the only human dream

a time shall come when all folk have to act
no simple choices but a plain desire
to bring us back to a world of clear fact
and light in every heart the sacred fire
with rapid feet with bags already packed
we wait for messages on the swift wire
to take the thing that we always have lacked
beginning low to reach up ever higher

the people long forced down upon their knees
see freedom's banner waving in the breeze

shadow falls on us yet we cannot halt
the world refuses to wait for one man
the fortress will be taken by assault
the ones who dare will be right in the van
freedom's the right of all beneath the vault
we seize the power accepting that we can
with effort overcome each native fault
and put all tyrants underneath the ban

the people long forced down upon their knees
see freedom's banner waving in the breeze

for far too long we've bowed beneath the skies
to clowns whose painted faces seem to shine
with warmth and fervour to fool childish eyes
while they on their soft beds love to recline
knowing that they've already got the prize
proclaiming that injustices are fine
piling the nonsense right upon the lies
their only honest thought is i've got mine

the people long forced down upon their knees
see freedom's banner waving in the breeze

but trapped in corners we are not so tame
that each will cringe surrender on their back
we're not immune to anger nor to shame
we know they waste all of the things we lack
each of us still a person with a name
and not another turnip in a sack
within each heart there burns a sacred flame
we are still human and we will attack

dying afoot's better than bending knees
see freedom's banner waving in the breeze

listening to mozart

i have not any chances
but now i've got a home
there are no sudden glances
none of us have to roam
a deer in the night prances
the sky's a distant dome
no time now for romances
we close the heavy tome

a house upon the hillside
behind us there's a pond
never a one who will ride
no power left to bond
all of us here must feel pride
no need to wave a wand
we do not have to still hide
behind a leafy frond

no lions roam the nighttime
there are no warriors here
we listen to a windchime
a pleasure to the ear
adding the juice of one lime
brings many memories near
each poem has a plain rhyme
holding a thought so dear

to tell a fable

across the night we hear a different sound
of more than life rejoicing in its prime
with echoes coming from a future ground

into the coming day most are now bound
each of us prisoners of hope and time
across the night we hear a different sound

true value's not in dollar nor in pound
the music here's not a drumbeat or chime
with echoes coming from a future ground

we wait for mountain to decay to mound
new creatures to rise up out of the slime
across the night we hear a different sound

so much remains the waiting to astound
we burn the rock to make the harsh quicklime
with echoes coming from a future ground

what others lost we know that we have found
and honest speech must never be a crime
across the night we hear a different sound
with echoes coming from a future ground

ignorance is strength

the gentlest touch awakens in the dark
those who must wait for the returning sign
myriads of soldiers wait right at the line
for the next signal the alarming spark
result of choices that are plain and stark
for reasons that our rulers claim divine
another light will surely one day shine
the sterile desert once more be a park
an easy victory won by single charge
and then our boys come home to a parade
with golden banners over them unfurled
on suchlike prospects they will long enlarge
while truth and honour into history fade
and greater darkness comes over the world

the task of education

words travel from me at the speed of light
pausing i have a moment just to stare
patterns change always at the edge of sight

i think about the words my students write
statements produced with very little care
words travel from me at the speed of light

upon young brains there has fallen a blight
they do not want to think nor to prepare
patterns change always at the edge of sight

i want their chances to be more than slight
speaking plain truth is something i must dare
words travel from me at the speed of light

it is the dullest thinking they're most bright
that angers me and makes me tug my hair
patterns change always at the edge of sight

still i must do those things i know are right
simply be honest and be always fair
words travel from me at the speed of light
patterns change always at the edge of sight

drought

what trees remember is not any act
of humans underneath or close nearby
just the pale colour of the autumn sky
and whether any limbs by wind were wracked
it's been so long since ever thunder cracked
trees know the passing clouds are a bright lie
while creatures of the forest are not shy
knowing very soon they will be attacked
life faces changes that the trees must know
but they say nothing and they never would
speak out of turn avoiding any ruth
they're always here to watch the changing show
silent no matter whether bad or good
and in their silence always speaking truth

For Michael Cooke at 50

The sun sees nothing as our planet turns
around its orb, but we know that we age,
that every sunreturn's another page
in a long record. Anyone who earns
an adult life eventually learns
not simply how to read but how to gauge
the difference between charlatan and sage
yet finds his heart with secret fires still burns.
Over the miles we've come with weary feet
to find our satisfactions in the task
that life has dealt us, and to find our voice
rising with pleasure as our friends we greet,
happy to grant, yet always glad to ask,
and knowing what we know we may rejoice.

simple perfection

a moment passes and we see the stars
aircraft like fireflies in the fading light
and in the background music of the night

the lonely pass heading for dim-lit bars
they never think to do the thing just right
a moment passes and we see the stars

up there's a planet mercury or mars
our chance of getting there is truly slight
but still their shining enhances the sight
a moment passes and we see the stars

the perfect tale

Og the gigantic, with a hideous roar,
commenced to sodomise a dinosaur,
but, with a curse, in the Jurassic rain
declared the whole thing was a total pain.
The truth is dino sex ain't for the meek,
they're structured so you can't find what you seek.
Deplorable I know. Still there's relief
in letting others know your horrid grief.

one day in june

no matter what the word we have the sign
all things converge on a small mark of grace
at island's end we find the clinging vine

each of us thinks our secret heart divine
but sparks of anger show upon each face
no matter what the word we have the sign

stars planets comets every one align
to send a message out into deep space
at island's end we find the clinging vine

mangroves and seagrapes then inland the pine
and withes to function as a sort of lace
no matter what the word we have the sign

you drink your beer i have my coolish wine
each dropping out of the harried rat-race
at island's end we find the clinging vine

a simple moment yet i'll make it shine
all of these things in turn i shall misplace
no matter what the word we have the sign
at island's end we find the clinging vine

sailing to colchis

all that we know is less than wholly true
not all we see is clear to open eye
the last battalions pass in review

we'll take the ship and find a better crew
don't listen to the seagulls' plaintive cry
all that we know is less than wholly true

don't shun the old to cleave unto the new
but judge the stranger things that you may try
the last battalions pass in review

our ancestors will have no cause to rue
we see the traps and how to pass them by
all that we know is less than wholly true

none of us all old habits should eschew
a normal day is never truly dry
the last battalions pass in review

the thing that holds us is not any glue
we see no stars in the late evening sky
all that we know is less than wholly true
the last battalions pass in review

a better map

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

choose well the realm where you will sink your heart
for after you will have no proper rest
the whole of life's just playing a small part
routine injustice removes any zest
we find that nature's got a sort of art
but what we see in dreams remains the best
the ones who rule us never give a fart
but simply lie and tell us it's a test

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

a child may move from myth onto the map
and find that truth requires a kind of lie
a world half glimpsed between the game and nap
a shape that's written on the empty sky
elves that tread quietly and dare to tap
your sleeping shoulder and stare in your eye
and then we grow up and the world's just crap
you work your arse off and you have to die

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

each day we sink far deeper in the hole
burnt in the sun and soaked by dreary rain
we get no closer to the hoped-for goal
and all our promise turns to gritty pain
explorers do not seek the distant pole
all life seems focused on some petty gain
work and commute grind down each weary soul
smiling requires that we must sweat and strain

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

a tiny change what others call a blunder
would take us to a place where light is grand
where frolic all the creatures of great wonder
where perish all the tasks and duties bland
a world made out of lighting and thunder
where happy warriors may make a stand
break all the hellish bonds at once asunder
and show us all a better promised land

we have fresh apples still and wine in flagons
but dance with unicorns and sport with dragons

movement in calm

drizzle falling grey
hint of true kindness of rain
autumn arriving

summer hanging on
but yellow leaves appearing
truly wistful time

taste of the season
fruit explodes in hungry mouths
ripest in memory

one for the road

by ancient law the one who speaks must pay
not just his scot but every listener's drink
so that long speech concludes with happy clink

a word of caution speeds each on their way
much more is needed than a simple wink
by ancient law the one who speaks must pay

we choose to work when we should have to play
it takes no effort to achieve the brink
but on the cliff there is no pause to think
by ancient law the one who speaks must pay

once young and foolish

the double choice of which way on the road
a sort of abstract made by one who knows
that journeys all must come to the same end
a moment more and there's a better choice
what leads us home may be the route of pain
but sorrow cannot keep us from true love
in truth it's hard in this place to be lost
since every path comes in the end to sea
and over the blue waves is freedom's home
none speaks of this under the mango leaf
but heart turns kinder when the moon is bright
and things are clearer then than in daylight
youth ends too soon in face of normal grief
the life of duty will not let us roam
our only option's not to let things be
following rules has we will find a cost
hard fist is gentled by the leather glove
sight comes to us and all things become plain
we listen to the ones with pleasant voice
true vision shows that trails must twist and bend
we'll take the allamanda not the rose
echoes we find in this fantastic mode

unimaginable zero summer

an element of pity gives us will
to do our duty and to do it well
we have to listen to the morning bell
and then go climbing up the daily hill
the heavy bucket cannot slip or spill
if we misstep others will surely tell
we have short time and never a long spell
all that we need is modesty and skill
we tell the truth about what we have seen
and face the moron horde who cannot see
the things that are both obvious and plain
no matter what we know where we have been
under the last most magical green tree
beyond the realms of hatred and of pain

Age of disenchantment

We scan the globe for one last hidden isle
where dwell the wizards and the ones who speak
not with a mouth but with a sort of beak,
near deadly ladies who sailors beguile;
inland we know there's a narrow defile
leads to a palace on high mountain-peak,
difficult traverse, not for the weak,
yet gods are there who when they see us smile.
There is a road we're now afraid to take
past villages where old chimneys still smoke,
into the country where wise dragons dwell.
We knew it once, that sure was no mistake,
nor any dream. But now we're under yoke,
and grown into a world that's more like hell.

the map is not the territory

Upon the map are all the magic places
where childhood dreams and adult hopes may meet
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.

Who can forget the shining children's faces
given the chance those mighty ones to greet?
Upon the map are all the magic places.

We see great beings, unbound by stays and laces,
but tied to us by meanings still and sweet
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces;

not one of us the cherished chart misplaces
while we can climb the mountain with glad feet;
upon the map are all the magic places.

We'll meet one day the strange unhuman races
and walk together on the self-same street
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.

Each of us knows that there are special cases
ensuring that our plans are incomplete;
upon the map are all the magic places,
while radiant dragons lend us all their graces.

standing in one's shoes

beyond the wall there are no other laws
the grass is just as dry and just as old
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

the wisest teacher does not wield the tawse
but neither does he blow both hot and cold
beyond the wall there are no other laws

all truths just have to stick in many craws
that's ancient history or so we've been told
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

the best of motivations has its flaws
what we have bought others have not yet sold
beyond the wall there are no other laws

no tiger waits to grasp us in its jaws
and yet we seem afraid of being bold
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

each will demand most undeserved applause
simply for staying in the boring fold
beyond the wall there are no others laws
we have no inkling of a nobler cause

no time for tears

beneath the heavy weight of rock we sink
our minds are not so clear nor bodies strong
no facing ugly fate with happy song
we have no other choices so we think
of better times now we are past the brink
our only hope is not to suffer long
we join together with the fallen throng
regretting for short time the final drink
hidden in shadows there are no more ghosts
but that won't stop us calling out their names
only the fact that mouth and throat are dry
we've gone long pasts the last abandoned posts
there is no light save of some distant flames
and all above us now there is no sky

no diplomatic voice

across the river live the stranger folk
we cannot understand their normal speech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

you see me here an ordinary bloke
but to their standards i can't hope to reach
across the river live the stranger folk

they do not know the tongue of ash and oak
nor can they read the words of thorn and beech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

our darker sentiments we may not cloak
by seeming humbly to beg and beseech
across the river live the stranger folk

we say like stupid frogs they have to croak
on their fat herds we need so much to leech
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

on their hard language we now have to choke
they say to us we only shout and screech
across the river live the stranger folk
they will not yield to our most benign yoke

no secret wound

a perfect moon sinking towards the west
gigantic pearl concealed within the fog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

the eastern glow is not another jest
we're back to horrid day with heat and smog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west

not one of us acts at our own behest
we're sadder than the tiny croaking frog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

just one more cup and then we'll have the zest
to drag ourselves out of the sleepy bog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west

just as the fledgling has to leave the nest
so do our feet have to move at a jog
we seek right now the opposite of rest

we lie to ourselves saying it's the best
that could be done now even for a dog
a perfect moon sinking towards the west
we seek right now the opposite of rest

the west moon

all time compounds into no simple shape
hour after hour we wonder how we've come
not just to here but to the complex sum
rendered a moment on the passing tape
no need to shudder nor to bow and scrape
one cannot get the sweetly golden plum
without some cash left on the waiting drum
and sudden flash of some heroic cape
no answers come from the old marching band
just note the changes on the painted wall
and if you wait you'll get to see a bird
come down and take the coin from your hand
but not return to your despairing call
nor understand an honest spoken word

indeed there will be time

say nothing that others may remember
your task's a simple one to get back home
the fire of wrath cools to a glowing ember

choices seem much clearer this september
we hide the key beneath the garden gnome
say nothing that others may remember

there will be other portents come december
for now we laugh and frolic in the foam
the fire of wrath cools to a glowing ember

the corpse of justice we will soon dismember
burying her deep beneath the silent loam
say nothing that others may remember

a simple truth but rawer than november
there is no mermaid with her busy comb
the fire of wrath cools to a glowing ember

duties fall too soon upon each member
there's no one left who'd ever want to roam
say nothing that others may remember
the fire of wrath cools to a glowing ember

a moment of the breeze

there's nothing here that will escape the fire
sunlight on leaves is pleasant but not all
nor does the forest truly form a hall

trappings of memory and of desire
combine to make the image we recall
there's nothing here that will escape the fire

wise horse draws force from both its dam and sire
not at all headstrong and in grace not small
we hear its laughter from the evening stall
there's nothing here that will escape the fire

autumnal frog

allow no second
batrachian now jumping
onto the driveway

this tiny being
how could it note my presence
facing its hunger

cool under the grass
its hexapod sustenance
waits all unknowing

the weeping and the laughter

not one swift second can the engine take
we aren't supposed to let you even know
the meaning of each many-sided flake
not one swift second can the engine take

each act is chosen for tradition's sake
a moment and we know we have to go
not one swift second can the engine take
we aren't supposed to let you even know

choose to go swiftly or else to go slow
the rule once taken each one will endure
the matter changes with each ebb and flow
choose to go swiftly or else to go slow

above us in the sky the carrion crow
waits for a moment and a silence sure
choose to go swiftly or else to go slow
the rule once taken each one will endure

this malady has certainly no cure
for none of us us the sober and the rake
the arrogant and the merely demure
this malady has certainly no cure

the method we arrive at's never pure
each choice becomes the final one to make
this malady has certainly no cure
for none of us the sober and the rake

roller-coaster

life changes and we alter with each tide
a subtler kind of magic fills each heart
we're just along to enjoy the wild ride

there are great wonders seen on every side
and happy birds through deepest forests dart
life changes and we alter with each tide

under large tree-roots little creatures hide
we set them jumping with a sudden start
we're just along to enjoy the wild ride

we'll let the problems and the worries slide
leaving behind the troubles of the mart
life changes and we alter with each tide

not one of us the happy could deride
we will not let the pain and sorrow smart
we're just along to enjoy the wild ride

with all the requisites we've been supplied
what now remains is just to play the part
lif changes and we alter with each tide
we're just along to enjoy the wild ride

so we prevaricate

in other years we might have made a stand
held on to this place against any foe
made light of any chance of pain or woe
holding our ground with gesture large and grand
against the fiercest horrors of the land
we would have shouted everlasting no
doing the things that would have made it so
all power and glory flowing from each hand
now we are smaller and we will not fight
simply to show that we can hold our own
facing the worst that artifice allows
the choice we face is to abandon right
plunge swiftly onward into the unknown
or stand forsworn of all our naïve vows

urban fantasy

a time of change comes quickly on this place
supping the wine from an old-fashioned flagon
desire and hope each fight for proper space
we are now in the age of elf and dragon

lordship of earth shines from a magic face
we load the drunken fools onto a waggon
now comes a time of power and of grace
we are now in the age of elf and dragon

we note the ones of more than human race
of what we built nothing is left but lagan
the chances and the powers here embrace
we now are in the age of elf and dragon

for gail on her birthday

this is your day all of it free and clear
memory has played its part under the sun
rejoice and take a moment in the air

you do the things that others could not dare
before the rest begin you are well done
this is your day all of it free and clear

the time for happiness you still can spare
what others lost you certainly have won
rejoice and take a moment in the air

your heart stays light even when full of care
you are the mistress of the tale well-spun
this is your day all of it free and clear

i know you are the queen of all the fair
better than you i know well there are none
rejoice and take a moment in the air

we have to take the time to stand and stare
be happy that we have a place to run
this is your day all of it free and clear
rejoice and take a moment in the air

a moment's waiting

beyond the shades another game's in play
not one for moral questions or for sense
eternal returning of the same day

choose now you fool either you go or stay
no chance or choice of sitting on the fence
beyond the shades another game's in play

anxious to westward for last solar ray
a shining cloud is neither warm nor dense
eternal returning of the same day

allow a speech and you deny the way
to those for whom the meaning's always tense
beyond the shades another game's in play

nothing's immortal all must soon decay
to hurry forward is to hurry hence
eternal returning of the same day

tempers and ropes are made to thin and fray
against the coming storm there's no defence
beyond the shades another game's in play
eternal returning of the same day

looking downward from the classroom

leaves begin tinting
green still dominates the eye
earth keeps on turning
there is no backward motion
time must eat its children raw

corpse planted in the garden

an hour or two of rest and then to mark
not time but action with a searching eye
we know that in short order comes the dark
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

hours come and go and we are made quite sure
that all must heed the moments passing by
not one who's certain what they must endure
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

romance and treachery become the signs
that indicate the bounds of truth and lie
the tree of life chokes underneath the vines
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

a touch of breeze moving the topmost leaves
enclosed in silence we hear no birds cry
the one who claims to know truly deceives
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

the signs of order are not always clear
whoever claims to answer we'll deny
peace has its place in the autumnal air
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

words not yet spoken someone may repeat
just as the springs of wisdom may run dry
no stars appear as guides to honest feet
white clouds make bluer the encircling sky

emergent humanity

we watch the crowds gather in each main square
the same fierce speeches the same loud applause
it doesn't matter what the score or cause
people demand the world be made more fair
public rejection of shock and despair
combines with calls for honest rule and laws
a better government with fewer flaws
against the current all will speak and dare
the planet's small no corner's very far
from camera and from the microphone
we live in awe of these swift-changing days
no frontier no artificial bar
keeps us away from any cry or moan
we all are actors in these urgent plays
from no small action can we avert gaze
from burning man or from exploding car
we get to hear each horrid sign and groan
each day some terror makes every nerve jar
in teeming millions we are quite alone
knowing new powers lurk within the haze
from all sides we're most urgently apprised
the revolution has been televised

no dearth of vision

behind the hill the sun has breached the sky
time does not halt for any old desire
there's more to see than fits into the eye

nothing prevents the one who has to try
nor are there barriers if you aspire
behind the hill the sun has breached the sky

none hears the sufferers when they must cry
but fall to silence when appears the choir
there's more to see than fits into the eye

there's no time to complain nor to decry
the causes of such swiftly rising ire
behind the hill the sun has breached the sky

nothing we see was made to ease us by
together all the forces must conspire
there's more to see than fits into the eye

against the law we tell the ugly lie
there's none but has to go into the fire
behind the hill the sun has breached the sky
there's more to see than fits into the eye

a fallen light

a number that we know to be untrue
governs the means by which we oversee
all that may happen under sky and tree

visions of other choices may ensue
if we can reach a point where we agree
a number that we know to be untrue

not knowing just when all the bills come due
we have to make our way through the debris
lacking certificates of guarantee
a number that we know to be untrue

careful attention

pale autumn sunset
across green forest silence
pleasant the shadows
inside no voices speaking
observing the fading light

at no one's beck and call

the stars above us with their glow
illuminate no simple places
we aren't the ones who want to know
just what is hidden by our faces
we move on upwards fast or slow
leaving behind the merest traces
each night there is another show
of all the righteous airs and graces

alarmed by every sort of call
we wait for others to agree
behind each happy sight a wall
is hidden yet the wise may see
the days are not so very tall
but last as long as we decree
the rain we hope will start to fall
before we want to go on spree

echoes across the empty plain
the voices of the storied past
those symbols of another pain
each wanting sure to be the last
all messages of hope or gain
upon the silent seas are cast
we leave behind some kind of stain
and all the heroes stand aghast

a meaningful sort of command
in proper ceremonial rite
defines to whom the very land
belongs and who is not in sight
of what the hardest-working band
brings back in profit day and night
the older practices are banned
and not a candle may burn bright

years may not pass before the dawn
of newer ways and better hearts
a host of weeds covers the lawn
no one assembles all the parts
brain counts for half as much as brawn
and armour cannot blunt the darts
the stag may overcome the fawn
but we have not the sable arts

not only pitchy-patchy

behind the mask a man becomes divine
no simple act but transformation pure
a measure hidden when we pass the line

fates separate or come to intertwine
none of us starts expecting to endure
behind the mask a man becomes divine

the dancers come a signal and a sign
of earthly life receiving its great cure
a measure hidden when we pass the line

once truly clad nothing you see is mine
the human part is merely a sad lure
behind the mask a man becomes divine

to wear the costume requires a stout spine
and bearing that is noble not demure
a measure hidden when we pass the line

to a dead past our normal selves consign
appear in public powerful and sure
behind the mask a man becomes divine
a measure hidden when we pass the line

fresh-made country road

a layer of limestone blinding at the noon
no shimmer though from distant sight of sea
yet envy of the vultures flying free

asking of life no complicated boon
but water ready hot for making tea
a layer of limestone blinding at the noon

i listen now to hear the wild birds croon
no sounds but nature's underneath this tree
no one would bow their head or bend the knee
a layer of limestone blinding at the noon

no larger mercies

a rougher touch than we were meant to feel
upon each body there's a sense of cold
crueller and harder than the sharpest steel

before the king other than knights must kneel
it's not enough to know worthy and bold
a rougher touch than we were meant to feel

from certain judgments there is no appeal
some have the duty statutes to uphold
crueller and harder than the sharpest steel

not only cowards want to shout and squeal
warnings we fear have all been left untold
a rougher touch than we were meant to feel

upon each heart the anger must congeal
too many here will not live to be old
crueller and harder than the sharpest steel

sparks rise to blind us as we turn the wheel
all that is known is we were bought and sold
a rougher touch than we were meant to feel
crueller and harder than the sharpest steel

an utter silence

divinities that speak in other terms
whose power is not as dark or absolute
music that echoes on the drum and flute
heat not measured in any joules or therms
towers arising upon steepest berms
and now each one of us is wholly mute
facing these beings of sternest repute
knowing the feelings of beetles and worms
now magic does not come from any sense
of who we are or how we ought to be
but out of life that we may understand
between us and the other stands a fence
making it difficult clearly to see
what is the mirror of the painful land

five-minute warning

meanings collide expectations shatter
upon each head there comes a crashing blow
no time left to chide much less to flatter

singers today in their boring patter
state not a thing that anyone could know
meanings collide expectations shatter

the best of dogs a determined ratter
chases its prey through heavy rain and snow
no time left to chide much less to flatter

the old folk liking to chat and natter
have no place left where they could easy go
meanings collide expectations shatter

ruler above madder than a hatter
bird compounded of noisy dove and crow
no time left to chide much less to flatter

here and now opinions don't matter
waiting for the radioactive glow
meanings collide expectations shatter
no time left to chide much less to flatter

glimmers in shadow

naming the monster makes it disappear
but not the tree lit up by setting sun
still there' s no tiger that we have to fear

walking through places that are not held dear
none could expect that you would choose to run
naming the monster makes it disappear

a turn through darkness will make nothing clear
beasts and humans alike the road may shun
still there's no tiger that we have to fear

another hill to climb and then no care
of men who carry sword or noisy gun
naming the monster makes it disappear

reaching the gate dim in the star-lit air
another journey soon must be begun
still there's no tiger that we have to fear

over the distance one might have to stare
plans made and scattered are yet far from done
naming the monster makes it disappear
still there's no tiger that we have to fear

every spoil is a style

there are no shadows on the malvern road
at noon when nothing moves not even pain
the mind i carry is my direst load

the aura tells me head ought to explode
what's knowledge for if i can never gain
there are no shadows on the malvern road

the threat of suffering is the surest goad
but nothing at this moment could be plain
the mind i carry is my direst load

under the rock squats an old warty toad
happy to wait for the next soothing rain
there are no shadows on the malvern road

now we are learning there's no sure abode
grass must be eaten and we'll cut the cane
the mind i carry is my direst load

we wait for secrets but don't know the code
against the angry past we have to strain
there are no shadows on the malvern road
the mind i carry is my direst load

unending summer

a softer kind of green that won't recall
the crowing cocks at every time of day
nor tropic trees with roots in the hard clay

of suchlike things the memories must fall
into the silence for we must not stay
a softer kind of green that won't recall

times when the watcher still felt very small
on mountaintop looking down at the bay
while behind the tall trees would gently sway
a softer kind of green that won't recall

nocturnal vision

if there's a chance to see beyond the wall
we ought to take it and declare our part
in matters that go to the very heart
of what we think of as our silent all
action's required we cannot simply stall
life is a rocket now and not a cart
this is not something of a complex art
there is no giant waiting in the hall
this is no savagery of natural law
nothing is evil underneath this sky
words may suffice to entertain us now
we do not fear a coming monster's claw
nor is our courage made into a lie
before the happy ones we take a bow

Looking out at time

Autumn now comes, and we must not recoil
from welcoming the changing of the year
and the sharp clarity of morning air
as mind and body cease at last to boil.
I take a moment from the weekend's toil
to think about the things for which I care,
a simple moment that I need to spare
a sort of lubrication with sweet oil.
None of the days to come will be pure joy
but I look forward to a working time
when all that happens has an upward trend;
time and experience do not humour cloy,
another bell will have a clearer chime
and every year comes down to a clean end.

clearest of mornings

if there is time we'll make a better trade
eyes will be dried and vision will be clear
the worst of days comes in the end to fade

choices are hard but yet they must be made
courage requires that every one must dare
if there is time we'll make a better trade

pirates and ninjas will combine to raid
the ones who up till then had not a care
the worst of days comes in the end to fade

shapes in the trees are made of light and shade
things are much sharper in the autumn air
if there is time we'll make a better trade

a calmer time will every stomach aid
we have some decent moments left to spare
the worst of days comes in the end to fade

at bottom stand the ones with fork and spade
whose looming presence causes all to swear
if there is time we'll make a better trade
the worst of days comes in the end to fade

malvern square

waiting for the bus in this village square
patience teaches us to know our true place
no secrets yet are hidden behind face
all things are simple in the morning air
most minor irritations seem unfair
but no one challenges our claims to space
and youth is mighty yet and full of grace
the world is big and we have time to spare
laughter is natural and many smile
to watch us waiting in the early sun
not thinking about fury yet or fuss
we have not counted yet each weary mile
nor yet grown tired of the long daily run
and this holds true i know for each of us
and so we stand there waiting for the bus
telling old jokes the short time to beguile
nothing appears here our fresh minds to stun
but easy subjects that we might discuss
or means to fill the silence for a while
that make our schooling be a source of fun
turning each negative into a plus
decades have passed and now i must recall
those days as paradise before the fall

tropical wave past

dozens of lakes spring up from all the rain
from mountaintop right down to mountainside
all stands revealed that you would have us hide

the green exploding down there on the plain
speaks of a buoyant life too long denied
dozens of lakes spring up from all the rain

i look as others talk of loss and gain
the comfortable poor folks' pain deride
forgetting the true bases of their pride
dozens of lakes spring up from all the rain

still day almost no breeze

reveal the trick and it seems very small
the show's what matters and it matters much
against the morning sky each tree stands tall

there are no dances at the mourning ball
the things that count slip each one from our clutch
reveal the trick and it seems very small

what pleased us once now just seems to appall
the former stalwart now leans on a crutch
against the morning sky each tree stands tall

not one may answer when we dare to call
the rabbit stays well-hidden in its hutch
reveal the trick and it seems very small

in shallow seas not much remains to trawl
and what we find we would not eat as such
against the morning sky each tree stands tall

as summer ends we watch the old leaves fall
the fading glory still responds to touch
reveal the trick and it seems very small
against the morning sky each tree stands tall

escaping pressure

the law requires that we come under stress
no reason underpins it but we know
we must go forward or we must regress

truth is what's never published in the press
announcing many things that are not so
the law requires that we come under stress

planting in egg-boxes mustard and cress
we wonder why the growing is so slow
we must go forward or we must regress

no signs and symbols that we need repress
but we are worried at the absent foe
the law requires that we come under stress

obedient still we don proper dress
ready to face either the sun or snow
we must go forward or we must regress

division and destruction leave their mess
we've lost all modesty and youthful glow
the law requires that we come under stress
we must go forward or we must regress

fantasy-based community

no distant voices tell us of the fate
of those who never came back from the fight
they did not care whether for wrong or right
but only that they were paid by the state
we hide behind the silent door and gate
moaning that evils come here in the night
since none fall instantly before our might
we swift conclude we have left it too late
we entered battle without a clear plan
knew nothing of the places we would take
but thought that all would worship at our fane
at spouting nonsense we're now in the van
all our bravado turns out to be fake
but still we blame the other for our pain

promotion

allow the visit and you will be seen
as uncertain of your own thinking mind
the whole of life begins now to unwind
you play the pawn and it becomes the queen

a rule of life is not what it had been
you do your job and then you go to bed
you've learned to quit when you are just ahead
you play the pawn and it becomes the queen

a sort of lethargy comes over the scene
not once have you had any direct thought
of what it is you do and what you ought
you play the pawn and it becomes the queen

for other actions you may not be keen
you've done your best and done the very most
while others faltered you stuck to your post
you play the pawn and it becomes the queen

don't give an indication how you lean
the rules are clear about what you may show
others have gone where you now long to go
you play the pawn and it becomes the queen

category mistakes

tell one to climb and they will surely fall
tell one to hurry and they're sure to stall
the one who answers didn't hear the call
and she who hesitates might have a ball

let each voice die and others swiftly rise
the one who pauses will not win the prize
a moment then we have to organise
you see your best through ordinary eyes

soon comes the night and then it's time to weep
the dragons come when you are fast asleep
through every dream the monsters quiet creep
you want to paddle but you're in too deep

instead of gold you've chosen all the dross
you turn a loser when you could be boss
upon the stone there's a thick pile of moss
you should be happy but instead you're cross

regard the tree you think of its great weight
time passes but you think it not too late
to do the things now proper to your state
you want first class but you will travel freight

so in the night you hear the wolf respire
and hurry but know you can get no higher
for far too soon you will slow down and tire
between the hunter and the hungry fire

glimpses of marbled sky

a shiver and the sight becomes a pain
we cannot estimate the value soon
such actions mark each as a simple loon

the clouds pass by but do not give us rain
some solitary voice will chant or croon
a shiver and the sight becomes a pain

the honest task's to go against the grain
that is a duty but it's a true boon
time passes slowly yet it's swiftly noon
a shiver and the sight becomes a pain

no place for heroes

never give blame to those held in the muck
who struggled to get through on heavy feet
the mire at every step will grasp and suck

we seek to get ourselves out of the ruck
believing the high air is clear and sweet
never give blame to those held in the muck

the effort avails not we are still stuck
while others pass us by in manner fleet
the mire at every step will grasp and suck

we shout and scream but you don't give a fuck
with what delays and horrors we will meet
never give blame to those held in the muck

we hear some idiots complain and cluck
but the new masters they will praise and greet
the mire at every step will grasp and suck

it's far too easy just to pass the buck
while we in all our sorrow moan and bleat
never give blame to those held in the muck
the mire at every step will grasp and suck

burning pride

so nameless powers of deepest darkest fear
scudding onwards with much call and clatter
on every normal heart beat and batter
in measures of considerable care
into frays rush where angels would not dare
the powers that challenge us surely shatter
into small forces that cannot matter
and so we pause to smile and take the air
what one knows others will not yet have seen
so teaching them becomes the standard charge
and ignorance and dullness we revile
outside we smile at the yet-living green
know that our understanding must enlarge
and march into the future single file

and then fresh sunrise

once shadows hid strange beings of the night
now each of us can name the happy star
the room for tragedy is not so slight

over each word we wrangle and we fight
then each of us will walk up to the bar
once shadows hid strange beings of the night

not one of us will see with blinding sight
how one will make while others simply mar
the room for tragedy is not so slight

no records tell us of the greatest blight
that haunted us and made us flee so far
once shadows hid strange beings of the night

we listen to old saws and speeches trite
too much of that and we'll fall below par
the room for tragedy is not so slight

a single turn and all things become bright
another note is played on the guitar
once shadows hid strange beings of the night
the room for tragedy is not so slight

rational decision-making

a choice once made becomes one more hard fact
we want to travel but we fear each road
but without going we can't make contact

against our journey all the odds are stacked
only our honour's left as any goad
a choice once made becomes one more hard fact

the glass we hoped would guide us now is cracked
the carrion bird our dim future has crowed
no one has come to lighten our dull load
a choice once made becomes one more hard fact

sit back and watch

a shadow falls on dark vale and bright tower
we know its meaning but we fear to shout
we have arrived at a noteworthy hour

today the dust could do with a sharp shower
to let the green rise and shine clearly out
a shadow falls on dark vale and bright tower

the river flows today with little power
but still we see the swiftly moving trout
we have arrived at a noteworthy hour

each of us smiles at the last summer flower
it's not the time to weep or sigh or pout
a shadow falls on dark vale and bright tower

no rivalry could make the wakeful cower
too long a season though brings dread and drought
we have arrived at a noteworthy hour

too soon we'll find ourselves in sharpest stour
giving and taking rapid blow and clout
a shadow falls on dark vale and bright tower
we have arrived at a noteworthy hour

arising brick by brick

a distant glimmering of urgent light
requires no thought nor even that we act
too soon the happy day must turn to night

we're every one of us in the same plight
the glass we look into is chipped and cracked
a distant glimmering of urgent light

not one of us who claims the second sight
could tell us what is lie and what plain fact
too soon the happy day must turn to night

right now all matters are both clear and bright
but every face will soon find itself smacked
a distant glimmering of urgent light

the chance of making all things good is slight
nobody by the powers has been backed
too soon the happy day must turn to night

we earn the shadow as a human right
do not insist on delicate contact
a distant glimmering of urgent light
too soon the happy day must turn to night

looking upwards

see clarity of blue late-summer sky
a gentle wind moving the tips of trees
silence itself gives every fear the lie

no one in honesty should want to try
to challenge ancient powers on their knees
see clarity of blue late-summer sky

it's morning now night does not yet draw nigh
this is the moment all of us must seize
silence itself gives every fear the lie

there is some order that we may descry
in all the motions of the zephyr breeze
see clarity of blue late-summer sky

from all our sorrows we this beauty pry
in deepest pain to find a place of ease
silence itself gives every fear the lie

the truest pleasure's more than in the eye
both hearts and minds the best of sights must please
see clarity of blue late-summer sky
silence itself gives every fear the lie

when we must act

our silences say more than when we're loud
winks smiles and words are weapons of the weak
it is not what we say but how we speak
with eyes cast downwards and our heads all bowed
our faces are the opposite of proud
expression is not debonair but meek
each of us claims to stand below the peak
we hide ourselves inside the surging crowd
but time gives nothing and neither does fact
each of us wants to be outside the pile
and have a proper scene and speaking part
this is no time for modesty or tact
nor for the humble mostly pleasing smile
the truest speech is not from mouth but heart

fathered and found

having no choice we march towards an end
inscribed both in the body and the mind
the spool moves forward we cannot rewind
and get for all of it just what we spend
there are some ills that we can never mend
so each of us about some things is blind
and bitter cruel when we should be kind
we should do nothing that we can't defend
and yet we need the world to make us whole
alone we've nothing save the searing pain
that clasps us tightly in its metal glove
together we can join to find the pole
build us a shelter against the cold rail
and know that what alone survives is love

blind and unblessed

let memory speak not one of us will hear
life tells us that we must let all things go
we come upon them whether quick or slow
knowing that soon there'll be a change of gear
between the pylons each of us must steer
up and down hill in rain and mud and snow
through the calm air or during breezy blow
that is the way of things year after year
and yet my eyes are filled with angry tears
when i remember what there might have been
and all those things i once thought to desire
still horses charge onto the waiting spears
our eyes forget the many hurts we've seen
and we wait calmly for the coming fire

who see with blinding sight

our children soon will have to pay the bill
for all our failures and our false desires
for now we all seem to have lost the will

our planet turns it's never standing still
each day to better one of us aspires
our children soon will have to pay the bill

grain turns to flour daily in the old mill
it simply does what the whole world requires
for now we all seem to have lost the will

only the lucky get to eat their fill
and then to sing in the adoring choirs
our children soon will have to pay the bill

the rest of us must be content with swill
and celebrate not being trapped in mires
for now we all seem to have lost the will

it does not matter who may have the skill
to warm the coal and start again the fire
our children soon will have to pay the bill
for now we all seem to have lost the will

Listening at evening

Frogs and cicadas
in the pond behind my house,
the summer chorus.

Limerick for Nalo Hopkinson

Choose seas that are deep, never shallow,
land once cultivated, now fallow;
describe them in words
more graceful than birds,
and you're reading a novel by Nalo.

outside the office window

late summer sunrise
silhouette of leafy trees
under pearly sky

another changing of the guard

silence broken by loud scream
the things we know have all come true
we have no option but to deem
the old betrayed and blame the new
what is is more than what may seem
the one who wins is he who slew
the creature lurking by the stream
and then received more than his due

a world of choices comes to one
we reach a fork in the long road
we cannot walk nor even run
what was behind us is our goad
we know the path that we must shun
we understand the secret code
each hopes for a returning sun
and struggles under the huge load

no signal comes to tell us how
we these strange paths must navigate
sweat shall spring up on every brow
we'll never reach the staring gate
unless we this hard truth avow
there is an answer against fate
and more than that we must allow
to come into our proper state

all change requires some early pain
your heart must take it beat by beat
not thinking of the coming gain
just whether the road suits our feet
the mountain giving way to plain
stale water giving way to sweet
rejoicing in the autumn rain
and laughing in the city street

in praise of moderation

We've got your vowels in the neatest pile
your message is still there, though hard to read,
and you are less annoying, you'd concede
through what would have to be a most forced smile.
Enough of that! Our task this little while
is rather how to honour the good deed
of one who's standing by to help at need
and keep us safe from trickery and guile.
We rarely think, when we write in this space,
of all the work that's done to keep it neat
and make it a safe harbour for our thought.
And so we ought to thank the one whose grace
keeps it from being just a brawling street
and helps us learn without our being taught.

with extended view

there's nothing here the normal mind to shock
except the pain that comes from knowing light
no one should pause not even to take stock

only the idle need to watch the clock
the rest of us know that it will soon be night
there's nothing here the normal mind to shock

the city's built on sand and not on rock
its chances of survival are but slight
no one should pause not even to take stock

one last ship is still berthed at the last dock
across the water the wise should take flight
there's nothing here the normal mind to shock

no one could come now our escape to block
but we're not sure that fleeing would be right
no one should pause not even to take stock

no victory will come for those who mock
but neither will there be any delight
there's nothing here the normal mind to shock
no one should pause not even to take stock

eastward the dawn

there is no challenge we won't this day meet
our minds are firm and we are on the ball
clamour now falls to silence on the street

each morning comes and the daylight is sweet
late summer but the leaves aren't poised to fall
there is no challenge we won't this day meet

we see what's solid what is sure concrete
there's never reason to delay or stall
clamour now falls to silence on the street

the truth when spoken we need not repeat
the chances change will happen are not small
there is no challenge we won't this day meet

we've organised things and they're now so neat
that there is nothing left that could appall
clamour now falls to silence on the street

a proper day with much more light than heat
no dismal shadows wait out in the hall
there is no challenge we won't this day meet
clamour now falls to silence on the street

occidental journey

a label tells us little we need know
and nothing of the things we truly need
we cannot see inherent in the seed
the power that makes it urgently grow
the plant that comes up whether fast or slow
no matter if it's cultigen or weed
cleanses the air at the same rate of speed
without requirement of much fancy show
life gives us little more than a small clue
and hardly any time to make our mark
before the shadow falls upon each name
not much to say before the bill comes due
in the small passage before open dark
we find the whole thing's just another game

the heavens themselves

politest forms obscure the ugly side
the world belongs to those who are too rich
the rest of us have only rags and pride

the truth of power cannot long be denied
only a few can scratch the hungry itch
politest forms obscure the ugly side

the ones who pay the bill can't choose the ride
and everywhere we watch out for the snitch
the rest of us have only rags and pride

whoever rules is free to be most snide
and sneer at every beggar's humble pitch
politest forms obscure the ugly side

every wise husband has paid for his bride
as for a side of beef or for a flitch
the rest of us have only rags and pride

this is plain truth we cannot just elide
the fact that we are ruled by dog and bitch
politest forms obscure the ugly side
the rest of us have only rags and pride

the voice of the turtle

no part of this may come into plain sight
we keep the secrets under lock and key
it does not matter if we're wrong or right
no part of this may come into plain sight

we blame all failures on your hate and spite
your proper place is upon your naked knee
no part of this may come into plain sight
we keep the secrets under lock and key

what none of us can ever sense or see
must be kept hidden from the normal eye
instead we'll say that everyone is free
what none of us can ever sense or see

the villain hangs from the appointed tree
like many others he would aim too high
what none of us can ever sense or see
must be kept hidden from the normal eye

we know the measures that we must apply
they are indentical in sun and rain
you think that you are being slick and sly
we know the measures that we must apply

all that you want will surely go awry
that is to us most obvious and plain
we know the measures that we must apply
they are identical in sun and rain

our stuff is smooth enough to withstand stain
our eyes are sweetly clear and our thoughts bright
we get just what we asked for in the main
our stuff is smooth enough to withstand stain

you think you are the ones who have the brain
but you are going under in the night
our stuff is smooth enough to withstand stain
our eyes are sweetly clear and our thoughts bright

at a world's edge

a word when uttered takes a formal shape
each hears and turns it in their working mind
the record is engraved or set on tape
a word when uttered takes a formal shape

the sea will roar and batter at the cape
we see it and we wonder what we'll find
a word when uttered takes a formal shape
each hears and turns it in their working mind

the road to hope

all that we know may turn out to be wrong
worlds may exist on the point of a pin
the truth may yet emerge from all the spin
and all the weak may call upon the strong
to lend their aid so good times will be long
and every face will bear a joyous grin
humanity will cheer us when we win
and life will be a happy space of song
a modicum of light's the thing we'll need
to make our work the object of all eyes
or let us see the glories we desire
the thought will swift convert into the deed
there will be time to rejoice in the prize
and laughter will be loud around the fire

rawest of realities

no share of justice left for those who seek
through thought and deed a space to dedicate
that will provide some safety for the weak

against the strong we have arrayed the meek
but if they fail someone will celebrate
no share of justice left for those who seek

some measure of contentment though the sleek
and perfumed bear none of the honest freight
that will provide some safety for the weak

we tell the true ones from the sport and freak
the latter are all barred at the last gate
no share of justice left for those who seek

in silence to endure the loudest shriek
of saddened creature mourning for its mate
that will provide some safety for the weak

each for a time will stand there on the peak
and then for everyone it will be late
no share of justice left for those who seek
that will provide some safety for the weak

purses are not trash

a chance to fill the lines and make the sense
become what each desires and not the whole
universal repulsion of each soul
without dejection and without pretense
true hunters are not bothered by a fence
and rabbits can't just vanish down the hole
out here there's due procedure and control
and nothing matters when we are gone hence
amaze the punters with some simple tricks
and you'll gain reputation and acclaim
and in a generation be forgot
when we add up we do not count the bricks
that make the infrastructure of all fame
but just the coins that we've got in the pot

though hopes are dupes

salvaging the smallest of hard-won gains
we ask for only what there is to hand
not even the best product of the land
nor what we have achieved with many pains
a sort of echo after long-sought rains
we come we hope at last to understand
a thing that happens even if not planned
after the mountains there are only plains
let us begin by recital of fact
this light that softens comes to us by art
all that we do is take the proferred lift
accept that there is something we have lacked
rejoice that there's another chance to start
and take the fruits of victory as gift

Ballad of Modernism

All of our houses are machines for living,
machines for living, machines for living;
all of our houses are machines for living,
that is the mode of le Corbusier.

We build in hard concrete, it's brutal and simple;
we don't need to use any natural wood;
our buildings rise truest, without a dimple,
we're for good living, and that's the great good.

All of our houses &c.

The 20th century's the age of eruptions
we'll build a new heaven without any pause;
avoiding the tricks, and all the corruptions,
construction must follow by linear laws.

All of our houses &c.

We'll house the hard workers in tall-rising towers;
the metro and buses collect and disperse
the ones who in sanitary, well-lighted bowers,
will be educated and rarely will curse.

All of our houses &c.

Later generations could never demolish,
the towers we have built here of solid concrete;
we've made things correctly, given them polish,
but made them unsuited for soft human feet.

All of our houses &c.

who's to be master

the smiling speaker fair of tongue and face
tells us a tale that none would dare deny
our feeling is that we've gone out of place

a moment more and we'd fall to disgrace
there's none who'd then confront us eye to eye
the smiling speaker fair of tongue and face

another comes to take the sacred space
there are no angels left to hear our cry
all magic is replaced by a plain lie
the smiling speaker fair of tongue and face

vacancy

absence of clamour silence reigns within
outside there's nothing for the eye to see
no blossom left no hungry seeking bee
no empty bottles once brimful with gin
in the deep waters no alarming fin
a world that of both thought and sense is free
the skyline is not marked by any tree
and puffs of air pass over tired skin
a world of colours now reduced to grey
meaning is absent all that's left is sound
and ghosts inhabit every empty space
we cannot call this strange experience day
not one thing here that can shock or astound
and honesty has fled from every face

a touch of breeze

a kind of pallor covers all in view
no fire to warm the dry and frozen skin
the grass outside is very wet with dew

we all arrive as part of a fresh crew
ready to fight and wishing we could win
a kind of pallor covers all in view

we're happy to believe that all is new
the story can be told without the spin
all that is needed is just to begin
a kind of pallor covers all in view

under high cloud

echoes of night remain in every heart
we wait to see just what falls on the plate
turning the truth into a work of art

a shuttered life spent in a place apart
keeps us in silence behind a thick gate
echoes of night remain in every heart

the job is ended before we can start
we start out early but arrive too late
turning the truth into a work of art

we bear the corpses on a slow mule cart
the lively once are now just so much freight
echoes of night remain in every heart

too soon we must make ready to depart
the tally will be cleared off the old slate
turning the truth into a work of art

the whip can never truly make us smart
only our knowledge of the final state
echoes of night remain in every heart
turning the truth into a work of art

all meaner things

nothing remains that's either clear or plain
the law of life is one that makes us weep
hope comes and goes like rapid summer rain

a sudden breeze opens shut doors again
the hill we climb is neither high nor steep
nothing remains that's either clear or plain

a measure now of healing comes with pain
we let the blood and ichor slowly seep
while hoping madly for the long dark sleep
nothing remains that's either clear or plain

promise of fresh rain

under deep shadow hope becomes so slight
that we are still astonished at the day
forgetting that the whole thing is a play
and when we draw the curtain enters night
a character skulking at edge of sight
and interfering in the normal way
with anyone with useful things to say
since every action has to be done right
a purple glow at the far edge of dawn
reminds us that the standard rule is change
approaching us only at proper time
we wonder just what card we could have drawn
but then the answer has gone out of range
and morning bells have just begun to chime

inanition

these angry lions stand up for the king
there is no place where they cannot bear rule
we want the year to be forever spring

the words we speak lack a true honest ring
they move too slowly like a spavined mule
these angry lions stand up for the king

where darkness crowds us like a vibrant thing
we wait for morning and we sip our gruel
we want the year to be forever spring

announcing that the coming dawn will bring
a better day that's not unkind nor cruel
these angry lions stand up for the king

we're caught and raised up by a rapid sling
our task is not to quarrel nor to duel
we want the year to be forever spring

time there is not for a last happy fling
we lack the energy and basic fuel
these angry lions stand up for the king
we want the year to be forever spring

The truer, harder battle

War's become metaphor as much as act,
we know the world's in danger from the fire;
the rule requires that we accept each fact
not from requirement but from plain desire.
A time may come when we must choose to walk
away from all the things that keep us sane,
instead we are supposed to calmly talk
while other forces put us under strain.
No law that governs human soul or beast
can keep us from the truths that we all need
but if we wait too long we'll find the least
of our intensities will lack true speed.
All of the past comes out in one huge jest:
believing that the world is just a test.

foretelling history

i write my name in symbols that are coarse
composed at once of anger and desire
available at each exchange or bourse
i write my name in symbols that are coarse

we lead to water every willing horse
and hope that one will make it to the wire
i write my name in symbols that are coarse
composed at once of anger and desire

the goals to which each of us may aspire
are covered up by the dull autumn leaves
we seek each day to set up ever higher
the goals to which each of us may aspire

no rules may govern who shall start the fire
nor what is hidden up a jester's sleeves
the goals to which each of us may aspire
are covered up by the dull autumn leaves

ruler alike of merchants and of thieves
the divine being smiling on each street
takes all the credit for the farmers' sheaves
ruler alike of merchants and of thieves

so one may cheer just at the other grieves
while rats uncounted run about our feet
ruler alike of merchants and of thieves
the divine being smiling on each street

i walk about to speak and smile and greet
the ones who enter on the moving stage
each hopes the day will turn out calm and sweet
i walk about to speak and smile and greet

we may advance but we may not retreat
the losing option puts us in a rage
i walk about to speak and smile and greet
the ones who enter on the moving stage

an actor does not choose his proper age
nor where he enters in the play's long course
the playwright has become both fool and mage
an actor does not choose his proper page

instead i find myself obliged to gauge
the distance i must travel on each horse
an actor does not choose his proper age
nor where he enters in the play's long course

atlantis sunrise

let memory speak and we may learn the new
symbols and signs of a far better time
the rising towers always stay in true

we find ourselves still seeking for a clue
or any explanation for the crime
let memory speak and we may learn the new

the answers may come before they are due
and messages will shortly fit the rhyme
the rising towers always stay in true

winners are many losers are but few
from starting shot until the closing chime
let memory speak and we may learn the new

we urge the laggards to join with our crew
before the day has reached its proper prime
the rising towers always stay in true

choices are made and someday we may rue
the effort we have put into this climb
let memory speak and we may learn the new
the rising towers always stay in true

snowy summits old in story

slow hum of old machines marking a time
for acting swiftly before day turns loud
some distant echo of the morning crowd
the walls are red under the ancient grime
the moment passes for it is sublime
and then the waiting ones with their heads bowed
step forward only when they've been allowed
a rising sun will not burn off the slime
instead we wait and wonder what we've done
to set the formal boundaries of grace
before we make our way down the last hill
the answer is we've neither lost nor won
still must we make for others their true place
and little shall be subject to our will

last drops of gold

i see the light bleeds golden in the wood
a sign of kindness as the sun heads west
down the sky hill towards its time of rest
or that was what we all had understood
reality's beyond us bad or good
we watch the bird returning to her nest
and wonder at her energy and zest
as nature seems to vanish under hood
summer must end and autumn shall be back
to tease us and torment us with fair fruit
and then to toss us into winter's cold
time and slow age will place us on the rack
each of us in our shabby human suit
adding day to day soon becoming old

only the empty voices

all that is known ends at a wavy line
the boundary of truth and of the lie
we hear the angry and the happy whine
all that is known ends at a wavy line

we wrap the package up in baling twine
that's how we've done it and we don't ask why
all that is known ends at a wavy line
the boundary of truth and of the lie

the answer will not come down from the sky
we ask and ask and only get a stone
we make the effort we still have to try
the answer will not come down from the sky

the dove has died and nothing now will fly
in this large multitude each stands alone
the answer will not come down from the sky
we ask and ask and only get a stone

for others' crimes we've got now to atone
there's nothing left for us to understand
in the far distance all the bombers drone
for others' crimes we've now got to atone

beneath warm skin is cold and brittle bone
the signal is not what had once been planned
for others' crimes we've now got to atone
there's nothing left for us to understand

the speeches have become more flat and bland
intended just to subtly undermine
the ones who'd dare to take a solo stand
the speeches have become more flat and bland

there's only dust left for the grasping hand
dust and the fading scent of burning pine
the speeches have become more flat and bland
intended just to subtly undermine

an age of lead

mention the name and everyone's aghast
nobody wants to speak all wish to fly
the present's just an echo of the past

above us clouds are moving pretty fast
the ceiling here is never very high
mention the name and everyone's aghast

the coming thunderclap won't be the last
there's no place left secure and snug and dry
the present's just an echo of the past

we keep on waiting for the loudest blast
the tallest ones will always burn and fry
mention the name and everyone's aghast

we take the onomastics at the last
all meaning has been written in the sky
the present's just an echo of the past

the world's now small yet once it was most vast
no truths are now apparent to the eye
mention the name and everyone's aghast
the present's just an echo of the past

no other answer

another kind of darkness in the day
eyes cannot see every instance of pain
each of us waiting for the harder rain
not knowing who will each new dragon slay
far distant now from merry surf and spray
we measure things by numerary gain
all life's now complex not a thing is plain
there is no healing light of solar ray
a moment comes when lies will not suffice
we shiver in the light of summer sun
and cannot hope to feel a better heat
there's not a thing that doesn't have a price
we've hardly started and yet we are done
now every hopeful smile will see defeat

The framework starts to go

And what is left, since all now has been said,
but the salt tears of those who can't forget
the sunny day, begun with no regret
and ended after sight of falling dead?
A moment and the blue sky turns to red;
we're told that now we've got to make the bet.
The die is cast, the purpose now is set,
and decency and reason have long fled.
The count of death rises without a pause
and we are numb under late summer sky
to anything but our imagined pain.
We have no need for honour nor for laws,
only desiring the most soothing lie.
All memory vanishes in the hard rain.

a place to dance

the tale's been told
time does not heal
memory's cold
we can't appeal
lies now are bold
we're told to feel
that brass is gold
under the wheel

the eye is filled
with many tears
the hopes then killed
the constant cares
innocents grilled
morons with airs
the grain is milled
it has been years

rules now are made
to hold pain back
but there's no shade
we know the lack
hate makes the grade
all fades to black
one more parade
then we attack

the ones who died
are all now dust
the ones who cried
have lost all trust
we know who lied
and feel disgust
no blushing bride
no golden crust

we feel the shame
of showing fear
we take the blame
we were not there
there's been a claim
no one would dare
snuff out the flame
let in the air

too little time
too swift a shove
under the grime
a single glove
it was a crime
they say above
the moment's prime
still we may love

commend all summer long

savour each moment and still it will pass
into pale memory and lose all weight
the world is seen through a distorting glass

the truth is known to every lad and lass
who kisses and farewells at the closed gate
savour each moment and still it will pass

all human flesh goes on to make fresh grass
we know the ending although not the date
the world is seen through a distorting glass

taste and desire have feeling but not mass
we know reality comes always late
savour each moment and still it will pass

green or dull grey the answer remains crass
the best we do is never adequate
the world is seen through a distorting glass

age sex and status colour race and class
all in the end merely the price inflate
savour each moment and still it will pass
the world is seen through a distorting glass

frog in the morning

frog on the porch size of a fingernail
seems to seek shelter from the pelting rain
tiny brown creature weighing just a grain
or so i think (perhaps my measures fail)
from the fierce heat i certainly must quail
but wonder what you seek and what you'll gain
what efforts you must make of might or main
on what you must admit is a small scale
you do not move but when i look you're fled
gone into grass and then i cannot say
life intersects and then things fall apart
i hope on vermin you have been well fed
and found in your short life a happy way
a tiny creature yet with so much heart

more than a dream

we take the rule and know we must obey
a sort of lassitude provides excuse
still we require no map to find the way

we turn the dial soon from night to day
our minds rebel at this renewed abuse
we take the rule and know we must obey

the least of us will mighty dragons slay
and giant fortresses swiftly reduce
still we require no map to find the way

we see the monster as our highest prey
and all our praises soon will be profuse
we take the rule and know we must obey

the action will be seen within the play
minds hearts and spirits willingly seduce
still we require no map to find the way

another sun may light us with its ray
another voice awoken by the muse
we take the rule and know we must obey
still we require no map to find the way

Squamosity future

A giant squid arrived here to explore
this planet full of bipeds, yet it knew
already something revealed but to few:
there would be carnivals of blood and gore
and elder beings would arise. A score
of insane prophets laid it all in view,
that there would come a day when Cthulhu slew
all humans and restored what was before.
Now we, the fortunate, on the squid-ship
are set to voyage to an eldritch place.
We are the passengers of cuttle-fish
whose dark existence was but now a blip,
still we must venture out into deep space
where we will be the ones upon the dish.

The ultimate science-fiction tale

I'm writing from Atlanta in shock,
my spaceship's just out of its dock,
but a fellow named Jim
whose light is not dim
has just christened it 'Four O'Clock'.

I knew I was just on the brink
of transilience; yet without pause to think
Teresa declared
what we all wanted aired
that now it was time for a drink.

All you people who voyage in space
know matters have their proper place;
before the first call
up in Montreal
the order is 'splice the mainbrace'.

I got the contract -- lowest bid --
but one simple fact I had hid.
Though we were all staunch
about the great launch,
the one who got drunk was the squid.

wise men's sons

a simple word for some things may suffice
but at the best of times we need to fight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

we have to make a choice of fire or ice
while we maintain that success may be slight
a simple word for some things may suffice

our words and actions have to be precise
falling between the bounty and the blight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

we scurry onwards like a flock of mice
unpleasant to the ear and to the sight
a simple word for some things may suffice

of all the joy of living we've a slice
bitten before we thought of taking flight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

the choice once made we have to pay the price
and right this minute ahead of the night
a simple word for some things may suffice
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

Back to work

Too brief a liberty, then back to work,
to ordinary, quotidian grind
determined to sharpen each dull young mind
into a solid intellectual dirk.
There isn't time to take in every quirk
but you just have to deal with what you find
and in that dealing be both hard and kind
for far too many relish still the murk.
You hate confinement in a flying can
but seeing other places is divine.
Each journey has a grammar you must parse,
teaches you something far outside the plan,
allows you a small taste of different wine;
but still you have to get there on your arse.

beyond cosplay

for one weekend we leave the normal whirl
and pass from our world to a sort of space
where gods and monsters walk with easy pace
where someone is enarmoured like an earl
and eye is drawn to nearly-naked girl
a creature walks right by with heavy mace
one sees a joker and one sees an ace
and somewhere eldritch pipes still wail and skirl
a journey of few steps but many years
and these are folk who find the world too small
and hope for something different in the rain
whose hearts have overflowed with urgent tears
but who still listen for the distant call
and in the meanwhile seek to ease the pain