Weekly

Monday. Monday. I can climb;
must get to the peak in time.
Tuesday. Tuesday. What I reach
turns at once into a peach.
Wednesday. Wednesday. So much hope;
have to reach far up the slope.
Thursday. Thursday. Not enough
to be present. Must be tough.
Friday. Friday. Have to work;
pain's no limit, clean and jerk.
Sat'day. Sat' day. So much fear
reaches upward, still I dare.
Sunday. Sunday. Far from rest
seeking vision, on I quest.

sodden slime harmonious

there is no darker ground than this
we listen to the wind's wet hiss
a river rushes under trees
it goes in time to unknown seas
not one of us will pay the cost
of resurrecting what's been lost
hour after hour we face the stress
once there were giants now we're less
our hope is not to find the path
but just to reach the aftermath
the fields are stubble that we know
and like our hopes are lying low
upon our feet the heavy shoes
remind us that we're bound to lose
we look at time and think it daft
that success comes from work not craft
honour and decency are nice
but those who try them pay the price
good sense and all your sparkling wit
turn in the end to so much shit
we try to honour all the rules
while others laugh and call us fools
we do the work they call it luck
when with our futures they will fuck
we speak our minds they send out spies
to make us listen to their lies
now they've polluted every well
and turned our hope into a hell

in no alternative

the choices come to those who care
to do great deeds or else not dare
experience the deeps of life
or else give up in face of strife
laws that we write are still the rule
who flouts them will be shown a fool
a house built on the living rock
may tumble at the quake's first shock
but not to live's the great mistake
too long we sleep to short we wake
to act may seem a foolish thing
but every one's a queen or king
who knowing that the choice is hard
still goes until the way is barred
we come from somewhere in the dark
we know that round us the dogs bark
still what we have is what we've got
we bless or blight the living spot
out in the dark we'll have to go
dreams of a heaven or of woe
serve to distract us from our task
to do all that our minds can ask
we make our mark in stone or clay
and then we go the general way
others will come to take our place
to reach success or to disgrace
the hopes that others on their work
had set they try or else they shirk
and that's our job that is our part
we know the way we have the heart
let others scoff we know the road
and laugh when we take on the load

at our convenience

for what we know we have no quarrel
with those who want us to be moral
far harder things we'll do or say
with those who've led us on our way
beyond the boundaries of space and time
we wonder what has reached its prime
and shown all on the mountain side
who told the truth and which fool lied

the pardon that we've not been given
was by the power of mercy driven
to do our worst desire what will
would give us each the right to kill
our enemies but if not for them
no leaves or flowers would mark the stem
not by the help of friends and kin
by opposites is the only mode to win

before we put on all the fighting gear
we wondered what we'd have to hear
the story of the suffering child
designed to drive all humans wild
the trick's to find the words that catch
fire in the head like old brown thatch
for when we make the long-term plan
our hope's in the stupidity of girl and man

revised the message won't be sent
that grants us the obligation to present
not what we want but what we have to give
those things will only matter if we life
past this bright hour and if we have the gold
that keeps the dreadful beasts from getting old
that's not what we want for we have no chance
the whole thing's been decided in advance

for gail at yuletide

in demanding that we answer those who ask are not being kind
for the journey that we've taken requires first that we unwind
over all the the high and lowlands we have come to talk and eat
this is now the proper season all our friends and kin to greet
in the days when we were younger all our journeys ended well
now that we are somewhat wiser it's become quite hard to tell
all the days of our long travel we regret the choice to roam
but the evening lights are calling soon we'll see our little home
days and nights of work and thinking give us pains this we agree
but the season is the right one to pile gifts beneath the tree
all the days that we've been granted by the mistress we call life
are the better when we've taken time to be just man and wife
all the days that we've been working we've not made a giant pile
still we have got some good reason for content this little while
rhymes and such i've got quite good at this at least can't be denied
for such things make life the happier and are a true source of pride
but the thing that really matters really makes this life so sweet
is the fact that i have known you that at last we got to meet
long the time we have together this the hope this my desire
for the times are growing colder and i seek your love's sweet fire