at a drystone wall

framed in the evening light a mango tree
widespread and old with a huge deep dark shade
behind and under as evening parade
begins and we think ourselves truly free
of daily duties but we have paid no fee
to certify that we have made the grade
while high above us the light starts to fade
revealing worlds we were not meant to see
the sheep are full-fed and now seem content
while goats are bound for water and for sleep
and cattle ignore us while they still graze
and yet we are for distant venues bent
the sea beyond us not so wide nor deep
that it can hide the hope of other days

no map to heaven

a little space for thought in the clear light
no matter what we want we have to choose
either to struggle or else to refuse
and fall unmourned into eternal night
each ship that sets forth from the friendly bight
is one more chance we have to win or lose
to cheer the outcome or sink into blues
the words are black the paper's always white
there are strange ports that we reach in a life
through ordinary time but not plain space
where answers given are not always heard
promising increase or relief from strife
while pointing ever to a resting place
where all the power is but a simple word

autumn flowers

spring covers all in its rich coats of green
we love the warmer days and longer hours
the world seems cleaner with a brighter sheen
but still i want to speak of autumn flowers

a time will come when leaves have gone to mould
when we will daily long for warmer showers
we'll have a choice dull wet or brilliant cold
but still i want to speak of autumn flowers

the colours that i see will cheer the mind
revive good thoughts and all my native powers
leaving all sadness and sharp fear behind
but still i want to speak of autumn flowers

regard the fence in purple pink and red
the blooms stand tall not a one of them cowers
the plants seem happy in their fertile beds
and so i want to speak of autumn flowers

a thrice-told tale

now truth becomes what we seek in the green
arrive too late and you have missed the flower
what matters most is what you have not seen

plain facts are told in maner most serene
no lightnings play about a gloomy tower
now truth becomes what we seek in the green

what's honest cannot ever be obscene
but prudes and puritans will always glower
what matters most is what you have not seen

we always have to show respectful mien
to those who could our hopes and loves devour
now truth becomes what we seek in the green

our own desires will matter not a bean
pasts may be sweet but futures may turn sour
what matters most is what you have not seen

the beggar girl must dream of being queen
the slave of days when in his hands lies power
now truth becomes what we seek in the green
what matters most is what you have not seen

beyond the barrier

above the mountains where the wyverns hide
we watch fat clouds expand into the east
we do not wonder when we see each beast
rise from the crags and loud proclaim its pride
on unmapped oceans where sea-serpents ride
each sailor fears to attend the great feast
when every demon from chains is released
and enters places where weak humans bide
a sodden weather eases one great fear
that fiery dragons would with flame descend
seizing our sheep from hillside or from fold
we are not certain of the age or year
when light and legend would in wonder blend
and ancient mysteries again unfold
when once again nightwalkers are bold
and angry heroes have once more the care
of the defenceless and the folk who tend
the plains and valleys in both heat and cold
to keep them safe from all powers of the air
and from the goblin decent homes defend
while plotting all the while for dragon-gold
the dangers that we face of other kind
still have their origin in living mind

a dance of life

moment of clear light
branches moving gently now
waiting for rainfall

time for calm and rest
clarity in the pallor
never more than peace

allow a small time
for all the good things we love
to work their magic

no tears and no blame
familiar ways passing
new worlds being born

grasping at shadows

no saintly rule over plain human folk
we have been governed by such fools and liars
whose pleasant voices singing in their choirs
disguise the fact that we're under a yoke
we bend our necks and wait the killing stroke
watch useless bodies cast onto the byres
and lives destroyed out of old vain desires
our hopes were full but now we all are broke
there is a shadow over every leaf
all work seems fated to fade and decay
and all our efforts may have been in vain
but still we have to overcome our grief
renew our pledges and restore the way
and hope for some revival in the rain

to resist such gods

the gods who made us seem to hate us all
they make our lives all misery and pain
we always have to stand up from the fall

all human power will sicken and appall
if two men kiss we will withhold the rain
the gods who made us seem to hate us all

we will chop down the stalks that stand too tall
converting into loss all of your gain
we always have to stand up from the fall

your ventures will all sail into a squall
and if you're lucky will come out again
the gods who made us seem to hate us all

the princess will be struck down at the ball
over the kingdom comes a noisome stain
we always have to stand up from the fall

we will not listen though you have to call
we make things difficult when they are plain
the gods who made us seem to hate us all
we always have to stand up from the fall

South of Eden

So much we do not learn, and think we ought,
of places where we dare to set roots down.
What is the colour of that leafy crown?
And what the bird that in the light is caught?
The things we see around us are all fraught
with meanings deep enough for minds to drown,
but ask a question and you'll get a frown
for we live in a place of is not ought.
All stories come together in the end,
and every quest, we find, turns out the same;
knowledge and mystery a single light
will shed upon all matters we intend
all human purpose is a giant game.
We say our speeches, and we say goodnight.

homecoming

we take such moments as we can
what is allowed we cannot tell
there is no central map or plan
the journey does not end in hell

nor is a heaven on the cards
for all the holy good and true
the distance is not miles nor yards
and what we find is never new

allow the words to have their time
we come we go and that is all
we tell the truth in prose or rhyme
we rise we falter and we fall

there is no sign beyond the last
we cannot bend our sight so far
we fade quite swiftly to the past
to those who come there is no bar

allow us but a moment's peace
to sing our songs and tell our tales
to stand upright behind the crease
and cry out at the falling bails

this world is neither round nor flat
but follows quite a crooked line
we have our seconds at the bat
and then we go while others dine

recovered seconds

what numbers mean and what words have to say
are only echoes of a time when pain
comes of a sudden like a summer rain

we live by light of quite another day
when things shall be familiar and plain
what numbers mean and what words have to say

we do not see ourselves within the play
for to that mirror we show much disdain
what's gone is gone and we won't see again
what numbers mean and what words have to say

no platonic shadows

when veneers crack the end comes very soon
the scent of pain cuts across every line
we think it midnight but we call it noon

though vultures gather they will never croon
not even when they watch the falling kine
when veneers crack the end comes very soon

at night we listen for the lonely loon
on lakes whose banks are thick with fir and pine
we think it midnight but we call it noon

promises made by light of the full moon
crumble to powder if we have to sign
when veneers crack the end comes very soon

we wake and then we wonder why you swoon
the greatest hopes plain life will undermine
we think it midnight but we call it noon

we ask for peace as if it were a boon
but cannot wait our metal to refine
when veneers crack the end comes very soon
we think it midnight but we call it noon

alone in timeless space

there are no shadows in the aching night
i cannot sleep for the intrusive sound
nothing seems kind or pleasant here around
i dim but cannot quite put out the light
there's much to worry at the edge of sight
where senses and desires will both compound
in shapes and figures that seek to confound
trapped at the heart of rigour and of rite
nothing that comes from any stress or strain
can quite succeed in making us take thought
for what will come when all leaves start to turn
the rule of life small pleasure and much pain
and all our efforts at last count for naught
we come from fire and our fate is to burn

the law of draco

there are no shadows but we need to hide
from the long dragon in the western sky
we fear the searing glance of his bright eye
and his insouciant ominous glide
we do not dare his flames now to deride
all of our courage turns into a lie
while the winds carry our despairing cry
he is upon us in his towering pride
no swarm of heroes comes up from the sea
to save us in the depth of all our fear
we are alone and have to face our fate
there is no use to even try to flee
nor to attempt what giants would not dare
the moment that we see him is too late

the greater world

so close the sea at the same time so far
the beach is foolishness so we are told
we carry distant vision like a scar

we try so hard but can never reach par
our efforts are pathetic you will scold
so close the sea at the same time so far

a stolen hour with a superb cigar
the world seems large and i must now be bold
we carry distant vision like a scar

the honey flows from out the broken jar
the day was hot but now my skin turns cold
so close the sea at the same time so far

to open just one window of the car
and clearer moments might just then unfold
we carry distant vision like a scar

that distant house seems just another star
we know the way and followed it of old
so close the sea at the same time so far
we carry distant vision like a scar

destiny

a moment in the sun and we are lost
beyond the hope of any swift return
life smiles but every kindness has a cost

no cheque we write can easily be crossed
we end up spending more than we can earn
a moment in the sun and we are lost

like cattle we too swiftly can be bossed
and show our simple hunger at each turn
life smiles but every kindness has a cost

we see our chances in those we accost
we are too careful any odds to spurn
a moment in the sun and we are lost

into the living stream we each are tossed
there's so much that we swiftly have to learn
life smiles but every kindness has a cost

we have to withstand both the heat and frost
to overcome the different sorts of burn
a moment in the sun and we are lost
life smiles but every kindness has a cost

journey not destination

this road leads us to no secret places
the map shows clear just where we have to go
we do not move with haste beneath the glow
nor are our feet ready for the races
at times we will be led to shadowed spaces
and learn things that are never good to know
others will pass us since feet move too slow
but will miss the less important graces
the lethargy that serves to hold you back
may in the end allow you to see more
than those who rush right on to their far goal
you have good reason to see all the track
to note with pleasure each welcoming door
and reach your destination sane and whole

normal day of obligation

for what may suffice
we do not thank distant stars
our hands do the work

our minds will require
proper food in due season
for each of our tasks

in the longer nights
we wait for angry morning
and do our duty

the word is not flesh
but is moved by carnal need
for every substance

owl that patient waits
on the high branches for prey
gazes long at us

retrieval

a later light reveals no horrid signs
fear to its old power is not yet restored
nor is the pain become its own reward

truth does not come defined in rigid lines
nor can fuzzy boundaries be ignored
a later light reveals no horrid signs

honour arrives to stiffen all our spines
our precious ox is not the one that's gored
nor can we justly claim to have been bored
a later light reveals no horrid signs

all that is true

what beings shuffle up from unknown deeps
to ruin worlds from anger or from hope
we cannot see them in the telescope
but hear them chewing hungry on raw neaps
what is not sold at once the monster keeps
in its dank cavern high on mountain slope
or else ties up in a coil of coarse rope
to moulder patiently while the god sleeps
a noise not heard by any now alive
will serve to indicate the proper time
when the dread beings will at last arise
we fear that moment will too soon arrive
when all the world becomes a single crime
and fire awakens from inhuman eyes

a lesser light

some clarity is more than we desire
the weight of sky bears down on every head
we end in water or we end in fire

to what high regions might we not aspire
were it not for our constant sense of dread
some clarity is more than we desire

the one who falsifies is not the liar
what truly matters sinks faster than lead
we end in water or we end in fire

the race continues right down to the wire
we cannot ever tell just who's ahead
some clarity is more than we desire

could we from this long contest now retire
others would rush to pull the heavy sled
we end in water or we end in fire

the virtues all end up on a bonfire
nothing could ever matter more than bread
some clarity is more than we desire
we end in water or we end in fire

sunday morning buckhead

against clear azure these fresh happy towers
announce a city rising from the green
in autumn when the air is pretty clean
and there is leisure for some shining hours
before the monster once again devours
all that we take to become and to mean
and chews us up and sends us from the scene
having exhausted all our working powers
wealth is concrete and also wood and brick
the cars all gleam in the atlanta sun
and nature is divided by straight lines
we cannot learn just how to pull this trick
but wonder at just what has been begun
to put in shadow all these leafy pines

the old magics

the creatures of the other world all died
when we arrived at the first age of reason
before that time old magic held seizin
the world we had was fully occupied
by fascinating entities that eyed
all that we did in and out of season
eager to aid as eager for treason
and then all of them scuttled off to hide
there is not reason we should not have seen
in those far times a gleam among the leaves
but now all seems in natural order
we cannot reach what once so real had been
every one who claims it simply deceives
and there is silence on that ancient border

portolan

the seas we cross are never very strange
we follow closely all the ancient charts
the three dimensions play their proper parts

a sort of recompense we might arrange
in places where the dolphin swiftly darts
the seas we cross are never very strange

we abhor constancy and desire change
after so many errors and false starts
but do not value only modern arts
the seas we cross are never very strange

roi de mes douleurs

against the coming day is no defence
we take what we are given and we smile
there's never reason for hurrying hence

we add together all the pounds and pence
that does not ever take us a long while
against the coming day is no defence

there isn't any green past the last fence
and we all reach that place in the same style
there's never reason for hurrying hence

nor do we have much reason for suspense
nothing remains once you have crossed the stile
against the coming day is no defence

no need for sacrifice or burnt incense
there is no angel at the last defile
there's never reason for hurrying hence

we can't expect the whole thing to make sense
from the last injury we won't resile
against the coming day is no defence
there's never reason for hurrying hence

reading student essays

too many words piled thick and very dense
with little order hardly any fact
and ignorance remains wholly intact

of conviction there is no real pretense
no understanding of what they have lacked
too many words piled thick and very dense

thought must require an effort too intense
and so they substitute with trivial fact
and passages plagiarised intact
too many words piled thick and very dense

a dancing blossom

one slice of time that's all we can expect
for flowers to blow and raise their happy heads
covering ground with pinks and even reds
the fated changes they seem to reject
with our tired souls they have to connect
to raise us every morning from our beds
and make us smile and so forget our dreads
the beauty and the day must intersect
autumn is clarity it does not fool
our eyes with anything but honest light
although we know the year is speeding hence
it takes us for a while to a new school
where for a moment we may learn delight
and so refresh the haughty fading sense

not in bright armour

voice of the dragon that so loudly calls
we hear it and we do not understand
what sort of creature comes upon the land

the king drinks deeply in his ancient halls
around him still carouse a noble band
voice of the dragon that so loudly calls

before next summer winter's horror falls
against the firedrake not a man will stand
for all his armour and his boastings grand
voice of the dragon that so loudly calls

the knight who would have ridden to the cave
answered the riddle and retrieved the gold
his bones are scattered on the mountain cold

and all of us from king right down to slave
know what the price has been for acting bold
the knight who would have ridden to the care

in such a time would any rise to save
the fearful land and in honour grow old
you know what tale has many times been told
the knight who would have ridden to the cave

the final hero is of humbler kind
the one who's chosen as the expert thief
in whose sharp eyes few seem to have belief

the keepers of the land are in a bind
they fear that there will not come swift relief
the final hero is of humbler kind

so many options but none come to mind
all might have ended with another grief
but fortune spoke and we have crowned a chief
the final hero is of humbler kind

others may tell the story in their way
gilding the truth and shining up the fact
reciting verse with heady action packed

just how the hero did the dragon slay
while hard with pains and horrors he was racked
others may tell the story in their way

the climax comes on just such a bright day
as when we saw the citadel attacked
but we are overcome with decent tact
others may tell the story in their way

looking at the city

the distant skyline
proclaims this a human place
under autumn blue

southwards migrant birds
fly into better weather
all year is one spring

trees green with summer
all still stand boldly cheerful
in their defiance

soon their bare branches
will quail under bitter cold
in the stark winter

for gail -- iii

we check the rules and understand the lines
a medium that does not give us pause
defined by paragraph and driest clause
but the best sense and wisdom still refines
like juice of grapes turned into the best wines
we undertake our task for no applause
and must obey the most sacred of laws
waiting for neither messages nor signs
ah what a worthy purpose has been set
for minds that cannot ever be controlled
except by forces so awesome and grand
that before them a world has been unrolled
and beauty brought conveniently to hand

distracted by externals

the blue looks warm but that is just a lie
we are not fooled by this day's cheery glow
no clouds to soften the starkness of sky

into the meanings of some truths we pry
driven by the relentless urge to know
the blue looks warm but that is just a lie

our thoughts like this long year are awful dry
we see the river falter in its flow
no clouds to soften the starkness of sky

all subtlety and meaning we'll supply
we'll laugh until it's time for us to go
the blue looks warm but that is just a lie

we listen for the day-bird's hungry cry
to tell us what is and what isn't so
no clouds to soften the starkness of sky

truth is not what we understand by eye
some things move fast but others are too slow
the blue looks warm but that is just a lie
no clouds to soften the starkness of sky

The idiots' guide to the villanelle

I haven't any sense, but I can jaw
as well as any idiot out here --
my writing is the Underworld, not law.

My spelling's bad, you try it with a claw,
but writing is to me the thing most dear;
I haven't any sense, but I can jaw.

I have no dog, yet I am a cat's paw,
and now you have me weeping in my beer:
my writing is the Underworld, not law.

You are such beasts, my nerves are now quite raw
and I am feeling very odd and queer --
I haven't any sense, but I can jaw.

The words keep sticking in my witchy craw,
I'm trying to behave stern and austere,
my writing is the Underworld, not law.

My feelings have been rubbed completely raw,
you people set my mind all out of gear.
I haven't any sense, but I can jaw;
my writing is the Underworld, not law.

The ancient way

It seems to me, though I'm not the best player,
we treat the world of dragons as a game.
For their attacks and hungers we don't blame
but celebrate, as if we did not care,
for vanished village or for mountain bare
the beast that desolated with a flame
the marvellous places we had sought to tame.
We praise the dragon, curse the dragonslayer.
Of Perseus we seem to say the least
although we know that upon alien strand
his spear straight-pierced the monster's horrid gorge;
instead we sing of the great hungry beast,
and in our narrow, comfortable land,
do execrate the hated name of George.

for gail -- ii

let us remember what the best times are
hold fast to them though winds blow hard and cold
you are my morning and my evening star

between us i am glad there is no bar
coming together makes us both seem bold
let us remember what the best times are

our journey takes us both to places far
this is our story and it shall be told
you are my morning and my evening star

the light you shed will never burn nor char
of you i sing and of you shall i hold
let us remember what the best times are

we seal our feelings in a magic jar
they are for us our silver and our gold
you are my morning and my evening star

there is no trade in market or bazaar
of what in this small space we shall enfold
let us remember what the best times are
you are my morning and my evening star

inside out

we left a scar where forest once had stood
our actions driven by a sort of pride
and so we let erode the mountainside
and let scrub grow in place of the great wood

allow us not a moment to deride
the ones who thought that they were doing good
and did those things they had not understood
letting the mountain and the spirit slide

the moment that we acted that was crime
we knew it yet we did it at that time

the ones who told us knew well in advance
that good would not come of so hard a choice
but left all in the hands of horrid chance
keeping full silence we did not give voice

deontological understanding

there's sense enough to make the structure work
in ways the framers would have thought bizarre
our aim is ever the most distant star

we will not fail we will not seek to shirk
our duties though realities may jar
our aim is ever the most distant star

the day is clear but even through the murk
we would have seen our target from afar
our aim is ever the most distant star

we won't let dragons of suspicion lurk
the results of our efforts none shall mar
our aim is ever the most distant star

none of us pause for quiddity or quirk
past failures and disasters are no bar
our aim is ever the most distant star

we'll let the fool and liar go berserk
our obligation's to go beyond par
our aim is ever the most distant star

we have no fear or bomb or gun or dirk
honour is gained not lost with any scar
our aim is ever the most distant star
that is our duty that is all our work

sonnet for gail -- i

a word or two and we cross the last edge
between the world and our own proper place
we build ourselves a fine and secret space
and rest awhile upon convenient ledge
hidden from all mankind by a tall hedge
allowing both of us the sober grace
to watch each other with an open face
and recollect our own most solemn pledge
let there be time for words and more than words
what we require is music in the soul
and time beyond the scope of normal night
in this one room we're freer than any birds
we hold each other and so become whole
and dread return to duty with first light

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beyond the fluorosphere

dangerous monster or strong kindly friend
dragons are both and fill our universe
though barred from normal vision by a curse
into the background they most subtly blend
still if by gentle force our authors rend
the veil that our illusions serves to nurse
the sight of dragons leaves us none the worse
but we our thanks to segoy ought to send
and dragons aren't the only beasts we seek
to populate our world with magic joys
there are so many beings we could name
to set alurk on distant mountain peak
to teach us that all creatures are not toys
and make the world more noble and less tame

pondside legend

we have our own atlantis had we known
that this tale would appear in such a guise
a better attitude we might have shown

a salty wind upon this ground has blown
the ones who lurk might just as well be spies
we have our own atlantis had we known

the sky above bright and hostile has grown
while the blue sea is seething with surprise
a better attitude we might have shown

a village vanishes without a groan
the angry sea for a moment would rise
we have our own atlantis had we known

into the pond we dare not drop a stone
don't wonder at persistence of the flies
a better attitude we might have shown

nothing is left behind not flesh nor bone
just quiet water appears to our eyes
we have our own atlantis had we known
a better attitude we might have shown

from concrete stairs

seeing drunken birds
staggering round the farmyard
you learn a lesson

fermented berries
signs of declining summer
tropic september

so great a distance
here in these other mountains
still you remember

blaze like meteors

we see no gods in darkness or in light
but there are devils hiding in the cracks
ready to dump us all in their huge sacks
and draw us down into the realm of night
they act for no good reason just for spite
dark batwings quiver on their aching backs
but they dare not step from the narrow tracks
since all their kingdom requires fear and fright
against deep blue only the trembling green
of summer that has lasted far too long
while silence is the power of these skies
a better life would make a duller scene
we listen but we cannot hear the song
all that will happen leads us to the prize

still distant blue

we know they were and where on earth they went
these are not matters that we'll ever learn
we let the days and nights in cycle turn

from some far citadel a message sent
to others makes the inner child still yearn
we know they were and where on earth they went

the light that reaches us was long-time bent
by heavy nut and fire-consuming kern
but only hearts will for such long time burn
we know they were and where on earth they went

what can be known

there's no significance in all these signs
we do not gather what we ought to know
not one of us can stay between the lines

we serve the terms or else we pay the fines
the motion of the planets seems too slow
there's no significance in all these signs

within no boundaries nor small confines
we find the place where rivers start to flow
not one of us can stay between the lines

the truest ore is not found in the mines
the stoutest pillar crumbles at a blow
there's no significance in all these signs

never elegant nor dressed to the nines
but still not capable to wield a hoe
not one of us can stay between the lines

the choices are not of spirits or wines
but of a vision that should truly glow
there's no significance in all these signs
not one of us can stay between the lines

the same old story

a gleam in shadow tells us of full day
but there are darknesses that will not leave
powers that threaten ever to bereave
us of all hope and lead us from the way
the truth is that no part of this is play
but even open sunlight may deceive
it clarifies but it does not relieve
we still remain beneath the nightly sway
i sit in quiet waiting for the spark
that will transform my mind and waiting heart
and draw light out of shadows of the trees
in such a manner must i make my mark
ensuring knowledge remains as my art
and i spend life afoot and not on knees

silhouettes

the world arrives in more than black and white
our eyes can catch of all of this but part
another day has conquered awful night

we cannot see the future that's our plight
to be so wise but still not to be smart
the world arrives in more than black and white

the chains that bind us still cannot unite
we all of us were different from the start
another day has conquered awful night

the victory won't always go to might
into some crevices the agile dart
the world arrives in more than black and white

no answer comes to us through proper rite
we throw the carcass onto waiting cart
another day has conquered awful night

the monster cannot take a single bite
the skin is safer than the trembling heart
the world arrives in more than black and white
another day has conquered awful night

Errantry

I am a knight, my bearings a dragon
proper (indeed) on barry wavy field,
a sign that land or sea I do not yield.
Still I'm happier with leather flagon
(not being the sort who'd go on the waggon),
that sort of weapon's easier to wield
but none would dare to limn it upon shield,
but truly all my fortune comes from lagan.
Now, tellers of romances all agree
that dragons far from eating ladies fair
are gentle creatures, always kind and sweet;
an awful state, this one that's come to be,
when dragons fly unhindered through the air,
and never knight and monster come to meet.

between the voids

we come from nowhere and that's where we end
what's in between is all of human joy
and all the pain that one life can deploy

facing the wind we either break or bend
the powers see each of us as one more toy
we come from nowhere and that's where we end

there is a message each of us must send
all that shall happen is no evil ploy
each overcomes those things that would annoy
we come from nowhere and that's where we end

Beyond the dragon hoard

We dig the ground to find diamonds and gold
but not for what they look like or they feel;
we judge the orange by more than its peel
and every story by the ones you've told.
Our love is not for stones or metals cold,
but things made new. Not iron ore but steel,
not fruit on tree, but as part of a meal;
to make the world is where we have been bold.
Not nature do we praise, but only art
that takes the raw and turns it ever true.
Then we won't whisper, we shall simply shout:
Release the power that hides within the heart,
give the old masters their fine, proper due,
and take good note before numbers run out.

fullest understanding

beyond the shadow
unnumbered worlds for taking
but so little time

experience speaks

we've come out now from under all that cloud
endurance and survival leave us proud
that after such a time we're still unbowed
above us in the night are strange new stars

we paid no heed to passages of time
to focus all our efforts is no crime
and yet we heard no ticking and no chime
above us in the night are strange new stars

we've struggled for our livings every pound
has been invested in a manner sound
and we have mapped out every bit of ground
above us in the night are strange new stars

we're not yet ready to receive the shroud
you give us reasons and we'll give you rhyme
our fates and yours are ever closely bound
above us in the night are strange new stars

now we've survived the anguish of long wars
and told our story in a thousand bars
we thought ourselves past all dangers and jars
above us in the night are strange new stars

evading grasp

too long a silence scarifies the heart
we dread the abyss that we know is there
after we've stripped the onion layer by layer
having been told that was our proper part
there's no way back down to the very start
our feet seem planted firmly in the air
with not an obligation are we square
and yet we seem to think we master art
the cloudy sky is pregnant with no rain
beneath us wells of justice have run dry
in autumn every tree is stubborn green
we lack a proper measure for the pain
that we have caused with every little lie
nor can we analyse what we have seen

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

awaking early looking east

the comet hanging over distant hills
presages nothing that we want to see
a dream of terror that won't ever be

the narrow scope of normal human wills
cannot find roots beneath the mystic tree
the comet hanging over distant hills

we do not know just what in power and skills
we'll need in those strange lands beyond the sea
there stands a sign commanding that we flee
the comet hanging over distant hills

we're irrelevant

we cannot tell the white cord from the black
all of our hope has gone into the fire
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

if you are honest you'll just get the sack
the one who wins is the outrageous liar
we cannot tell the white cord from the black

no winds are left to lurk within the sack
the statue cannot stand upon the spire
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

the truth is never what's told by the flack
nor what is sung by the most sweet-voiced choir
we cannot tell the white cord from the black

what once was profit now turns into lack
what once we hated now we most desire
we're still constrainted to stay right at the back

through densest bush a way we have to hack
only to find we've fallen in the mire
we cannot tell the white cord from the black
we're still constrained to stay right at the back

too late the dawn

we wait but cannot see the promised light
nights are so cold and the stars are so far
beyond our reach so our hands cannot mar
their icy beauty yet they're still in sight
our hope of reaching them is less than slight
we know that we can never cross the bar
we need the sun for neither moon nor star
can give us hope that what we see is right
it's summer-warm but i still feel the cold
above me malign shadows hold their place
the bomb goes off just as you light the fuse
once i have shivered i'll not feel so bold
as to believe i'll finish out the race
but cannot act as if i know i'll lose

so simple a gift

flowers in the median make me smile
their simple dance in the soft afternoon
seems like a special kindness or a boon

this memory i'll cherish a long while
for every winter arrives far too soon
flowers in the median make me smile

nature provides us all her grace and style
inside each heart a happy bird shall croon
and nectar pours out from a golden spoon
flowers in the median make me smile

the lessons of history

we think of justice as a simple matter
but then we lose all sense of proper cause
we see the diamond as nothing but flaws
and fear a single blow will make it shatter
yet fall quick prey to those who lie and flatter
giving them all our will without a pause
not giving thought to discipline or laws
then wonder why we're madder than a hatter
our thought does not move out on golden wings
nor are we of the human race the peak
but are compelled to do those things we must
we lack the reason of the fallen kings
cannot withstand the weapons of the weak
and in our turn will vanish into dust

steered by the thunderbolt

a river flows and doesn't ever pause
the principle's as subtle as rich life
all forward motion's a result of strife

inanimate and animate the laws
set out the rhythm like a drum and fife
a river flows and doesn't ever pause

doesn't matter how truly just the cause
reasons for failure always will be rife
success may come down to the naked knife
a river flows and doesn't ever pause

through a plain lens

behind the wall no hidden magics lurk
just other folk whose tasks are much the same
as those that drew you into the long game
there is no difference between wood and work
there are no monsters hiding in the murk
we make them up from our own guilt and shame
we do the crime and give others the blame
our hands are tight upon the secret dirk
a time will come when honesty and ruth
combine to force us to surrender tact
and face the consequence of each old lie
nothing can hurt as much as the plain truth
but there's no way to hide from simple fact
and fate's no tyrant underneath the sky

behind the cloud

we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies
while step by step we head towards the brink
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

no cavalry will ride down from the skies
and none of us remembers how to think
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies

we blame all crime on saboteurs and spies
our minds cannot compass the missing link
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

we will not even praise the one who tries
to draw the message from the opaque ink
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies

the one who answers is not one who buys
the silence and the knowing little wink
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

we cannot hearken to the one who cries
instead we bow our heads and sip our drink
we tell ourselves the most beguiling lies
the world's not real enough for our old eyes

profit or honour

beneath the hill the old kings still asleep
are waiting for a time that cannot come
are listening for a certain note of drum

that will at the same time be high and deep
meanwhile the forest turns into a slum
beneath the hill the old kings still asleep

we do not see the hungry monsters creep
nor do we hear their sullen quiet hum
instead we wait till we can add the sum
beneath the hill the old kings still asleep

seeking the self

you take a number but don't lose your name
and so you think you have in some way gained
the fear that i have cannot but be feigned

as far as you can see it's all the same
the world remains clean whole and unstained
you take a number but don't lose your name

you want to think that it's another game
the meaning of which may sometimes be strained
for in one box the whole thing is contained
you take a number but don't lose your name

a single leaf

a single leaf is history in green
our knowledge does not vanish into past
we are the sum of all that we have seen

there are some places where we have not been
nor have we served for years before the mast
a single leaf is history in green

once each of us hoped to be king or queen
not knowing into what streams we'd be cast
we are the sum of all that we have seen

in memory still bright we find the scene
when thought transfixed us making us stand fast
a single leaf is history in green

that moment when a single branch would lean
to show just where dramatic breeze had passed
we are the sum of all that we have seen

the world is still made up of things that mean
but nothing that we want can hope to last
a single leaf is history in green
we are the sum of all that we have seen

hitting the wall

there are bright words that come right off the tongue
but growing older they're so hard to find
those magics that expand the willing mind

the world's a simple place when you are young
your greatest fear is to be left behind
there are bright words that come right off the tongue

no one you think has sungof what you've sung
you're in a world of the lame halt and blind
and then too late you find yourself confined
there are bright words that come right off the tongue

what ought to happen

within the forest are no magic folk
we walk for hours and find no sign of elves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

rain makes the past into the humus soak
more than bent backs reward the one who delves
within the forest are no magic folk

you'll soon turn out an ordinary bloke
no magic axe-heads will fly off the helves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

no númenor nor wizard isle of roke
just the plain schools for ordinary selves
within the forest are no magic folk

we may incant and the dim fires stoke
but have no means of transcending ourselves
only the sounds of leaves and the odd croak

and so each head will bend under the yoke
the mystic trees turn into walls and shelves
within the forest are no magic folk
only the sound of leaves and the odd croak

how it goes on

i hear the voices of the noisy birds
they're at the old and truly magic dance
communication requires less than words

were they to congregate in flocks or herds
how else would each its pleasant cause advance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds

this principle the one that undergirds
all of our movements is not simple chance
communication requires less than words

we ask these questions seeming to be nerds
whose focus is on meaning not romance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds

life draws significance from all these surds
so much expressed in fractions of a glance
communication requires less than words

to get the truth of milk we need the curds
and so we need to watch these creatures prance
i hear the voices of the noisy birds
communication requires less than words

to feed on beauty

we ask so much of light upon the flowers
a sustenance of the initial joy
the heart is not to know that it's a ploy
the fruit of labour for so many hours
rather the mind should leap to leafy bowers
should turn the world into a happy toy
restoring wonder of the girl or boy
and giving meaning back to human powers
poppies that bloom in the grass by the road
bring smiles to faces in the evening light
flashes of colour that restore the heart
for those who have to live by narrow code
constrained to always figure out what's right
need artlessness that is produced by art

a moment back in time

outside the stars are candles in the sky
a single glance and you're pressed down by dark
this is reality not a neat park

there is a terror enters through the eye
you cannot seize it cannot simply mark
outside the stars are candles in the sky

you cannot hear or see a creature fly
meaning you find is hard and cold and stark
the truth is not recorded by a clerk
outside the stars are candles in the sky

Ann Coulter

The worst thing about Ann Coulter
isn't that she's such a dolt; her
hand is too long,
her words are so wrong,
and it looks like a snake tried to moult her.

savage wars of peace

each dragon bears a monkey on its back
which one's the guide and leader is not clear
to fable-mongers we allow no slack

upon whole elephants the serpents snack
no rider will allow a sign of fear
each dragon bears a monkey on its back

the last knight flees high up the mountain track
the end of chivalry has now come near
to fable-mongers we allow no slack

a heavy smoke comes from volcanic crack
it does not bother those high up in air
each dragon bears a monkey on its back

wolves hunt the shepherds in a hungry pack
while trolls and demons fill the village square
to fable-mongers we allow no slack

a damsel screams then the scene fades to black
and goblins laugh when elf-kind would not dare
each dragon bears a monkey on its back
to fable-mongers we allow no slack

we are utopia

the echo of the mad machine
warns us of yet another hell
sounds that are yet wholly unclean
suppress the organ and the bell
what older folk would not have seen
cannot be hidden by a spell
the angry monsters do not preen
we do not hear the victim yell

a terror that comes in deep night
is not the one we should have known
the words that will each spirit fright
tell us that justice has long flown
the chance of honour is but slight
the crocodile's now fully grown
ancestral deaths it must requite
and into desert turn the sown

shadow of choices we've not made
a fear that life has passed us by
the endless armies on parade
the television's booming lie
we are seduced to be afraid
of screaming death from hateful sky
the ones who could not make the grade
now look on us with horrid eye

there is no longer healing rain
behind the clouds the sun's quite cold
we can no longer see things plain
we are too fearful to be bold
demons occupy the terrain
our spirits now have become old
all we can feel is endless pain

storm passing by

before the storm a red and lowering sky
my father's voice calmy says hurricane
the rain that comes turns mountainside to fen
there's not one place that's really truly dry
the pigs are almost washed out of their sty
cattle rush up to huddle in the pen
and hiding in the coop i note a hen
we watch and wait for the storm to pass by
facing the east i see a heavy sun
seeming both weak and dull behind the cloud
while swallows in a hurry all swoop low
things will be different when the day is done
the rain and wind will both be very loud
but we will not experience breeze blow

at the fallen temple

here is no echoing of older places
we move our feet to no determined tune
reading the symbols ancient glyph or rune

the gods who reared us have lost their faces
and now we're lost beneath the plenilune
here is no echoing of older places

we grant due service to wilder graces
the palace now is hidden under dune
not one of us from terror is immune
here is no echoing of older places

lacking true vision

we shape the words to make a better sense
but no one listens with an open heart
at being human they make vague pretence

to them what matters are the pounds and pence
for principles they would not give a fart
we shape the words to make a better sense

it is for trivia they're most intense
for all the scenes in which they won't take part
at being human they make vague pretence

about their future they seem the most dense
none gets to the finish if they don't start
we shape the words to make a better sense

this forced opacity is so immense
it can't be pierced by any lighted dart
at being human they make vague pretence

not one of them could safely journey hence
absent all science and lacking all art
we shape the words to make a better sense
at being human they make vague pretence

the page turns

trivial time to think of when we'll meet
choices were made that set us on our way
into the distance sails the royal fleet

who has the choice exactly whom to greet
is king of flowers more than just a day
trivial time to think of when we'll meet

days of good weather still seem to us sweet
with minds that are not close to adult sway
into the distance sails the royal fleet

we skip the stones and then have to repeat
the one who laughs will let the water spray
trivial time to think of when we'll meet

with glorious colours we're now replete
yet have not good excuse to pause or stay
into the distance sails the royal fleet

we've left our morning faces on the street
look up and see the world is turning grey
trivial time to think of when we'll meet
into the distance sails the royal fleet

cleaning pimento

it is not sights but smells that take me back
the dust of spices sits within my brain
and memories of memories in train
my mind has fallen down an open crack
the rope will hold me it has enough slack
i hear old stories and i know their strain
tales of past suffering and of others' pain
while the imposing present fades to black
we never learn just what we ought to know
but who we are is more than just a line
and heavy odours lull us all to sleep
and now we've found out where we have to go
in every corner now the sun must shine
but we can't choose whose memories to keep

watching and listening

above the body vultures slowly turn
their wings flap once and then they gently glide
i watch them from above on mountain's side
while not too distant cooking fires still burn
carrion birds will eat those things we'd spurn
and yet they're still too ugly for our pride
these graceful creatures that the thermals ride
our deaths the only things for which they yearn
some on the banjo and the guitar strum
while they sing of the times that are to be
but they are silenced by the wailing horn
each heartbeat is repeated by the drum
in the far distance we have sight of sea
and cleaner beings waiting to be born

another argo

the voyage ends when we have found a name
before the mast not one of us could sail
into the sky at once empty and pale

we did not do the deed for wealth or fame
but to revive a life now long grown stale
the voyage ends when we have found a name

the art we learn is just how not to blame
the absent gods for doldrums or for gale
but to accept that all the seas must fail
the voyage ends when we have found a name

the fascist tide

speaker of falsehoods claiming they are true
some ugly thoughts stand revealed in the light
monstrosities lumbering out of night
stupidities and errors brought to view
with idiots claiming that they're brand new
and that we ought to revel in the sight
of liars rising up to state they're right
saying shit's needed to flavour the stew
things that belong deep buried in the grave
are brought back up with emphasis and praise
we're just supposed to cheer on each old lie
call fools and thugs truly honest and brave
the stinking banners of old death upraise
and if we can't stand nonsense then just die

classical wisdoms

all institution
requires we measure duly
where each must belong

plato will tell us
that only philosophers
know truly to rule

aristotle warns
the common folk hate the rich
and vice versa

master meng knows that
the king must serve the people
or hang by his neck

ancient thinkers
understanding a story
missing the picture

echoes of summer

we see the changes and we realise
our lives will matter in some measured way
there's something here that may each heart surprise
we see the changes and we realise

the ones who fail we should not now despise
we are not beings of some different clay
we see the changes and we realise
our lives will matter in some measured way

if we could make the choice to go or stay
we would not hesitate or so we think
there's little that we'd have to ask or say
if we could make the choice to go or stay

we know we have the answer come what may
and so we halt and look over the brink
if we could make the choice to go or stay
we would not hesitate or so we think

the noblest answer is a nod or wink
look up and see us higher than a bird
we look below and watch the glasses clink
the noblest answer is a nod or wink

it's never time to pause and have a drink
we've listened but we've never truly heard
the noblest answer is a nod or wink
look up and see us higher than a bird

what we have chosen you have not preferred
but either way we have to take the chance
we're caught between the honest and absurd
what we have chosen you have not preferred

the answer comes without a better word
we seek to know all things now in advance
what we have chosen you have not preferred
but either way we have to take the chance

out in the fields no youngsters left to prance
we reach conclusions by a swift surmise
these are the times when we must take our stance
out in the fields no youngsters left to prance

we play the music for the longer dance
the truth we see's not hidden from your eyes
out in the fields no youngsters left to prance
we reach conclusions by a swift surmise

from emesa to ctesiphon

the mode of failure now seems all too clear
beyond the wall the masses cannot wait
a little rain may serve to cleanse the air

empires arise when golden monsters dare
lay out the claim they've been chosen by fate
the mode of failure now seems all too clear

a time of charity means words to spare
but they don't add to much upon a plate
a little rain may serve to cleanse the air

riding a mule a stallion or a mare
will do to survey the largest estate
the mode of failure now seems all too clear

our rulers worry about what to wear
to awe us when they enter through the gate
a little rain will serve to cleanse the air

our task in the new order is to stare
while dragons pass us by with heads held straight
the mode of failure now seems all too clear
a little rain will serve to cleanse the air

house name

we find the empire doesn't end at once
its memories hold on for many years
it isn't truly there but still some dunce
for its past glory sheds some weighty tears
we see the noble houses on their hills
and watch the servants hidden at the back
the final remnants of imperious wills
the ones who run at first thought of attack
the meaning of the name first seen in rain
is horror sorrow and the end of hope
but now it has become historic pain
and the last owner's hiding from the rope
the one who knows had left the past behind
casting grim memory far out of mind
i should know better but i fit the name
into a different setting of the past
so that in future i shall feel some shame
and the dull image into garbage cast
rule of the self becomes the better plan
but we are human right down to the bone
we have to make a stand woman or man
and work together lest we die alone
thousands of miles that now are in between
don't dim the signal nor deface the word
but know i understand just what they mean
and that is something that can't be unheard
the road past huts and houses still may wind
but what we think of may now be more kind

definition of order

who waiting for the end will hear the rain
not as a drumbeat but a kinder sound
will watch it soak into the thirsty ground
and for that moment forget all the pain
flowing to creek to river then to main
we send the stories that we have not found
measuring pleasure by the ounce and pound
life is a matter of no loss nor gain
cobweb that stretches twixt the house and fence
glistens with raindrops that attract the eye
but having done so all its cause is lost
we send the hungry creature further hence
treating it as we would a shill or spy
and thinking only of the daily cost

painful decisions

the choice to go or not to go's absurd
a road was mapped long before we were born
we must walk forward with a joyful word

nothing will happen that we won't have heard
this drizzle makes the whole place seem forlorn
the choice to go or not to go's absurd

we think the one who reads is just a nerd
but backs are bent and hands have long been worn
we must walk forward with a joyful word

the thunderclap tells us what has occurred
we hear a car alarm annoying horn
the choice to go or not to go's absurd

whatever we might do has been inferred
when we arrive we see they've reaped the corn
we must walk forward with a joyful word

this egg belongs to no sharp-seeing bird
a little corner from the world's been torn
the choice to go or not to go's absurd
we must walk forward with a joyful word

significant satori

across the hills the young goats lightly prance
but far below i see the black stream glide
i'm here alone there's no one at my side
the world is caught preparing its next dance
cloud throws me into a sort of light trance
a single sunbeam on the swamp will slide
as distantly a ship sails with the tide
i cannot tell it's my turn to advance
sunlight explodes if i just play my part
a better law must govern what is shown
we speak but once and yet we have been heard
all this i carry in my living heart
now further in from the magic unknown
but bound to listen for the honest word

up melrose hill

no one now should speak
silence rules the icy stars
cloud moves below them

pilgrim or bandit
alone with his whirling thoughts
mirrors this night sky

i am no brute beast
nor a wise divinity
only lone human

here in long summer
wandering ever higher
towards better hope

above i watch a starry dance

on each straight back so much has been bestowed
there's much to say but silence seems the best
around the hillside i see there's more road

the watchful rooster at midnight has crowed
but there's no dawn nor any place to rest
on each straight back so much has been bestowed

i've left behind the lush green lawns fresh mowed
to make this journey at my own behest
around the hillside i see there's more road

upon these mountains it has never snowed
still here in these green islands of the blest
on each straight back so much has been bestowed

the blinking lights are a quite open code
but knowing it is never for the best
around the hillside i see there's more road

so many miles before my own abode
my body's tired my mind still full of zest
on each straight back so much has been bestowed
around the hillside i see there's more road

less than a mile

this is the last long curve the final climb
up the dark hillside to the mountaintop
a moment's pause not enough time to stop
the distance measured by the starting time
of musical cicadas not a chime
of distant bells urging the feet to hop
small light upon this road and no rum-shop
just scent of allspice and of flowers of lime
from the switchback i see the distant lights
down on the lowland and the signs of ships
far out at sea set on their busy track
but there's no time to take in all these sights
with thought of tea to wet and warm my lips
and the encroaching darkness at my back

a simple illusion

the mind's a thing that we can easy shock
we see a world but do not know so much
for what we think is water may be rock

we have the key but cannot see the lock
the rabbit crouches in its tiny hutch
the mind's a thing that we can easy shock

we have to pause a moment and take stock
of all our yesterdays and matters such
for what we think is water may be rock

we place our hearts and thoughts in deepest hock
yet what we want remains out of our clutch
the mind's a thing that we can easy shock

not one's unique we all are in the flock
identity's not even a weak crutch
for what we think is water may be rock

you think it simple just to jeer and mock
but one false word shows that you're out of touch
the mind's a thing that we can easy shock
for what we think is water may be rock

around the corner

not wide the door
narrow the path
we ask for more
but not for wrath
there's some in store
no board but lath
right at the core
the aftermath

a shallow pool
beneath the tree
the weather cool
the moment free
a needed tool
we have to see
now time to school
who pays the fee

a moment's rain
relieves no curse
a ninny's brain
is none the worse
we find this plain
an empty purse
a single stain
but rhyming verse

expect no flame
but watch for light
this is no game
you've got it right
a moment's shame
an hours delight
ask for a name
you have a fight

the river's near
but now it's dark
the cost not dear
we leave no mark
those at the rear
to them we hark
what they can bear
is not so stark

along the road
commuters drive
each with a load
that must arrive
no simple code
to gain the hive
the horse one rode
can't stay alive

no forest now
the houses spread
a single vow
before you're dead
don't worry how
the thing is read
a rusted plough
is dull and red

against the wall
the laggards stand
they hear no call
they raise no hand
not standing tall
without command
we see them fall
the ragged band

what we believe
is almost true
you must deceive
by dimmer hue
if we receive
a morning blue
you might achieve
a symbol new

shadow of time
at edge of sight
to squeeze a lime
won't make it right
the steady climb
ends in a fright
no honest crime
that is our plight

a time to dance
but not to speak
a single glance
may turn you weak
the troops advance
but you won't seek
the slimmest chance
to cross the creek

i'll write no lies
but you'll proclaim
up to the skies
that there's no shame
in all the spies
who play this game
their empty eyes
fill with a flame

accept that paws
can cross each line
there is no cause
we'd call divine
the masters' tawse
drives to the mine
these are the laws
we'll have the wine

we have to choose
you know the odds
but win or lose
we'll feel the rods
no time for booze
for thirsty bods
out of the ooze
we make our gods

the times aren't hard
but we sense threat
roads are not barred
no one will vet
to see what's marred
no cause to fret
we've got the card
the path's still wet

there's not one way
back to the heart
through all the grey
we find each part
of all we'll say
right from the start
the words won't fray
that's the true art

what you require
is that we break
the weight of ire
make no mistake
just to aspire
to more than fake
will raise a fire
beside the lake

choices are rough
the hour's not done
there's not enough
to choose or shun
a single cough
not cause to run
be weak or tough
but greet the sun

absent all brilliance

a sort of music underlies our hope
we do not have to drag it very far
our actions won't its quiet beauty mar
nor will it play out to the end our rope
there's not an echo nor another trope
we are not guided by a glinting star
yet to safe harbour there is never bar
while highest mountain has a gentle slope
a moment in between the sky and sea
too soon for sunset and still far from dark
we hear the sounds that indicate our home
there's stretching shadow of familiar tree
the open field becomes a kind of park
tomorrow will have time enough to roam

to see the land redeemed

we fade from realms of light into no place
where there are never thoughts of any woe
a place where we are not allowed to know
just what the signal is behind each face
no horse nor foot to enter in the race
but there is time for something new to grow
we want to move but our minds are too slow
some other entity must set the pace
but each of us confronts the stars alone
we are the winners and the losers sure
tripped up right at the border of the known
with hearts that are at once firm and impure
whatever happens we have crossed the line
not knowing whether others note the sign

all our dealings

a sort of greyness making gentler light
appears with rain and soothes my sleepy soul
there's a flag flapping somewhere on its pole
we've a long way to go till we reach night
there's more to know than what fits into sight
each one's a mouse timid inside its hole
while down the hillside giant boulders roll
these are the symbols of some kind of might
rain holds us in our place and makes us smile
at memories that tell us who we've been
that take us back that speak of journeys far
feet start to ache at thoughts of every mile
eyes now must weep at thought of what we've seen
but heart leap up for knowing who we are

image of unlight

eyes don't quite focus on the distant grey
it takes me time to hear the telephone
there is no echo going through the bone
and no one out there with one thing to say
the promise and the hope of rain this day
for many sins of summer can't atone
i sit here grimly feeling quite alone
unable for the now to work or play
words form themselves but swiftly disappear
i see no swallows swoop above the leaves
nor anyone who at this time stands tall
there's no constraint nor sad occasion drear
but a sharp feeling that the world still grieves
and that we're standing at the final wall

expanding vision

in front of me the brownly phallic tower
i fade and rise but nothing seems to change
enough surprise would anyone derange

this is no simple pleasant rustic bower
our sense of purpose now seems out of range
in front of me the brownly phallic tower

we're in and out in much less than an hour
a matter then of payment and exchange
at other times i might have thought that strange
in front of me the brownly phallic tower

easy recovery

there is no sorrow for a perfect day
time gives us gifts among the signs of pain
the hardest thing is that we cannot stay

so many tasks will not be done for pay
much more to life than count of loss and gain
there is no sorrow for a perfect day

we're past the hour of the last fading ray
new sun has risen over distant main
the hardest thing is that we cannot stay

given the choice we'd rather laugh and play
or watch the flights of the returning crane
there is no sorrow for a perfect day

each listens but for what we couldn't say
too long we've done without the needed rain
the hardest thing is that we cannot stay

we know that it's no use to beg and pray
the light is gone but we can still see plain
there is no sorrow for a perfect day
the hardest thing is that we cannot stay

vision through silence

you listen and the words lose any sense
but there is still so much that we require
and honesty's not much in evidence

no bother if we have to hurry hence
not even small delay to find attire
you listen and the words lose any sense

to reason no one seems to make pretence
but with a smirk play on upon the lyre
and honesty's not much in evidence

against injustice they place no defence
nothing can move through the encroaching mire
you listen and the words lose any sense

they claim to be in comfort on the fence
but from an angle they are on the pyre
and honesty's not much in evidence

absent the clouds the sky is so immense
dwarfing the crows that soar ever higher
you listen and the words lose any sense
and honesty's not much in evidence

starting october

sky coloured like a lushly ripening plum
another month another fading year
autumn still green though i just do not care

i scratch my head with fingers and with thumb
the shapes of leaves are clear in morning air
sky coloured like a lushly ripening plum

honour requires that i do not keep mum
but speak my thought without concern or fear
there's time remains for love time still to spare
sky coloured like a lushly ripening plum