way of choosing

we ask for nothing but the best of life
our only hope becomes a solemn task
while we march on to tune of drum and fife
you'd not expect us in our pomp to bask
in the applause that seems to be a mask
not just for hope but for a greater pride
a thing that not a soul could hope to hide
beyond the world in places yet unseen
we turn our feet at last and head inside
who we acclaim is minister not queen

what we must know is all trouble and strife
until we fit the bung back in the cask
the issue with grave portent shall be rife
we find that each of us could fill a flask
but would not want as yet to overtask
and so we let the worst of them all slide
past all the ones who still ought to decide
just what the symbols and the sigils mean
we tell them that for you they have to bide
who we acclaim is minister not queen

each of us knows the answer man or wife
there's one who's service is just to bemask
the face of one who knows to wield the knife
but whose true name we would not dare to ask
beneath a cover satin or damask
we would not ever want you to deride
the honest worker and the deicide
or choose which way the flag will have to lean
there are so many ways to choose a side
who we acclaim is minister not queen

prince you reveal that you know just who lied
when asked just who was taken for a ride
but that's no proper way to set the scene
we have no complex message to elide
but have to honour the one who must guide
who we acclaim is minister not queen

some sort of hero

who measured all the corners of the dark
and did not see the old monsters' return
has other issues which we should not spurn

there is no chance we'll find this place a park
nor for its older form shall we soon yearn
who measured all the corners of the dark

we don't require a starter nor a spark
to leave our ashes in the ancient urn
we find it easy both to love and burn
who measured all the corners of the dark

words must be proper

a tiny glimpse of giant who was there
but now lies hidden by an old man's grief
the world may sometimes turn out to be fair

all things you did by the straight line and square
yet never once did you impose belief
a tiny glimpse of giant who was there

i do not know the view at which you stare
nor just what when a boy you called mischief
the world may sometimes turn out to be fair

all that i learned what that a man must dare
no matter that his glory will be brief
a tiny glimpse of giant who was there

it turns out there was nothing left to spare
and that still must have come as a relief
the world may sometimes turn out to be fair

there's something of you riding on the air
to chide the sluggard and upbraid the thief
a tiny glimpse of giant who was there
the world may sometimes turn out to be fair

never lie still

waters are turbulent but still most deep
there's nothing here that can serve as a mark
to show that we weren't just here for a lark
the signs of duty over pleasure creep
there's so much that we simply cannot keep
the options are as always simply stark
we listen but the dog just will not bark
and nothing serves to disturb our warm sleep
easy in attitude we still must wait
for ordinary time to have its say
before we can refill the empty pail
there are no strangers hiding by the gate
yet passage is uncertain on the way
and no one has come back with any tale

staying calm

a thousand years of patience have to end
not one of you could ever hope or pray
to see the demise of the present trend
and truth and justice resume proper sway
the world is always lit in shades of grey
but if we wait enough both serf and squire
will find that every preacher's a plain liar
and there's no healing for the human scar
we have just those things that we may acquire
the journey's long but ending's not so far

we cannot choose to borrow nor to spend
our hopes on those who saw love as mere play
not what the sunrise ever could portend
when all we see is skirmish and affray
from well-marked paths the goatish ones will stray
and cannot once be stopped by the barbed wire
who knows the pastures to which they aspire
but not one of our barriers is a bar
to those who when pressed can leap even higher
the journey's long but ending's not so far

there's nothing that we could think or intend
that would affect one word of all you say
the road is hidden past the nearest bend
and no maps serve now to show us the way
our only knowledge is we cannot stay
to listen to the plainsong of the choir
or for the calming of the others' ire
it never matters if we can't reach par
the better field's in quite another shire
the journey's long but ending's not so far

prince there's no reason for you to conspire
against us since we too soon must retire
to places that are hidden from your star
the firmest road ends up in thickest mire
yet there's not gold enough to pay our hire
the journey's long but ending's not so far

the poet's task is to deceive

there's nothing we can do to end the strain
on all the hearts that beat beneath our air
the hero who would be will soon be slain
those who remain with ten-thousand-mile stare
ignore your words or see them as a snare
no means remain for us to stop the rot
the wisest ones are burning in the square
while i am at the centre you are not

a million children go against the grain
and claim to beard the wolf right in his lair
that something is the matter should be plain
but honesty's a thing that's now quite rare
we don't expect that any day'll be fair
and not a one of you's a little snot
we want the stallion but ride the mare
while i am at the centre you are not

an echo of the message signals pain
for those who have a heart and want to care
while others think such things a dismal stain
on those who act while others would not dare
no ghosts are hiding underneath the stair
and everything's been placed in proper slot
to ride the train you have to pay the fare
while i am at the centre you are not

prince i would urge you never to despair
though things are hard you have not lost the plot
some day there comes an end to this affair
while i am at the centre you are not

a simple moment then

if we could find a moment just to sigh
you'd understand just what the passage said
a kind of urgent light would fill your head

there's nothing left for you or us to try
we've seen the creature that inspires most dread
if we could find a moment just to sigh

we seem to be at all times under eye
whether we're thinking or acquiring bread
there's nowhere we could choose to be instead
if we could find a moment just to sigh

so bloody what

all that's around us echoes hope and clatter
we aren't supposed to object to such joy
since nothing that we do will ever matter

our only task is to condone and flatter
and hope that no one can see through the ploy
all that's around us echoes hope and clatter

we just produce a shitload of raw patter
which when you listen will not swift annoy
since nothing that we do will ever matter

i know you think me madder than a hatter
but that is all the defence i deploy
all that's around us echoes hope and clatter

our only outcome is more idle chatter
a simple gimmick any could employ
since nothing that we do will ever matter

we have no tool that will not chip or shatter
and has more value than a children's toy
all that's around us echoes hope and clatter
since nothing that we do will ever matter

a passing hope no more

there's nothing certain not even the rock
on which we pledge we'll build something to last
change always comes and whether slow or fast
it happens before we can pause to take stock
no time we have until we're all in hock
to future hopes and stand before the mast
eager to shred all signs of the soft past
and then things happen and we are in shock
we do not question birds when they pass by
to ask their destination or their hope
but envy that they do not have to stay
we too would like to spread our wings and fly
away from that with which we fail to cope
and in the sky just eat and soar and play

cheap truths

a single message printed on a rag
that's all it takes to move some folk to act
no matter what the case or what the fact
they'll simply rally when you wave the flag
you don't expect your cause to fail or sag
but you'd think that some matters deserve tact
instead the message is blunt and compact
although the symbol's just a hanging dag
you have to jump and shout and simply howl
or else you're taken for some kind of knave
worth less than nothing on the open mart
so you avoid the shunning and the scowl
and take your feelings right down to the grave
while many bruises are left on your heart

term papers

we climb the hill of text line after line
the wasted words and obvious pretense
of thoughtful sitting on the highest fence
such nonsense as no edit can refine
letters and words in curly piles entwine
the hours pass and piles become more dense
with lack of thought and lack of any sense
the reader has to fuss and then repine
of any thought of bringing to the light
young minds to share the sacred joy of thought
such things even the gods may not decree
you settle for them getting some things right
and hoping next semester won't be fraught
with all the horrid errors you can see

what once we knew

where no one with good sense would want to go
you'll find the ones who could not master ire
folk of unclear immoderate desire

the day that passes best is not so slow
that we can't recognise the worthy squire
where no one with good sense would want to go

all of the rivers might soon cease to flow
but still there will be voices in the choir
to tell the tale of those who'd yet aspire
where no one with good sense would want to go

a sense of discipline

at no time should we hope to see the end
of all the terrors that beset our folk
we aren't supposed to know what is the trend
beyond the moment when it's not a joke
and we discover that we're wholly broke
before we see redemption or the sun
we know that there's a longish way to run
a fire behind us means no time to pause
we have a way to go before you're done
but we obey the ones who make the laws

there is not one on whom you
could depend but would turn out to be a sorry bloke
we aren't supposed to borrow nor to lend
yet get all things we want at one sharp stroke
leaving the rest behind in dust and smoke
we will not let them have the final fun
who have to die we must not even stun
while all the judge can say are hems and haws
we see the joke is no worse than a pun
but we obey the ones who make the laws

there is another and a stranger trend
which some may see as an odd sort of cloak
for what they could not get or couldn't send
they tell us pine is just as good as oak
even as they in earnest prod and poke
the best of weapons is some sort of gun
we can't evade it and we would not shun
the one who best would know to wield
the taws we will have lost what no one could have won
but we obey the ones who make the laws

prince you behave as would a proper son
and watch as others fill the waiting tun
to honour those who follow the first
clause we have to work but we want to have fun
and give ourselves the chances light or dun
but we obey the ones who make the laws

spirit of the air

a messenger arrives upon the hour
with symbols that are all too stark and plain
we might expect a little squall or shower
but not a steady needed soaking rain
the demon of the darkness is well-slain
and all the world is waiting for the sight
of other gods to take us through the light
while tinkling musics are proclaimed most fair
we choose the ones who always were the bright
a human spirit moves upon the air

we don't expect that you will scowl or glower
at what we all can see is honest gain
wizard and warlock each laugh in their tower
and boats of stone have been seen on the main
we know some things just go against the grain
but would not put you into the worst plight
had it not been necessity of rite
you were the only one that we could spare
as sacrifice to end the spreading blight
a human spirit moves upon the air

beneath the skin we see the moving power
against great forces it appears to strain
and even deities are forced to cower
facing these creatures of a once-crazed brain
whose only emblem is the sign of pain
we cannot hope to face it day or night
without once feeling sour disdain or spite
in face of it we're simply forced to care
and so we find the means to suppress fright
a human spirit moves upon the air

prince you are given all the oversight
of mortal acts by heritage and right
you are the one who does what he might dare
and will not pause or run away from fight
in all your power and for your best delight
a human spirit moves upon the air

active listening

where no one means to say just what is true
the echoes of the past become less clear
some things are done that others might not dare
what keeps things going is no kind of glue
we make our choices and we do not rue
just what was said and what we had to spare
beyond the normal attitudes of care
we will let happen all that might ensue
a sort of fugue between this time and that
not to be sure just what we most desire
fact after fact is not what we'd proclaim
the message comes out sharp rather than flat
with choristers raising each note higher
and every archer unsure of his aim

all's made most clear

a life is stolen but not one will care
who makes the choices does not see all ends
through all the byways only fools may fare

the purpose is to drive the calmest spare
up mountain roads with many hairpin bends
a life is stolen but not one will care

idiots will journey where goats would not dare
it's simple when you're not the one who wends
through all the byways only fools may fare

such matters it turns out are not as rare
as you might think since you're the one who rends
a life is stolen but not one will care

each sound will carry through the mountain air
to one who fights and to one who defends
through all the byways only fools may fare

let us be sure that we could sit and stare
while you receive whatever the foe sends
a life is stolen but not one will care
through all the byways only fools may fare

eternal present

eternal present absent future past
our time and motion take place off the map
memory becomes both great hope and vile trap

actors invented choose to be the cast
some takes some laughter then the final wrap
eternal present absent future past

come and behold the universe so vast
that rises in each tree with leaf and sap
appearances and glances are the hap
eternal present absent future past

a distant prospect

no matter what is on the drum
we aren't the ones to pay the bill
we let the others eat their fill
and praise the ones who chose to come

we aren't the only ones in sum
to sing and dance beneath the hill
while water bubbles down the rill
and praise the ones who chose to come

we listen for the insects' hum
around the juice that's for the still
we want to drink rather than kill
and praise the ones who chose to come

we will not leave the deaf or dumb
their best hope is to heed our will
we'll leave to others spiv and shill
and praise the ones who chose to come

we wait for you to bring the rum
with elbows on the windowsill
we watched you take the cane to mill
and praise the ones who chose to come

into the quiet

the sun goes down and suddenly it's night
there's no long pause no long and sad twilight

we leave the world to find a better way
our task is simple and it's quickly done
we do not need either the moon or sun

we know that we're just actors in a play
that's somewhere in the middle of its run
we leave the world to find a better way

there's no light falser than the common day
so many things to do and more to shun
we drink and laugh and say it's all in fun
we leave the world to find a better way

agree or not we say that it's not right
to cede the battle and not make a fight

in a wet glow

a single element of human thought
becomes a kind of pearl in the grey air
a symbol both of sorrow and of care

this is not what we were so baldly taught
would be a world where everything was fair
a single element of human thought

for all that's good living and dead have fought
and we are so reminded every year
these are the prizes that we have to bear
a single element of human thought

in recollection

we were not members of a fighting band
your mind and ours could not one one thing meet
still you showed that you had the strongest hand
so memory tells us and the thought's still sweet
i'd give so much if i could once more greet
you as i did when young and filled with pride
for even now i cannot feel complete
six years have passed since i learned you had died

there's so much i still cannot understand
about the way that time becomes so fleet
while life's own taste turns out to be more bland
you hated to explain or to repeat
or have your business in the public street
the pain you felt you always had to hide
as fitted one made for the judgment-seat
six years have passed since i learned you had died

the past you said was never great or grand
you threatened but you rarely had to beat
what mattered most of all was owning land
and standing up upon your proper feet
being honest upright fair and always neat
ready to know and take the better side
never to bow the head in frank defeat
six years have passed since i learned you had died

prince you were not you had no great conceit
of what you were but what you knew applied
to all that we could do to face the heat
and keep our place in spite of the great tide
without dishonour and without deceit
six years have passed since i learned you had died

no gleaming knight

we learn that every choice leads to a wall
three thousand years of teaching do not fail
the loser's always one who stands most tall
we learn to love things on their proper scale
and not to seek for treasure or the grail
instead to find the normal use of skill
while others hesitate or even quail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

we did not answer when you chose to call
the gospel that you sold us has grown stale
so many things that honest hearts appal
occult within each ordinary bale
while rusty swords are hung upon the nail
in sign of heroes who have fought their fill
until the blood has rusted their chain mail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

we are told nothing but we would know all
about the ones whose mention turns you pale
and what princess managed to miss the ball
to read the message of the glowing sail
we wonder at the ones who seem to ail
for want of what is found in any pill
and those who trust too much in creaking rail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

prince there's no end to this annoying tale
we have to find a way to keep the thrill
all of your servants know what's here for sale
and nothing holds us but mere force of will
the fruit is thick and juicy in the dale
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

all comes to those who wait

the golden future signals us to run
there's so much coming that we may obtain
so many things to take away the strain

we learn the old and venerable to shun
what once was gorgeous now seems dull and plain
the golden future signals us to run

something we think just ought to have been done
to get rid of the waiting and the pain
all of our hope is set on some day's gain
the golden future signals us to run

measure of duty

our obligation's never quite enough
we always end up with some sort of grief
while there's some idiot telling us life's tough

each morning we wake up grouchy and gruff
too short a sleep seems not to bring relief
our obligation's never quite enough

we take things easy just when they're most rough
yet mourn the imprint of each fallen leaf
while there's some idiot telling us life's tough

we know something's out there it's not a bluff
there really is some substance solid beef
our obligation's never quite enough

your ear's still warm from sudden ringing cuff
you hope our ship will wind up on the reef
while there's some idiot telling us life's tough

perhaps we'll turn out to have the right stuff
walk tall not creep like hungry furtive thief
our obligation's never quite enough
while there's some idiot telling us life's tough

damp autumn leaves

damp autumn leaves in their slow-growing drifts
slide underfoot and make us want to pause
there's something in the grey that each heart lifts
we're looking for the loopholes in each clause
a market day may come and others go
while footprints on the pavement glow and fade
this is a day to take things nice and slow
so many of us hope to make the grade
we wonder at the signs that point to doom
according to the loudest but they change
into a large and pleasant morning bloom
our only purpose is not to derange
we take this sombre weather for a goad
to get us moving on the homeward road

What we achieve

The truest wonders are the ones we make
(by we I mean the whole damn' human race),
that take us deep in earth or out to space.

Good, honest, craftsmanship we cannot fake,
we see, when once they're in their proper place,
the truest wonders are the ones we make.

Not to look on with awe's the first mistake
that we could make; the truth is no disgrace:
look at the smile on every small child's face.
The truest wonders are the ones we make

waiting for the rain

waiting for the rain
far too long the autumn drought
bending under strain

you may smile or pout
the choice we have is plain
not to go far out

here is no true gain
we have gone so far past doubt
beyond reach of pain

alternative theory

the ones who will step off on the true beat
may be more lucky than the ones whose way
brings them good fortune and sufficient pay
but who will squirm and moan while in their seat
we have to smile as each new face we greet
and cannot with our mouths the whole truth say
that we are still the masters and that they
can gain no traction till they learn to cheat
the ones who leave the well-established path
may in the end get no more than a crumb
but still have wandered only where they chose
the rest of us are left to face the wrath
of he whose orders beat out on the drum
tell us to dig up the last shining rose

no little detail

our proper way is barred by a strange folk
their eyes are wild and voices are not calm
we take their angry wailings for a psalm

they stop our progress with a single stroke
we thought that we would once more bear the palm
our proper way is barred by a strange folk

we have no choice but bend beneath the yoke
to take what's caustic for a soothing balm
in face of terror not to show alarm
our proper way is barred by a strange folk

a lack of glory

men want to journey past the forest wall
beyond the fence is quite another field
we pass into it bearing sword and shield
determined that the enemy shall fall
no villain foeman gallops when we call
we're limited by all the tools we wield
sometimes the way of courage is to yield
the winner is the one who's on the ball
what bore our weight did so with undue mirth
our fear and pain drove us to be most rash
and now regret is all that we can feel
we rue the total of our little worth
discover that we have far less than cash
and no court's left to which we might appeal

rambunctious youth

a word or two and we have got the plot
our task is then to carry out each plan
before some villain might impose a ban
and we will know just what prize we have got
our duty is good fortune to allot
while others might inveigle or trepan
the hopes and dreams of every working man
in short we're here to circumvent the rot
a line of waiting folk before the bar
once all the gates are open they can go
to places where the word is not a tease
we start so soon because we travel far
arriving on the edge of stormy blow
restoring there the joy and all the ease

all we may do is wait

once past the trees more houses dimly lurk
there is some fresh thing we just have to know
apart from all the fears and joys of work

we have to find our way through the dim murk
there's not one light here not even a false glow
once past the trees more houses dimly lurk

we do not face our woes instead we shirk
all duties and there's nothing we might show
apart from all the fears and joys of work

we gain our best desires by gun or dirk
that's better than the constant to and fro
once past the trees more houses dimly lurk

we are too calm to ever go berserk
as soon as we arrive we have to go
apart from all the fears and joys of work

we have to understand each tiny quirk
of meaning and the steady ebb and flow
once past the trees more houses dimly lurk
apart from all the fears and joys of work

false hope

false hope
none cope

loud cry
goodbye

all clear
not fair

no voice
rejoice

expectation

all times become one
out of dark no monsters come
we wait a long age
in hope of midnight rainfall
so great is our daily need

like a brown leaf

nothing to say
no one to hear
so much is dear
on the slow way
we've time to play
but far or near
there's no one here
lives out the day

echoes in stone
a warning sound
ears to the ground
we're quite alone
who would atone
not one to hound
since pound for pound
none could atone

all gone is grief
down to the wall
not one would bawl
out in relief
worker or thief
each has to fall
before the call
like a brown leaf

comes the dark age

the light betrays us into thoughts of ease
not far beyond us all has gone insane
that is the obvious and so much is plain

the proudest now are forced onto their knees
we watch the rats eat up our hoarded grain
the light betrays us into thoughts of ease

what would detain us now could never please
one who a mere survival would attain
reality's quite clear the truth is pain
the light betrays us into thoughts of ease

so nothing's bright

we reach the boundaries of what's allowed
and pass without perception of a mark
before necessity all heads are bowed

we think ourselves the mighty and uncowed
what choices we confront are not so stark
we reach the boundaries of what's allowed

with nothing more than normal we're endowed
so not prepared either for war or dark
before necessity all heads are bowed

we never shall accomplish what was vowed
out of the clash there shall not come a spark
we reach the boundary of what's allowed

what's gone to shrub was once all neatly ploughed
good records once were kept by every clerk
before necessity all heads are bowed

every great madness moves within the crowd
we each shall find a means to jump the shark
we reach the boundary of what's allowed
before necessity all heads are bowed

not for the gold

the one to follow is not he who knows
but the best guesser who can bear to wait
we aren't afraid to take what's on the plate
and then our leave before the early snows
we leave behind the single one who glows
and then give all the blame to urgent fate
which comes too early those who come here late
are left to sorrows and the ringing blows
that mark the time when there is no delight
except in punishing the vagrant crew
not ready yet to set departing sail
our ship's been long becalmed in southern bight
and we have got accustomed to the view
while hoping that the breeze becomes a gale

sound carrying futher

pain refused is still
all that it purports to be
echoes down tunnels

whom we shall torment
their call for harshest revenge
echoes down tunnels

what hells we unleash
the ululation so loud
echoes down tunnels

in tune with the fire
every shout of the victims
echoes down tunnels

no tourist resort
the cry of our new hero
echoes down tunnels

what we claim to tell
about the freedom we bear
echoes down tunnels

each soul that we sell
its final despairing wail
echoes down tunnels

a last clear light

there is a way to measure the true force
that brings us home and gives us honest hope
of sunset pleasure by the watercourse
there is a way to measure the true force

the better way is neither rough nor coarse
we walk uphill as others run downslope
there is a way to measure the true force
that brings us home and gives us honest hope

there's never choice we always have to cope
with all the errors that you could commit
as through the murk you foolishly might grope
there's never choice we always have to cope

we've never let ourselves have all the rope
we'd need to drag our hearts out of the shit
there's never choice we always have to cope
with all the errors that you could commit

it's always down to where you want to sit
while all the colours fade into the dark
we drag ourselves out of the deepest pit
it's always down to where you want to sit

the answer's never given with due wit
we see the tree's flesh underneath the bark
it's always down to where you want to sit
while all the colours fade into the dark

we reach the height and there we make our mark
about our actions there's been no remorse
no record's kept by interfering clerk
we reach the height and there we make our mark

the place we left becomes some sort of park
all anger and all hatred we'll divorce
we reach the height and there we make our mark
about our actions there's been no remorse

Thanksgiving blossom

the modern lyre

too many people choose the easy lie
we find our way to truth is always barred
to heights of knowledge no one dares to fly

we cannot trust the colour of the sky
nor if at evening it is brightly starred
too many people choose the easy lie

no wonder that none of you clamber high
honour and honesty you now have marred
to heights of knowledge no one dares to fly

it's all too obvious you're slick and sly
your face is set in lines that are too hard
too many people choose the easy lie

you sell not one thing i would want to buy
lies and false reasons set out by the yard
to heights of knowledge no one dares to fly

your sight can never please the decent eye
no honest word is written on your card
too many people choose the easy lie
to heights of knowledge no one dares to fly

nowhere fast

there's nothing like the trudge under hard rain
what hope we have seems distant as a star
and no kind soul will pass by in a car

no one will move without some proof of gain
a walk of several miles is not so far
there's nothing like the trudge under hard rain

it's our own fault to suffer cold and pain
what others made it seems our task to mar
we each deserve the injury and scar
there's nothing like the trudge under hard rain

term papers

i read the words and sigh
the pile does not go down
folly just goes to town
and horror's almost nigh
these expectations high
and every one a clown
my face is a set frown
i simply want to die

rediscovery

we tell it plain
and hear it bold
the words are old
but there's no strain
against the grain
the story's told
but in the fold
there's little pain
the nights are cold
winter again
we chase the train
fit in the mould
no bell is tolled
we reach the main
without a stain
we strike the gold

inner sanctum

there's nothing that we want but all we need
is held in place by forces we detest
that's all there is you want us to show zest
but will not let us gather our own seed
the crop we take will not have all the speed
we hoped for so much is told in merest
desire for peace and calm there is no jest
to challenge those whose only plan is greed
alone we plot the end of all our pain
but cannot win against the changing tide
old night will haul us back into the mire
no noisy prayer will bring us healing rain
and we are ever on the losing side
but still we have the magic and the fire

the meaning of the map

what comes in night may be no mark of fear
all of our hours into one point combine
we do not ever follow a straight line

a thousand symbols speak to us of care
and will not let us our old pain refine
what comes in night may be no mark of fear

we soon will send off yet another year
and drown our memories in a bitter wine
that's not enough we seek now for a sign
what comes in night may be no mark of fear

looking westward

we thank our stars that we've come through the day
few odds we had and chances seemed most slight
on tired feet still we have found the way

the soil is shallow on the hardpan clay
rocks and red stains our best efforts requite
we thank our stars that we've come through the day

all happier places seem so far away
what we do does not now demand much might
on tired feet still we have found the way

we see the sunset in the western bay
as in the east there comes the cooler night
we thank our stars that we've come through the day

we tell ourselves that we don't have to stay
and face each other in a hopeless fight
on tired feet still we have found the way

we make our work what children see as play
the largest serpent has the mildest bite
we thank our stars that we've come through the day
on tired feet still we have found the way

two words

two words
one hour
two birds
we cower

grey cloud
no time
head bowed
still crime

day turns
night's cold
soul burns
we're old

plain laws
same choice
old cause
rejoice

all days
wind down
some ways
we frown

at peace
no thought
wars cease
hope's caught

all sings
some prance
with wings
you'll dance

a raw day

if there's a means of holding firm in place
we've lost the art of balance without thought
our every moment with great fear is fraught
and each misfortune leaves its angry trace
we have no stopping point in deepest space
and nothing happens we have not been taught
still in the oldest trap we soon are caught
and pain declares its presence on each face
a bit of wind and leaves fly by in haste
to destinations that they do not know
but still the heavy cloud may give us rain
there's much we do that isn't to our taste
but we've been told to keep up with the flow
and stay in balance all the rest is plain

when we ascend

when time itself feels it must take a pause
we aren't surprised but find ourselves at peace
there is no reason and we find no cause
when time itself feels it must take a pause

not only aristotle played the tawse
on one who'd never ever be at ease
when time itself feels it must take a pause
we aren't surprised to find ourselves at peace

the endless chivvyings we make to cease
a moment and they're gone past any ken
a batsman wonders why he's at the crease
the endless chivvyings we make to cease

a moment here and there the wheels to grease
the trap is laid for tongue as well as pen
the endless chivvyings we make to cease
a moment and they're gone past any ken

no one's been trapped between the lake and fen
no signals have vibrated down the wire
we never seem to know the where or when
no one's been trapped between the lake and fen

an honest task for all women and men
means more than any master could require
no one's been trapped between the lake and fen
no signals have vibrated down the wire

we praise the lower instead of the higher
a duty we may have to serve the past
the only honest one turns out a liar
we praise the lower instead of the higher

the choice is never between ice and fire
we're told this but we find it false at last
we praise the lower instead of the higher
a duty we may have to serve the past

the flag still flies atop the highest mast
the purest symbol of desire and verve
we want to flee but find we must stand fast
the flag still flies above the highest mask

into the coldest waters you'll be cast
you won't come up till you have passed the curve
the flag still flies above the highest mast
the purest symbol of desire and verve

to rule requires great steadiness of nerve
and minds unblemished by the smallest flaws
you keep on straight you cannot bear to swerve
to rule requires great steadiness of nerve

the best of us know that we have to serve
obedient as always to stern laws
to rule requires great steadiness of nerve
and minds unblemished by the smallest flaws

in the wrong place

where leaves don't fall at the same time of year
but flowers will blow regardless of the moon
where day and night may both come far too soon

no meaning's left for anyone to care
in any song that one might belt or croon
where leaves don't fall at the same time of year

at this time we have cause to wail in fear
but dare not ask a soul for any boon
shadows are stark at blaze of highest noon
where leaves don't fall at the same time of year

by no definition

all gone all faded past
the stage is empty struck
a fading edge of luck
the first is become last
too soon all will be past
all that is good will suck
and fall deep into muck
the die has now been cast
the moon lies in the east
we're deep here in the shade
the answer will not keep
we can't tell man from beast
not even on parade
too late for us to sleep

indian summer

the sun is too bright
day after day time runs short
indian summer

we blame the clear light
deluding us into port
indian summer

not time yet to fight
settling matters out of court
indian summer

something is not right
but we do not know what sort
indian summer

our hope's not so slight
but it is what we have wrought
indian summer

and yet and yet

stories all end
republics die
all rulers lie
none is a friend
the downward trend
makes each feel wry
too clear the sky
nothing to send
the double bend
fools every eye
no one is spry
nothing will mend
we just pretend
to laugh and fly
time going by
does not depend
on any speech
by happy folk
or terrorist
beyond our reach
a blasted oak
cannot persist
we try to teach
each noble bloke
who closes fist
upon the beach
the final joke
has an odd twist

interstellar

all days run down
the beat is loud
and all are cowed
by one small frown
throughout the town
not one who's proud
may stand unbowed
who's not a clown
all that we say
is given shape
by silent ones
we lost the way
each naked ape
under strange suns

being patient

we wait in silence and we hope to win
but what we gain is not what we desire
our aim is high but ought to be still higher

we throw our hopes and failures in the bin
to better things we always must aspire
we wait in silence and we hope to win

to tell the truth has been the greatest sin
its consequences always the most dire
the honest man is ever stuck in mire
we wait in silence and we hope to win

absence of moonlight

a modest chance but one we have to take
each road will twist and turn before the end
no telling upward from the downward trend
but we'll pretend that everything is jake
what you'll find is that all we do is fake
we cannot give you anything we send
with lies and compliments we will befriend
and then will sink you in the deepest lake
what do we do when faced with no desire
that can be fed with hope or sweet delight
but needs a flame that only life can feed
we can't be sacrificed in that great fire
and joy refuses to be turned to blight
no truths appear at times of deepest need

not a sonnet

one thought
one word
no bird
is caught
we bought
sweet curd
absurd
yet fraught
no man
is wise
and yet
we can
see ties
and ban

a type of challenge

we count the changes as a sort of style
and do not stop to take the proper count
of our stale age instead the large amount
of empty words take us a country while
to sort we put each in its proper pile
of truest learning they are not the fount
but form a problem that we must surmount
while crossing over in a single file
we've not the time for joking nor for games
but must have answers ready for the day
and then be stalwart in the cause of time
before we give you cause to douse our flames
we come and find that we cannot now stay
for honest labour becomes here a crime

another nightfall

a choice not made but still an honest choice
we come and go and do not care to wait
takes too much effort to wipe clean the slate

another day is over we rejoice
tomorrow has not reached the starting gate
a choice not made but still an honest choice

you let each age lament in its own voice
when honey cannot function as the bait
we blame each other we say it is fate
a choice not made but still an honest choice

needed sacrifice

what's given to the gods is not a waste
shoved into memory and kept alive
we hurry but we show too little haste

what we most cherish is now firmly cased
in the one place we think it ought to thrive
what's given to the gods is not a waste

the body and the mind together laced
provide an answer we might not derive
we hurry but we show too little haste

against the storm we seek not to be braced
a proper ending one day must arrive
what's given to the gods is not a waste

on no hard evidence our hope is based
we've taken hardest blows some four or five
we hurry but we show too little haste

the best thing that we had was the first taste
of freshest honey taken from the hive
what's given to the gods is not a waste
we hurry but we show too little haste

flags decaying

innocent ending
the colours say everything
that has to be said
if we wait any longer
all will be over and done

out of the circle

no time to pause
a second's glance
reveals the laws
not made by chance
the holy cause
will now advance
no time to pause
a second's glance

await the rule
before you act
don't play the fool
and show some tact
go back to school
and respect fact
await the rule
before you act

do not deny
you want to leave
under the sky
plots we unweave
you have to lie
but can't deceive
do not deny
you want to leave

upon the shore
one last regret
we do no more
the course is set
what came before
has now been met
upon the shore
one last regret

one last regret
upon the shore
you want to leave
do not deny
before you act
await the rule
a second's glance
no time to pause
we know the flaws
you lead the dance
no useful tool
is so compact
the truth is dry
though we believe
justice a whore
we will win yet

no gratitude but revenge

it does not matter if we have the itch
to seek for worlds hidden in what we know
or just to sit and wait and watch the show
for some small time until we salt the flitch
against the winter we've are not so rich
and what we hope for waiting for the snow
is more than moonlight and the early glow
of sunny morning so that is the bitch
we make and that we want so much to hide
from all the ones who think we're truly pure
while brown and yellow overtake the green
you see we want far more than just the ride
to places of which we are never sure
still what will happen is what we've not seen
while evening peacocks on the frontage preen
the wonder is that we can take a side
on whether beauty truly may endure
while loudly disclaiming both fear and pride
not knowing if there will be any cure
before we have to bow and quit the scene
another mile another horse to flog
you listen but you will not hear the frog

back from a journey

we see so little of the great surround
a moment's pause would be no major cost
time's not valued in euro or in pound

we cross vast distances in one huge bound
from end to end we're prodded and we're bossed
we see so little of the great surround

isolate behind our high walls of sound
we do not see the waves on which we're tossed
time's not valued in euro or in pound

alone upon our little bits of ground
we have no care for all the miles we've crossed
we see so little of the great surround

each of us kings on our own midden-mound
fearful of rain and drought and heat and frost
time's not valued in euro or in pound

not one of us knows just what we've here found
nor why in finding we become the lost
we see so little of the great surround
time's not valued in euro or in pound

before the storm

you know the story and you tell it straight
it is not yours but still you know the need
whatever happens you will not blame fate

the horse may shiver at the starting gate
its jockey now knows better than to plead
you know the story and you tell it straight

each fire is banked up right behind the grate
we need the warmth but have no wish for speed
whatever happens you will not blame fate

no hasty action will break the last plate
whoever does the washing has to bleed
you know the story and you tell it straight

my father learned to write on broken slate
what others had was vanity or greed
whatever happens you will not blame fate

the best ones travel slowly and as freight
knowing true propaganda is the deed
you know the story and you tell it straight
whatever happens you will not blame fate

boundary road

a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end
you listen and the sounds are not as clear
so little's carried on the country air

surefooted donkey trots around the bend
i only follow on a stupid dare
a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end

from time to time the signals that you send
seem not intended as signs of true care
we pause because the rules never seem fair
a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end

who won't remember

what matters now is how we make the jump
from earth to ocean and just where we'll fall
under the shadows of the trees that tall
and slender each grew from the rotting stump
of their dead mothers and we'll see the clump
of smelly seaweed that we would not call
a harbinger of what could soon befall
the hero for in truth each is a chump
a message comes by ways that we can't tell
and only those who know may think to say
how weight of mangroves keeps the land in place
between this land and sea we'll pause a spell
the ones who know will not have gone away
and magic guarantees there'll be no trace

duties of passage

the blind man knows the voices of the road
on cooler mornings he may choose to speak
you walk on uphill carrying your load

service and work become a kind of goad
you cannot find because you will not seek
the blind man knows the voices of the road

we know the symbols we don't know the code
whenever word may come it will be bleak
you walk on uphill carrying your load

the sunshine inside him will not explode
through his four senses it may not yet leak
the blind man knows the voices of the road

we come at last to complex knot or node
the winner is not ever one who's meek
you walk on uphill carrying your load

along the slope no stream has ever flowed
you make it here because you are not weak
the blind man knows the voices of the road
you walk on uphill carrying your load

a fallen leaf

a name for what we do not care to know
assumes that namers have some sort of right
to paste their useful labels day or night
on those who come and those who have to go
to places where time does not move as slow
as it does here beneath the noonday light
who does not give has never to requite
the ones who are not drawn out by the flow
of rivers we know nothing more than you
but have to make some sense of every word
change comes we're told it comes without a pause
the old with spit and polish becomes new
bright fish becomes a funny sort of bird
and justice is the sum of many laws

not so far as thought

underneath a blue mahoe tree
lay the red petals of a flower
the ridge above us did not tower
we walked uphill to view the sea

a solemn moment or an hour
to think and then to sip our tea
no auguries would then agree
we did not know we had the power

we thought ourselves happy and free
a simple joy to take a shower
ignoring then the old man's glower
we understood what we could see

in the high woods we made a bower
out of the light and in the lee
from paradise we sought to flee
with native sense for only dower

allow us each with aching heart
to name the place with proper art

a newer better song

for once they'll have a newer better song
to celebrate the turning of the tide
they'll do it loudly but they'll do it wrong

we think it good to leave behind the throng
and snuggle safe and warm right here inside
for once they'll have a newer better song

it won't be obvious and it won't be long
and there'll be nothing left for us to hide
they'll do it loudly but they'll do it wrong

the last one in will listen for the gong
and won't a single syllable elide
for once they'll have a newer better song

you'll pay your fare and then you'll go along
not one thing said will be inept or snide
they'll do it loudly but they'll do it wrong

who once were weak now claim to be the strong
you know quite well they'll take you for a ride
for once they have a newer better song
they'll do it loudly but they'll do it wrong

undoing the lie

so all the world is empty of our hope
a moment more or less will never matter
we listen for the truth within the clatter
and cringe when all we see is hanging rope
we haven't got the time to wail or mope
nor listen to the old familiar patter
nothing we say will either chide or flatter
it's hard enough to struggle and to cope
light tells us nothing that we don't yet know
and morning is not free of pain or tears
while in the shadow is not one new sign
change comes and reaches us but far too slow
we add things up and come up with fresh fears
but lie and say that everything is fine

Remembrance Day

So many lives fallen in Flemish mud
in places long forgotten by us all,
each of them had answered their country's call.

We think of all the lies, and all the crud
of rainy winters, and of spring and fall;
so many lives fallen in Flemish mud.

The only colour they had was their blood,
those who were silent, and the ones who'd bawl,
the brave ones, and the cowards who'd appall:
so many lives fallen in Flemish mud.

frail deeds in a green bay

you let the time flow out like golden sand
what changes is what you can't always see
the music and the magic both are bland
you let the time flow out like golden sand

what's truth is what you cannot understand
a shadow lengthens under every tree
you let the time flow out like golden sand
what changes is what you can't always see

long time ago you loved to dance and spree
so much that happened passed under your eye
you were too proud to bow or bend the knee
long time ago you loved to dance and spree

the things you wanted were not ones to be
counted and summed up beneath cloudy sky
long time ago you loved to dance and spree
so much that happened passed under your eye

we catch the sparrow only on the fly
a pair of cardinals sleeps in the wood
not one of you would ever pass us by
we catch the sparry only on the fly

we feel the autumn air so cold and dry
nothing of this you could have understood
we catch the sparrow only on the fly
a pair of cardinals sleeps in the wood

another morning will do us no good
all that you think of goes into the night
each face is shadowed in the heavy hood
another morning will do us no good

what happens is not only that you could
set all the errors of the past aright
another morning will do us no good
all that you think of goes into the night

a moment passes and we mourn the light
day holds us briefly in its golden hand
the sun drops swiftly from its noonday height
a moment passes and we mourn the light

the choice we made required a better sight
than this one over a forgotten land
a moment passes and we mourn the light
day holds us briefly in its golden hand

on shores of wider seas

above the tower a single vulture floats
we wait and wait to see just who has died
on earth we see the ones with heavy coats
and wonder just what sins they have to hide
in the far distance the returning boats
their sails are bouyed up by the winds of pride
and then the bell that chimes a solemn note
to warn the creatures that live in the moat

a time like this might well count as the best
for ones who cannot any future see
we're made to understand it's all a test
and what counts is the buzzing of the bee
first comes the one in cloak and then the rest
wait in the shadow of the tallest tree
it's not that we can some reform still make
but that the giant's washing in the lake

a moment that might stretch into an hour
and then we have to make the proper move
the vulture still observes the lonely tower
the mechanism's moving in its groove
there's time to bathe or take a simple shower
and nothing left for anyone to prove
changes may come to us from far beyond
while the wise fish still swims within her pond

trample the dragon

a terror that comes from the edge of dark
no matter what we say it will not leave
there's no accounting for just how you weave
our choices are not clear but still are stark
we leave the invoice to the waiting clerk
since it won't matter if you do believe
or if you don't then we've no cause to grieve
you build the castle and we make our mark
with words unheralded the truth declare
of how the mountain came to have a tail
explain the problem and then take your ease
leave the slow thinker sitting in his chair
resigned once more to hearing the old tale
and with a fork pick up the toasted cheese

not a mere windbag

all echoes come down in the end to none
a single shadow turns into the night
each cycle reaches the end of its run

we thought it work and then we thought it fun
but did not see it as a moral plight
all echoes come down in the end to none

what falls between the rhyming word and pun
will always have a place in proper site
each cycle reaches the end of its run

a well-aimed blow will bruise as well as stun
honest control's the secret of our might
all echoes come down in the end to none

what was not finished was not best begun
you can't convict if first you don't indict
each cycle reaches the end of its run

you have the word while others have the gun
who has the power will also have the right
all echoes come down in the end to none
each cycle reaches the end of its run

upright in calm

a time for choosing of what we would speak
the shades and colours are ready to hand
we listen but we can't yet hear the band
there's no time for the humble or the meek
we are not ruled by committee or clique
still border crossings are now fully manned
and fences mark the limits of the land
we may yet bar all comment and critique
a moment passes that we won't call back
of music that we wish we had not heard
and now our options are both small and slight
no matter we're more than another clacque
we have the power and we shall have the word
but answers are all hidden in the light

Night terror

Upon the hill sits a flaming dragon,
its eyes awhirl at sight of running men
fleeing the blaze that's tearing through the fen.

By the rough road we see a broken wagon
and swine no longer held inside a pen;
upon the hill sits a flaming dragon.

Beneath the wall now lies a broken flagon,
repaired but once. Now it's in shards again;
the world will be restored, we know not when:
upon the hill sits a flaming dragon.

caught in the wheel

stars do not change their courses for a thought
reality considers no desire
we never win the things for which we fought

a moment and we find that we've been caught
in agony upon the final wire
stars do not change their courses for a thought

we wonder at the consequences wrought
by small expressions of a righteous ire
we never win the things for which we fought

the lesson which you vaguely thought we taught
is more than any person might require
stars do not change their courses for a thought

when all the enemy is sold or bought
we'll face the matters to which they aspire
we never win the things for which we fought

all of our effort will add up to nought
the honest one is beaten by the liar
stars do not change their courses for a thought
we never win the things for which we fought

crossing fairyland

a wyvern floats in silence over rocks
upon the steep hillbank there is no sound
no tiny creature moves upon the ground
the sleepy lion shakes his golden locks
the door is open rust has eaten locks
in calm we gaze upon the whole surround
and do not understand just what we've found
the dragon in her cave now snorts and mocks
in their calm bowers all the fauns now sleep
treenymphs and nereids are not awake
but dream of soon possessing human selves
we did not think that you would go so deep
and gaze upon the long-enchanted lake
by which in moonlight dance the noble elves

not on this night the proper time

we find ourselves at north wind's back
not one of us on honest track
beyond our hands the sail is slack
becalmed we face a new attack

a kind of flower awaits the sun
we let the night complete its run
days full of light and work we shun
we have to speak and then we're done

a hint of winter in the breeze
dread hangs in shadow of the trees
the glass is drunk down to the lees
beings arrive our hearts to freeze

rend us before we have to pack
the phaser is not set on stun
and cold's not measured in degrees
no one may hear the final chime

restless the gleam

the world is shaped by word as well as act
this golden light reminds us of the time
before the thought we have to see the fact

what we've gained here you once sorely lacked
it's too long since we heard the tower bell chime
the world is shaped by word as well as act

the town we said was safe has long been sacked
its walls all rendered down to ash and lime
before the thought we have to see the fact

we sign our names with haste to the compact
in fear of horrors wars and simple crime
the world is shaped by word as well as act

the path we've taken is the one you tracked
uphill and downhill through the mud and slime
before the thought we have to see the fact

there will be some who cannot treat or pact
laughing when they observe you in your prime
the world is shaped by word as well as act
before the thought we have to see the fact

no hummingbirds

signs of the changing year no tropic birds
hover outside my window over flowers
the air is clear above the city's towers

the cars move slowly in their morning herds
the shivering bear in deepest forest cowers
signs of the changing year no tropic birds

more here than comes across in normal words
we wait and wait for soft and warming showers
and wonder at the failing of our powers
signs of the changing year no tropic birds

the breathing of monkeys

symbols and drums behind the working band
our sort of people cannnot find their place
there's not a thing that comes swifter to hand
symbols and drums behind the working band

we find ourselves upon no golden strand
lacking in life true speed and honest grace
symbols and drums behind the working band
our sort of people cannot find their place

honour and joy reflected in each face
given the purpose who would flee the cause
shoes will fall off if you don't tie the lace
honour and joy reflected in each face

we're not the ones who occupy the space
and then complain of all the chinks and flaws
honour and joy reflected in each face
given the purpose who would flee the cause

well ended each awaits the rich applause
deserved by those who beautify the air
in deepest winter we might fear the thaws
well ended each awaits the rich applause

choosing to hate the ones who write the laws
cupboards and minds both turn out to be bare
well ended each awaits the rich applause
deserved by those who beautify the air

we feel the cold when blinded by the glare
the message has to pass from hand to hand
who does not speak must still announce his care
we feel the cold when blinded by the glare

the drums are sounded in the village square
silence will flee the lion-haunted land
we feel the cold when blinded by the glare
the message has to pass from hand to hand

behind the partial wall

catching the gleam then thrown into the past
a cloudless day but still filled up with cold
not one thing here of all that we foretold
out with the ash all history's been cast
strange flags may fly atop the highest mast
while shiny plastic's taken for pure gold
but that's not all not one who shall grow old
can doubt that there is certainty at last
we dive through hells but never find our goal
heavens above provide us with no sign
yet faintest shadows are emblems of hope
what happens in the end is not the role
we saw ourselves in still the glass of wine
provides some compensation for the rope

soul of the age

where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes
a sort of fear that comes when we're in light
we worry about terrorists and spies

familiar face turns out to be disguise
there's absence of alarm through the long night
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes

each one who sells requires the one who buys
what chance there is of change is truly slight
we worry about terrorists and spies

not one pays heed to the dark victim's cries
we're certain that our choices come out right
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes

we have to cling to the false enterprise
for all that its true fuel is mere spite
we worry about terrorists and spies

there is no truth behind the buzzing lies
only the boasts and claims of storied might
where shadows hide the truth from normal eyes
we worry about terrorists and spies

school morning

a moment's pause and then we'll have the sun
over eastern hills the comet hangs quite low
its stubby tail not yet swallowed in glow
now it is time for one more daily run
the journey's long but it has just begun
our feet will move us and they won't move slow
with much to do and even more to know
one won't be satisfied although we're done
we listen for strange voices in the dark
but have no fear of perils on the road
nor of exhaustion though we've far to walk
we're safer here although it is no park
and hunger serves as promise and as goad
load on a burden and we won't yet balk

winter is coming

wind blowing coldly
sky bluer than arctic ice
winter is coming

last blooms are brought in
fruit collected in basket
winter is coming

night falls so heavy
on the evergreen forest
winter is coming

frost we are promised
grass will crackle underfoot
winter is coming

sleep is our master
too short the night till waking
winter is coming

so far to travel

from treeless hilltop we may watch the sea
dreams take us places we each crave to know
while air and water never cease to flow

from true perfection we all wish to flee
fearing the payment of a giant blow
from treeless hilltop we may watch the sea

the only message is don't mean but be
we reach the ending whether swift or slow
each just arrives and is eager to go
from treeless hilltop we may watch the sea

not being a goose

silence and music in our hearts combine
to give us what we think we most desire
the cords that bind each life may now entwine
silence and music in our hearts combine

the truth is what we can no more refine
the thing that most resists our constant ire
silence and music in our hearts combine
to give us what we think we most desire

each one of us will travel through the fire
to find the place where we'll be safe when old
but not a one can meet what you require
each one of us will travel through the fire

to some such revelry we might aspire
should we truly become the brave and bold
each one of us will travel through the fire
to find the place where we'll be safe when old

nothing that happens could have been foretold
the prince won't meet the maiden at the ball
nor will the ugly sisters laugh and scold
nothing that happens could have been foretold

we have no courage against rain and cold
the thinnest ice will lead us each to sprawl
nothing that happens could have been foretold
the prince won't meet the maiden at the ball

we are too nervous ever to stand tall
nor are we gracious when you cross the line
somebody thinks that we are on the ball
we are too nervous ever to stand tall

we learn no lesson from the greatest fall
each turns aside to drink the beer and wine
we are too nervous ever to stand tall
nor are we gracious when you cross the line

hillside to hillside

one flash of colour in the ranks of green
below the valley fills right up with shade
we can't be sure just what we have now seen

between the spaces there's never a screen
we get from point to point without your aid
one flash of colour in the ranks of green

we come and then we pass right from the scene
others will see as quaint the games we played
we can't be sure just what we have now seen

for a brief moment there's a golden sheen
but it was gone at once from the parade
one flash of colour in the ranks of green

we will not be the ones that we had been
from the high path we all have fled or strayed
we can't be sure just what we have now seen

allow no one to tell you what you mean
you alone know just how you make the grade
one flash of colour in the ranks of green
we can't be sure just what we have now seen

our only options

we won't take ship on stranger seas to sail
instead we stay behind and watch the sky
looking for messages from those that fly
with seemly haste ahead of the great gale
when all our stratagems have come to fail
we have no other weapons standing by
to claim that truth is just another lie
and nothing matters but the final tale
when nights turn cold and faces all are flat
there won't be foes with whom we'll have to meet
nor any progress by the royal barge
we'll hear no signals from a bird or bat
no strangers smile when passing on the street
but many wait to answer the last charge

a finished project

so many words and then not one word more
you send them out and wait to hear their fate
not one of us who truly knows the score

they're not the same as the ones gone before
there's greater difference than the time and date
so many words and then not one word more

the mind has so much in its ordered store
for those who hurry and for those who wait
not one of us who truly knows the score

you do your best to entertain not bore
cleaning old messages from the worn slate
so many words and then not one word more

who could remember what each hero wore
to meet the host that gathered at the gate
not one of us who truly knows the score

we let the thoughts in giant gushes pour
while all of us hold forth upon the state
so many words and then not one word more
not one of us who truly knows the score

long time ago

a farthing end of plain white soft-dough bread
enough to stave off hunger and its pain
you eat it swiftly and you eat it plain

there's nothing like the pain that rings your head
you know that change would go against the grain
a farthing end of plain white soft-dough bread

we hear the stories of the walking dead
you point out to us the last purple stain
before the fall of night and the hard rain
a farthing end of plain white soft-dough bread

there's still a glow

if you can find a place within your heart
for all the light that fades at end of day
you will know something of the human art

we're climbing a huge mountain from the start
at first it's easy and we think it play
if you can find a place within your heart

but then we come to a much harder part
uncertain how to go or if to stay
you will know something of the human art

in sunset skies we see the small birds dart
not knowing whether predator or prey
if you can find a place within your heart

you place your luggage on the waiting cart
and where you may then find it who can say
you will know something of the human art

the highest peaks are not found on the chart
and to achieve them takes a stranger way
if you can find a place within your heart
you will know something of the human art

november and still green

all history boils down to who we are
each of us products of contingent fact
the cards in all their rows are ever stacked
against our hopes we make and then we mar
so many things there is a constant war
all of our lands with terrors have been racked
these choices are all consequent on act
we set our sights upon the brightest star
the sun tells us as much as we could know
about the day and what it might contain
and then we each set out and add our spin
so much to do under the steady glow
so many things to fill up each small brain
while each of us vainly expects to win

under the bridge

the only voice worth hearing now is mine
you have not said one thing to make me think
that in my argument there is a chink
since all you do is complain that i whine
of course i could my words and sense refine
and take a pause to wash and eat and drink
but then i might miss knowing nod or wink
and that would not be in any form fine
i've got to force you all to suit my whim
compel your awe and see you all bow down
although i've never been an honest guest
i'll shout and slobber in pretence of vim
disguise the fact that i'm another clown
and not think for one second i'm a pest

some paths of time

who wants to know may not be given light
choices are made by those without a line
once past the way of duty it is night

who speaks may have but little force or might
the silent in their armchairs all recline
who wants to know may not be given light

rule or no rule that all depends on spite
wires that are taut may still vibrate and whine
once past the way of duty it is night

measure proves nothing neither weight nor height
for all your acts we may in time repine
who wants to know may not be given light

the obvious is hidden in the rite
to better causes may the mind incline
once past the way of duty it is night

these mysteries require no sort of flight
although we're weak we say that we are fine
who wants to know may not be given light
once past the way of duty it is night

all older journeys

where lions wait to eat the lost who rove
over these plains in search of food and gold
there are high trees and caverns deep and cold
but you will have no luck in sacred grove
the shingle beach at the end of the cove
is not for those who are not swift and bold
that is a story that was once much told
around the fire or by the cooking stove
the beings whose names then easily were said
once froze the hearts of those who went to see
the shape of things upon the mountain flank
they got no wages but they still are dead
and old man's beard still hangs from every tree
while no one's left to honour nor to thank

riding downhill

there are no mountains left to bar the way
the lowlands lie there waiting for the rain
we see so clearly all across the plain
from the straight path it is a snip to stray
we bake so quickly under the harsh ray
that forward movement seems no sort of gain
yet pausing offers no surcease of pain
it's just another ordinary day
the crows that soar above us hope we die
something must do so that's their daily hunch
and from their observation none can flee
the sun's a single horrid searing eye
and from its heat folk hide and eat their lunch
while freedom's in the distance over sea

assessment

a sort of echo of the summer's heat
we steal this beauty from the hand of time
yet we account it neither fault nor crime

from other clarity we may retreat
but up this hill we want with joy to climb
a sort of echo of the summer's heat

we for a moment pause and taste the sweet
and do not listen for the chiding chime
briefly we know the world to be sublime
a sort of echo of the summer's heat

o moment stay thou art so fair

beneath the solid earth there is no pit
no garden lies above the blue of sky
minds may still soar beyond the range of eye
but bodies have to rest and so i sit
within my sight the coloured leaves are lit
with startling brightness while the air is dry
the echoes of our thought all mount up high
to pause this time yet lies beyond our wit
we want the moment to linger not pass
into the memory like all other things
but all of us lack both the force and will
we're like the children eager to end class
believing that some magic gives us wings
and wanting the long moment to stand still

Troll's guide to the Internet

The Internet, I find, is not so big
that I cannot poison the parish pump,
upon my kind hosts' best intentions jump
and on their bare heads dance a merry jig.
Here I can come clad both in mask and wig
and drop my anger in a single lump,
in the most public space just take a dump
and then complain when I am called a pig.
It seems the way to exorcise our ghosts
is just to shout that life is never fair
to those of us who lack honour and shame.
You feel much better annoying your hosts,
letting your flatulence pollute the air,
and that way others will think of your name.
The whole thing's nothing but a childish game
of shouts and shadows, loud and anxious boasts,
but nothing matters since my anger's bare.
I'm not the guilty one. I'll take no blame
for what I've written in my silly posts.
You cannot shut me up. You would not dare.
And so one boring life is given worth,
while others wonder at the monstrous birth.

drums on a saturday

a host of vultures on the thermals glide
seeking dead bodies on the living rock
nature provides but few places to hide

from peak to lowland we won't make the slide
a tree or bush our downward path will block
a host of vultures on the thermals glide

reality is what we can't elide
the living on the gravestones have to knock
nature provides but few places to hide

upon the highroad those on muleback ride
driving before them thirsty herd or flock
a host of vultures on the thermals glide

in this odd place we cannot long abide
we've barely got the time just to take stock
nature provides but few places to hide

the roads we walk on have no room for pride
we're governed by the calendar and clock
a host of vultures on the thermals glide
nature provides but few places to hide

a kind of vision

the shore is not as distant as you'd think
what's there is known but never wholly sure
the thing that matters is that we endure

we find the television's on the blink
and for the silence there's no longer cure
the shore is not as distant as you'd think

everything happens between nod and wink
the greatest victim we cannot immure
not one thing left that you would account pure
the shore is not as distant as you'd think

bright pebbles

we find ourselves with clarity in stone
rivers and seas over our hearts must flow
the calmest mind is in its proper zone

listen in quiet as the bent trees groan
too late for them the first sign of fresh snow
we find ourselves with clarity in stone

each knows that they must face the dark alone
you tarry for a moment then you go
the calmest mind is in its proper zone

there's never sin for which you must atone
the one who so proclaims them is our foe
we find ourselves with clarity in stone

there's naught but silence on the telephone
outside we note that the winds starts to blow
the calmest mind is in its proper zone

the bird of wisdom into night has flown
each turns their back on the last reddish glow
we find ourselves with clarity in stone
the calmest mind is in its proper zone

more light

more light won't make another thing as clear
as this calm moment in the dappled shade
we have good sense abundant and to spare
more light won't make another thing as clear

you're not so certain that we just won't dare
to enter into spaces you have made
more light won't make another thing as clear
as this calm moment in the dappled shade

there's no one here who has not made the grade
your hearts lie open to the whole world's sight
we have to call a spade a blooming spade
there's no one here who has not made the grade

not one of you has yet come to our aid
you laugh at seeing our disgusting plight
there's no one here who has not made the grade
your hearts lie open to the whole world's plight

each law we make requires that things be right
before we act to set all bricks in line
the rules we make distinguish day from night
each law we make requires that things be right

a single word is taken for a slight
we see each action as a sort of sign
each law we make requires that things be right
before we act to set all bricks in line

you are not asked to make pure or refine
but only to be sensible and care
truth and the lie in every heart entwine
you are not asked to make pure or refine

reality must serve to undermine
the castles that have been built in the air
you are not asked to make pure or refine
but only to be sensible and care

a storm approaches

we listen fearfully for the great blast
there's nothing left for us to think or say
the shore must drown beneath the rising spray
into deep peril we have all been cast
finding we have no choices at the last
we give our answers and we take our pay
accepting this as the end of the play
our glory now lies wholly in the past
the remnant will now go entirely mad
there is no silence left here for relief
nor will we honour truth and sense define
but yet there may be reasons to be glad
and turn away one moment from great grief
while looking eastward for a hopeful sign

within reason

lay out the answers and the truth is seen
what's most desired is not the thing most known
we watch the yearly fading of the green

you play your parts and then pass from the scene
the normal given's not what is most shown
lay out the answers and the truth is seen

an honest explanation has no sheen
the prettiest flower is the one first blown
we watch the yearly fading of the green

what we call virtues others take for spleen
you seek plain words but find out they have flown
lay out the answers and the truth is seen

truth vanishes from places in between
the only thing that echoes is the stone
we watch the yearly fading of the green

you've never understood just what we mean
and for your crimes we all must now atone
lay out the answers and the truth is seen
we watch the yearly fading of the green