exposure

do not forget to pause and let the light

green under canopy of ancient trees

keep us all unexpected at our ease

(since none of our predicament is slight)

rather than poised for fearful urgent flight

our bodies trembling with more than the breeze

as the wise voices say that on our knees

is the one posture to await the night

there is no coming back to a safe place

when once you’ve risen through the turbulence

to reach the one true thing you must recall

no matter the incitement or disgrace

the angry shouts that gradually lose sense

in the bright moment between spring and fall

On a summer Saturday

The white gaulin's uninterrupted flight
from past the woods, then down towards the stream,
not easy caught. A solitary beam
of afternoon sun carries my delight
that world and season are, at last, turned right,
while silver fountain bears an honest gleam
as heated breezes purify the stream.
No one is worried by the coming night.
So, in the music, this is where we rest
while in the harder places war is fought
over the meanings of important things.
I will not fuss about a noisome pest
nor give its bird-brained maundering a thought.
Instead, I'll sit a while, then go to eat.
The morrow is for worry. Now life's sweet.

august morning villanelle

so long a silence covers up much pain

we can rejoice but we must still recall

this sun of freedom rises through the rain

why they were taken we need not explain

for weight of shadows on us casts a pall

so long a silence covers up much pain

of those who suffered for other folks’ gain

whose battered bodies hung against the wall

this sun of freedom rises through the rain

and still we dance our every hope made plain

elsewhise we’d stoop and crouch and bend and bawl

so long a silence covers up much pain

they won their battle and their long campaign

whose time of servitude was not so small

this sun of freedom rises through the rain

with words of justice sung in no wild strain

by men and women proudly standing tall

so long a silence covers up much pain

this sun of freedom rises through the rain

mastery

to travel takes us back to where we start

all journeys have good learning as their end

but no one can go further than their heart

we seek a place from which pain must depart

leaving us healthier and with a friend

to travel takes us back to where we start

where all our bags are piled upon the cart

yet we can see those folk who will not bend

but no one can go further than their heart

so we have gone unto a place apart

to understand but not to reprehend

to travel takes us back to where we start

into the torment that must make us smart

beyond the certain hope which we defend

but no one can go further than their heart

therefore we master the creative art

that teaches us the ways in which to blend

to travel takes us back to where we start

but no one can go further than their heart

come wind or weather

across the silences these words are true

that answer sorrow with a worthy smile

but will not pause to soften nor revile

your efforts nor the feelings that are due

this passing day what is it we review

among the many sights that might beguile

each voyager who reaches this last mile

is that the known provides us with a clue

some would be said to answer that the day

is not sufficient for all that we need

but we must struggle onwards into night

actors and viewers of the self-same play

not certain if our desperation’s greed

but ever hopeful we can get things right

the guilty party

too many answers come down to the same

non-explanation of the simple fact

we are the ones who always bear the blame

for all the anger we have one hard name

clear and precise both noble and exact

too many answers come down to the same

wave of exhaustion so that we must claim

not what we earned but all the goods we lacked

we are the ones who always bear the blame

for what was lost and for the constant shame

that was included in the lost compact

too many answers come down to the same

inauguration of the truth of fame

which we can neither add to nor detract

we are the ones who always bear the the blame

for those who come when we call the right name

but have no thought of what it means to act

too many answers come down to the same

we are the ones who always bear the blame

no winners at the end

to speak of valour is no great mistake

when each of us confronts the howling gale

those who are ready when the sandbags fail

know what is meant when city turns to lake

each of them is that moment wide awake

while in their corners all the cowards quail

left with no benefit save their own stale      

as even stoutest bodies bend and shake

words that are spoken in the autumn sun

lose all their purchase during winter's turn

but are the currency of many schools

repenting of their choices no one's done

before they see their youthful wishes burn

and know themselves for ordinary fools

crossing rivers

where crossing rivers can be made to count

against the value of all we hold dear

in spite of all that’s known at the frontier

where hope and learning are held paramount

no one would wait on those who’d dare remount

for the long journey of the pioneer

made by the awkward and the most sincere

who have their truths to keep and to recount

no voyage matters this at last we learn

except to those who never need the map

the ones excepted from each changing trend

those are the masters who will always yearn

to hear our answer yet not give a rap

since all must come out equal in the end