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

far from the shore

what ends all honour is the source of strife
the rules we write cannot provide us aid
at noontime there is very little shade

the sunlight cuts each eye like a sharp knife
everyone worries we won't make the grade
what ends all honour is the source of strife

we note the passing of each storied life
the fiery active and the merely staid
each of them in memory too soon must fade
what ends all honour is the source of strife

superstition

in the deep night when horrid demons ride
we keep indoors and wait for the new sun
there's no safety in knife or in big gun
and no place where it's truly safe to hide
each little sound outside is amplified
we're all afraid of death when night is done
knowing that there's no place where we may run
and spirits come at us from every side
horrors may dissipate when morning's here
but we know better what is false and true
and arm ourselves against distressing sight
in darkest dreams the world is hot and sere
we faint beneath the gold eye in the blue
and there's no difference either day or night

night on the hillside

a path of diamonds in the velvet sky
out in the bush we look above in awe
the magic is apparent to each eye

nightbirds alarming as they pass us by
shocking the silence every raucous caw
a path of diamonds in the velvet sky

the world in calm and stillness does not lie
we hear near us the skittering of small paw
the magic is apparent to each eye

the brilliant stars are so clear and so high
we will on them the shapes of mouth and claw
a path of diamonds in the velvet sky

the old man is amazed we are so spry
his wisdom is summed up in an old saw
the magic is apparent to each eye

we've learned the things that no one can deny
and find we're subject to a constant law
a path of diamonds in the velvet sky
the magic is apparent to each eye

beware it bites

we wade until we find we're in too deep
there's nothing more that we can wish to do
water and sun kindness of heart renew

the mountains in the distance seem so steep
but from their heights there is a lovely view
we wade until we find we're in too deep

there's nothing here that we're allowed to keep
we are not part of the exploring crew
all that's permitted is to see the blue
we wade until we find we're in too deep

pause for a moment

listen for music
from each rock and wall and tree
echoes of glory

a small memorial

we aren't the ones who'll end up with the gold
a little silver and the chance for rest
a little kindness and a little zest
a chance to grow both happy and quite old
the ending of the story's not foretold
but we may hope that all is for the best
life is for real it's not some fiendish test
we take it fiery and we take it cold
yet while we may we have to take the chance
to hear the music see the lovely sights
and smile at lichens growing on the wall
all take their place within the stately dance
enjoy the warmth of day and cool of nights
but know there comes a finish to the ball

all-island rain

after a while i know the rain won't pause
so i must trudge on through the dark and wet
to get home safely is my only cause

i've always been afraid of rod or tawse
but with one purpose i am fairly set
after a while i know the rain won't pause

closing my book on subordinate clause
i look at the last street-light with regret
to get home safely is my only cause

no monsters wait to take me in their maws
until i reach my door i won't be met
after a while i know the rain won't pause

there are no tigers with their long sharp claws
in the dark forests that i half-forget
to get home safely is my only cause

i am obedient to the lesser laws
if i should drown there's not one who would fret
after a while i know the rain won't pause
to get home safely is my only cause

from field to fold

millennia of storms create a path
from gentle curve between forested hills
down to the cliff face where the water spills

the gully is the storm's true aftermath
determined flouter of mere human wills
millennia of storms create a path

we're never there when nature in her wrath
the little mice and tiny lizards kills
on rocks and trees that are her grinding mills
millennia of storms create a path

capitalism gone mad

news comes of death and fear and of great pain
we've got a world where crises never cease
and all that drives us now is hope of gain

we should not ask the nature of that stain
that sinks into the pavement unlike grease
news comes of death and fear and of great pain

we learn the facts and we learn them all plain
the terrors come without pause or surcease
and all that drives us now is hope of gain

there'll be no healing here from gentle rain
we may have come to ending of our lease
news comes of death and fear and of great pain

not one hand rises our own to sustain
no one will come our hearts and eyes to please
and all that drives us now is hope of gain

we're punished if we go against the grain
never again may we have rest or ease
news comes of death and fear and of great pain
and all that drives us now is hope of gain

lessons of history

when we've been made to speak only what's true
the shadows of the past will still hang cold
and heavy on the shoulders of the bold

the morning sun brings all things into view
but we cannot believe all that we're told
when we've been made to speak only what's true

the face we see shows a dishonest hue
the fact is clear it's really far too old
and much is hidden now in each deep fold
when we've been made to speak only what's true

life's wayang play

what memories are ruffled by the breeze
when we are least concerned with old regret
and looking upwards see in silhouette
against the rosy sky the still-dark trees
those who are standing and those on their knees
prepare to face the world with faces set
and yet they find themselves caught in the net
all become victims of the oldest wheeze
we look but cannot see the morning birds
the sun illuminates not one pale cloud
and the clear air is cold as well as dry
still we seek for the better nobler words
we'll dare to speak the truest names aloud
and hope for kindness coming from the sky

nothing to see

the rules are clear
we have no choice
there's no fresh air
no ringing voice
we have to care
but not rejoice

allow some thought
of what we need
twixt is and ought
the monsters breed
all goes for naught
when giants feed

in the deep dark
we see no stars
but still may mark
the sounds of cars
no dogs may bark
but there are jars

allow each heart
to have its say
play no loud part
but smile with day
your simple art
shows us the way

the rules are hard
and cause great pain
each road's now barred
but there's no rain
we've no regard
for those who strain

allow each mind
to search the earth
bring humankind
to better birth
teach dumb and blind
the springs of mirth

no rules are just
no gods will bless
the ones who must
achieve success
and yet their trust
was no excess

permit the true
to end their task
give what is due
without a mask
accept the new
and do not ask

by long dark stream

the wind must carry sounds of ancient grief
to those who listen but can never hear
a signifier to those not so near
of what may happen to the subtle thief
or that some things are never past belief
the price of happiness may be too dear
but never so high as the cost of fear
each sigil must be clear and each word brief
what meaning's given to the flying shoe
or to the wings that lift the sluggish bird
messages may come in this cool weather
above us still the pale and cloudless blue
we wait to hear some fresh restoring word
that will give balance to phoenix feather

no need for wit

there's nothing more of us you may require
beyond the seas we've no need of your aid
there's not one thing that can withstand the fire

with you the hidden ones may well conspire
some things are best done in the evening shade
there's nothing more of us you may require

warnings will be printed on a flier
and then forgotten everything must fade
there's not one thing that can withstand the fire

the message goes to every rural shire
through many rivers your horses must wade
there's nothing more of us you may require

your hope lies in the midden and the byre
in entities that were not proper made
there's not one thing that can withstand the fire

the longest silence will confound a liar
so many want to enter the parade
there's nothing more of us you may require
there's not one thing that can withstand the fire

no distant music

we do not ever know the proper cause
of all the pains and sorrows that we face
the whole thing is not due to higher laws

the hungry tiger shows its shining claws
signs of great power and of a fiery grace
we do not ever know the proper cause

the noise continues without any pause
each is confined to a restricted space
the whole thing is not due to higher laws

spring will refresh us with its rains and thaws
but autumn plods on at a steady pace
we do not ever know the proper cause

one who would lead us never hems and haws
and shows us clear concern in smiling face
the whole thing is not due to higher laws

we are not made to bow before applause
as creatures of the fearful human race
we do not ever know the proper cause
the whole thing is not due to higher laws

afloat in time

empty the soul empty the thinking mind
leave all you wish and all you might desire
there is no goal to which you could aspire

there's nothing here the questing heart to bind
no way to tell your difference from your sire
empty the soul empty the thinking mind

not much is left for trebling hand to find
not all sweet music comes from lute or lyre
not every signal kindles sacred fire
empty the soul empty the thinking mind

in the spyglass

what's to be seen
in normal eyes
is that we're keen
to realize
that what we mean
is just more lies

what we have been
is not so wise
the odds are lean
the worst despise
not worth a bean
are all their lies

nothing between
the truth and spies
what's on the scene
deserves no prize
nothing's left clean
and still one lies

willow walk

upon these sights we find that we can fall
knowledge of every rut in the rough road
fireflies flashing in their odd secret code
the casuarinas and the drystone wall

we think these mountains though not very tall
upon a rise is our nightly abode
and just below we see the cocks that crowed
the casuarinas and the drystone wall

when each goes back they find the place grown small
and very strange the paths they walked or rode
old time we find has sped instead of slowed
the casuarianas and the drystone wall

and yet not all has faded past recall
each knows the places where the sunset glowed
there was a time when magic set the mode
the casuarinas and the drystone wall

facing the music

where feeling fails to tell us what we need
there's not a lot that we can hope to know
we see the river and we note its flow
and take no notice of the nodding reed
the thing for which not one of us would plead
appears in retrospect with noble glow
our choices come either too fast or slow
the propaganda's never in the deed
we look but there's so much we cannot see
a universe of wisdom but we'll fail
to find the answers or the simple sense
we must become we cannot simply be
or else we're trapped in problem and detail
so much to do before we must go hence

the end of our exploring

a life is measured not in years but deeds
we listen to the music and are glad
what's true has meaning and is not a fad

we tell the cultivars from the hard weeds
each hillside is in autumn colours clad
a life is measured not in years but deeds

we make the step between desires and needs
not one was jealous of what others had
to truest feeling no one needs to add
a life is measured not in years but deeds

in the deep bush

there is no silence in the richest green
life makes its presence known in many ways
in memory we are what we had once been

we climb the rocks our bodies firm and lean
in the deep bush each gully seems a maze
there is no silence in the richest green

on small adventures we are very keen
all in these woods is subject to our gaze
in memory we are what we had once been

the shadowed floor is full of things that mean
but to decypher them takes many days
there is no silence in the richest green

high in the trees a hungry hawk may keen
a tiny movement fearful mouse betrays
in memory we are what we had once been

we were not then built into the machine
having so much to understand and praise
there is no silence in the richest green
in memory we are what we had once been

easy as sunday morning

beyond the trees are places much the same
as where we sit and smile and the pale light
the day and hour seem to come out just right
there is no reason now for fear or shame
in every heart we see the living flame
our one defence against the long dark night
the only gift we won't ever requite
nothing deserves either our praise or blame
beneath my window red and purple blooms
autumn's bright flowers have their time in the sun
for the bleak winter will too soon arrive
we are not trapped forever in our rooms
and have much more to say before we're done
while joying in the fact that we're alive

right off the map

we sail upon the shallowest of seas
in all directions are sharp reefs and rocks
a voice from shoreline always fleers and mocks

in the far distance islands thick with trees
but howling creatures wait there on the docks
we sail upon the shallowest of seas

there's too much danger from the lightest breeze
we're trapped by nature in some sort of box
and all too eager for the noise and shocks
we sail upon the shallowest of seas

Another meme....

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renaissance music

words sung or spoken need have little sense
all that should matter is the changing tone
each of us listens for the sound alone
the night air is now with rich echoes dense
we need no meaning nor any suspense
all that must signify the wind has blown
warmth leaches down into the very bone
a moment passes of the most intense
flame that erupts in watches of the night
guiding sad traveller to distant shore
where soft and welcome hands and smiles await
we steer towards the red and happy light
not knowing what remains or what else more
will happen when we pass the shining gate

on the warm hillside

lights on the lowland in the velvet night
and further out the deeper darker sea
we find the rules are neither true nor right

there's some small comfort in the normal sight
a time exists that gives us room to be
lights on the lowland in the velvet night

the sense of wonder is not small nor slight
from this calm place each knows he has to flee
we find the rules are neither true nor right

the night's as dark as day is dazzling bright
and ghosts and spirits hang beneath each tree
lights on the lowland in the velvet night

there are no demons though for us to smite
nor beings to whom we have to bend knee
we find the rules are neither true nor right

against nostalgia we still have to fight
memory and truth will not ever agree
lights on the lowland in the velvet night
we find the rules are neither true nor right

island of pain

evening light beneath huge old mango tree
butressing roots reach far out on the ground
you want to pause and utter not a sound

my father says it comes from the unfree
that underneath it lies one who was bound
evening light beneath huge old mango tree

far in the distance the eternal sea
its presence is one we feel all around
its waves upon unholy shores still pound
evening light beneath huge old mango tree

expendable savages

what need have we for poet and his lyre
the news comes in of humankind's deep pain
of savage drought and of incessant rain
the world is caught up in enormous fire
while foolish voices echo in their choir
that we should never go against the grain
the only measure is of loss and gain
and every hero's just another liar
nothing is left after we see the flash
we're told the only safe course is obey
and while we're at it just ignore the smell
someone will gratefully take all the cash
and tell us that there was no better way
while all the time our earth turns into hell

antonomasia

you are a person
in your hands i place my heart
you'll keep it safely

in the dark wood

only in shadows do we dare to dream
haste renders void with one actinic flash
we can survive without the golden beam

truth has no colour falsehood has a gleam
what glitters most is the foulest of trash
only in shadows do we dare to dream

respect what heroes a fair process deem
and never yield to baton nor to lash
we can survive without the golden beam

sewage is sold us as the finest cream
against a rigid wall we have to smash
only in shadows do we dare to dream

the angry river is no precious stream
upon its rocks the fragile boats will bash
we can survive without the golden beam

plain honest truth is just another meme
the thing that truly matters is cold cash
only in shadows do we dare to dream
we can survive without the golden beam

presage of winter

we count each cold word
the leaves turn brown red and gold
autumnal blossoms

soon sun won't warm hearts
swiftly winter approaches
stark grasping branches

wind in the pine trees
promise of frigidity
waiting for new spring

summer terrifies
with flattening waves of heat
but winter's evil

we name each second
knowing how quickly they pass
time soon reaches end

a feast of echoes

the bell we hear is not the truest bell
drums beat and violins expand the sound
music and heart in unison will swell

the joyous tympani can't sound a knell
rhythmic perfection shall old pain confound
the bell we hear is not the truest bell

the truths discovered we now must not tell
honour and justice will our words impound
music and heart in unison will swell

richness and depth our warmest thoughts impel
the greatest mountain is a gentle mound
the bell we hear is not the truest bell

we may not recollect what just befell
nor any treasures that we may have found
music and heart in unison will swell

there's not a thing that we would buy or sell
instead we'll make a stand upon our ground
the bell we hear is not the truest bell
music and heart in unison will swell

gazing upwards

pale in the east this cold morning's false glow
inky clouds hold no promise of more rain
the week is ending without loss or gain
our time may move but it moves very slow
high in the air circles the hungry crow
which sees humanity simple and plain
and bears a final answer to all pain
yet cannot tell us what we need to know
i look for shadows and i find them deep
enough to hide whole worlds and yet quite clear
that there are places where darkness won't lift
my mind insists that what i need is sleep
the clouds move swiftly through the chilly air
and through warm memories i still must sift

honour without profit

we give each thing we see and sense a name
and think that gives us all the truest power
but cannot see what's real and what's a game

each hopes the rain will fail to douse the flame
but then rejoices in the longed-for shower
we give each thing we see and sense a name

the world we have is never truly tame
each of us in our shelters has to cower
but cannot see what's real and what's a game

you'd seek to blame the enemies who came
and rendered sterile what had been our dower
we give each thing we see and sense a name

each may define the proper shaping frame
and leave pain stranded in the highest tower
but cannot see what's real and what's a game

if we don't shun the glory and the fame
our deepest hopes will not last out the hour
we give each thing we see and sense a name
but cannot see what's real and what's a game

the normal realm

answers that come when you do not believe
that truths are left to find or to declare
the world seems to conspire to drive you spare
and there's not one moment in which to grieve
the ones who tried to lie and to deceive
and who discovered that life could be fair
beyond the need for service and for care
they will our hearts and minds at last relieve
accept that light comes and darkness goes
and that the pattern will in time reverse
we are now held in place by bonds of steel
we listen for the nightly wind that blows
out from the realm of the odd and perverse
and once more put our shoulders to the wheel

bar the shouting

you make the trip knowing how it will end
but choices do not matter in this light
behind their faces each has to pretend

we get some things and others we must send
and then forget them when they're out of sight
you make the trip knowing how it will end

the road's not straight and hell is round the bend
our passengers are now half-dead with fright
behind their faces each has to pretend

we borrow glory but you've cannot lend
us one more thing than we would have of right
you make the trip knowing how it will end

if we attack you cannot just defend
you can't match strokes and that is the worst plight
behind their faces each has to pretend

what has been broken you can never mend
nor can you find an answer in the night
you make the trip knowing how it will end
behind their faces each has to pretend

west of black river

let each small gift become a larger sign
of what we hope and what we have to know
peace falls at last on both sides of the line

the shore is cleansed each day by foamy brine
trees take their shape from steady winds that blow
let each small gift become a larger sign

we watch the river and the sea entwine
waters move swiftly and then they move slow
peace falls at last on both sides of the line

the sand that forms the beach is sugar-fine
and in the sunset almost seems to glow
let each small gift become a larger sign

the reef ahead seems like a stony spine
and still the tides will steady ebb and flow
peace falls at last on both sides of the line

in the warm night we slowly sip our wine
and when time comes we will arise and go
let each small gift become a larger sign
peace falls at last on both sides of the line

light and shade

hope comes with duller colours and with rain
the steady drizzle soothes the aching heart
we pause and then again we have to start
some matters are best stated clear and plain
each listens to a distant warming strain
seeking to solve all problems by true art
and hit the bullseye each time with the dart
our world's much more than agony and pain
growth happens and we need to train and guide
each shoot to take its proper shining place
in the rich garden of the living mind
not to allow a bright blossom to hide
but lift to the eye its full glowing face
and make much richer all of humankind

harrowing hell

the engraved letters gleam with secret fire
there's never reason to accept the night
while still there is one scintilla of light

we will not listen to the earthly choir
that counsels us to silence or to flight
the engraved letters gleam with secret fire

struggle leads us unto places higher
and we must claim the standard as our right
we cannot run and can't avoid the fight
the engraved letters gleam with secret fire

the road downhill

the answer comes to us in a great roar
the crowd is chanting and the leader smiles
we have been once more taken by his wiles
he is the one who truly knows the score
when we awaken we'll be truly sore
the lies will mount up in gigantic piles
while we're distracted by the changing styles
and then we'll find ourselves again at war
we have been trained to listen for the drum
to let the martial music guide our sense
and when we hear it played to sing and yell
we're never asked to understand the sum
of all the pains and the torments intense
that turn our little happiness to hell

what's left to master

if stories are told
on such rainy days
we might yet grow old
knowing better ways

no sort of measure
even of plain time
no hidden treasure
to fill out the rhyme

a kind of magic
we have required
it's never tragic
to see them fired

one horse and rider
galloping so fast
a crawling spider
survives the great blast

this music flowing
filling up each heart
the maples glowing
will each play their part

there is a cancer
we can't ever cure
to give the answer
means we're not pure

the gate is broken
this we remember
the lie is spoken
truth is an ember

we name the teacher
who gives us all hope
we leave the preacher
hanging on a rope

no time left to pause
no world left to choose
we suffer the laws
and we win or lose

in hope for rain

on a day like this
we hope for yet more soft rain
autumnal fullness

branches sway in breeze
clounds mass thickly above us
we still need the rain

yellow in the green
and red maples have now turned
winter is coming

a kind of epitaph

we will not leave unchanged from this sad place
no terror's left to frighten those who dare
we're not the glory of the human race

each of us wishes we could leave some trace
of who we were hanging bright in the air
we will not leave unchanged from this sad place

we shed all satin and we shed all lace
still we will not be either cold or bare
we''re not the glory of the human race

when we are gone we'll leave behind no space
nor will the world be less stark or less fair
we will not leave unchanged from this sad place

our hands are suited not to gun or mace
nor to such weapons as the great may spare
we're not the glory of the human race

the plainest truth is seen in every face
lineaments of honesty and care
we will not leave unchanged from this sad place
we're not the glory of the human race

dustbin of history

who now would mourn the elegance now past
the days of ease and music and sweet dance
all swept away by brutal truth's advance

into the maelstrom the old has been cast
no more will debs and dandies lightly prance
who now would mourn the elegance now past

the servants will keep silence till the last
and then will leave without a backward glance
leaving the masters to old change and chance
who now would mourn the elegance now past

hoping for more rain

when the rules change we can't be satisfied
a moment's thought will serve to give us pause
nothing eventuates but out of pride

we can't be sure that you will not deride
all that we say each single phrase and clause
when the rules change we can't be satisfied

our urgent need will not here be denied
we see the benefits and all the flaws
nothing eventuates but out of pride

we told the truth but you just would have lied
and quickly bowed and smiled at the applause
when the rules change we can't be satisfied

we have no secrets left for you to hide
there is no one who knows the primal cause
nothing eventuates but out of pride

were we alone we just might let things slide
but once observed are subject to the laws
when the rules change we can't be satisfied
nothing eventuates but out of pride

one time long time

choices were made and life seemed very good
until we saw what lay beyond the cloud
all shattered now is hope of brotherhood

our rulers' heads are made of rock or wood
and yet they stand above us high and proud
choices were made and life seemed very good

the hangman comes frowning beneath his hood
and in his presence none dares speak too loud
all shattered now is hope of brotherhood

not one of us who did the things we could
survives to seek true shelter in the crowd
choices were made and life seemed very good

there was nothing that was not understood
yet when it happened we were swiftly cowed
all shattered now is hope of brotherhood

if we went back we know that we still would
end in the same place backs bent and heads bowed
choices were made and life seemed very good
all shattered now is hope of brotherhood

life in the tropics

we cannot hope for brotherhood or trust
one man is always at his neighbour's throat
women will fight over a meal or coat
and honesty is left out in the dust
what was once love turns out to be a bust
our future leader yet another goat
and happiness is getting on the boat
while right behind us one's killed for a crust
this is the world we thought was paradise
and so we ate the lotus and lay down
only to find what i now have to tell
that everything is valued at a price
the would-be hero is just one more clown
and we have made ourselves a living hell

rules for living

soft now the rain
under dull grey
this is the way
we turn again

all that is plain
on this good day
is that we stay
far from the strain

we see the stain
of dirt and clay
no one could say
there is no gain

and so the main
text of the play
sadly we may
account as pain

morning comes late

dark weighs upon us where there should be day
the distant voices do not ease our fear
there's not much movement in the heavy air

we have no choice whether to go or stay
and neither energy nor hope to spare
dark weighs upon us where there should be day

in such deep silence we ought not to stray
but cannot hope simply to stand and stare
there is no limit to how much we care
dark weighs upon us where there should be day

quest fever

night makes the shapes that come to us in dream
each of us travels through that realm of dark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

we hold our visions in lowest esteem
that other world seems a most dreadful park
night makes the shapes that come to us in dream

we hate to watch the last fading sunbeam
fearing deep shadows and terrors most stark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

we get a message a confusing meme
facing a stern judge and an evil clerk
night makes the shapes that come to us in dream

we wake and paper fills up by the ream
with words that waking mind may truly mark
forever seeking one last noble gleam

the journey's made with neither sail nor steam
from light to light we follow the stone's arc
night makes the shape that come to us in dream
forever seeking one last noble gleam

that strain again

we cannot truly understand the past
all that we know is not enough to tell
history's a stream on which we all are cast

things happen and they happen very fast
it is all over when they ring the bell
we cannot truly understand the past

not even time to pack up the repast
before we see the ocean rise and swell
history's a stream on which we all are cast

we may recover from the sudden blast
but not accept either vision or smell
we cannot truly understand the past

our colours now hang limply from the mast
we find there is no water in the well
history's a stream on which we all are cast

the prize will be withheld until the last
we listen for that final aching knell
we cannot truly understand the past
history's a stream on which we all are cast

another face of things

the handsome prince will get the peasant lass
that is a given in each fairy tale
but no one speaks of tankards of warm ale
or priests who mumble sacred words in mass
we hear of speaking salmon not of bass
of swords and knights but not of those who quail
before the stern-faced laywers or who fail
to hide the inopportune blast of gas
stories end in promise of happiness
but do not mention in all their matter
just what that means to those like you or i
whose worlds are all one vast unholy mess
whose days are filled with bother and clatter
and have no time to look up at the sky

liberty is not a dream

we do not leave a single root behind
the cords that bind us are extremely long
we take whatever givens we can find

we start our journey well and truly blind
and every turn we take we learn is wrong
we do not leave a single root behind

there is no past for which we could have pined
all our connections mean we must be strong
we take whatever givens we can find

beyond all horrors we are humankind
it is to ourselves that we most belong
we do not leave a single root behind

through annual struggle and daily grind
each is alone though always in a throng
we take whatever givens we can find

we find no answers but a questing mind
no cheery words but one heroic song
we do not leave a single root behind
we take whatever givens we can find

no duppy runner

beside the road old spirits congregate
we hear their voices twitter in night air
while cold upon our necks is urgent fate

we left our starting time until too late
this is a place where people disappear
beside the road old spirits congregate

the road we pass on never has been straight
the way to safety is far less than clear
while cold upon our necks is urgent fate

darkness of history a deadly freight
there is no sanctuary in the square
beside the road old spirits congregate

we cannot sight or sound obliviate
those who might shelter simply do not care
while cold upon our necks is urgent fate

each will forget the season and the date
there's not a drop of courage left to spare
beside the road old spirits congregate
while cold upon our necks is urgent fate

the only proper answer

where we belong is not in this old place
we tell ourselves in accents of a child
for what we have seems far too tame and mild

i search for recognition of each face
time is not yet so easily beguiled
where we belong is not in this old place

what is the world must also be the case
the fact and value shall be reconciled
and each event have been securely styled
where we belong is not in this old place

we send our messages to the new king
he does not listen to our sacred word
the line between safe and profane is blurred

yet swifter messengers are on the wing
that we should be ignored is just absurd
we send our messages to the new king

great enterprises will tomorrow bring
some other options we would have preferred
but with our choices all now have concurred
we send our messages to the new king

to rise in anger takes much more than will
folk on safe courses rarely seek to turn
even when others their goodwill may spurn

there are so many charges on the bill
more than a king could ever think to earn
to rise in anger takes much more than will

to take the castle on the final hill
cities must fall and villages shall burn
greater than us we quickly shall inurn
to rise in anger takes far more than will

regard the mighty as they face their fall
the lies they uttered better men had told
but now they face the fury and the cold

none of the great ones for now will stand tall
not one of them is either brave or bold
regard the mighty as they face their fall

the king must answer when the people call
for men and women weigh far more than gold
nor may their suffrages be bought and sold
regard the mighty as they face their fall

we regard power as one more form of grief
expect the worst of any who take rule
or you will end up face down in the pool

there is no trust in master nor in chief
they do not teach this now in any school
we regard power as one more form of grief

the truth we tell you is never too brief
we can the complex message here unspool
the one who serves is by no means a fool
we regard power as one more form of grief