just get beans and rice
and told you should be grateful for the chance
to risk your body and to pay the price

for other folk to live and love and dance
this is a matter where it would be wise
to say that all is well and we advance

many must fall so that a few may rise
to say the only effort was their own
and damn the honest who'd say otherwise

they eat the meat and leave only the bone
for those who in the heat did all the toil
that's a fact that's what we've always known

sweat as it drips supplies a sort of oil
that smooths the way to extract yet more pain
and keeps the working kettle on the boil

let them enjoy hot sun and chilling rain
in hottest august and frozen december
we're happy that they serve to take the strain

and worry that their children will remember