the warm assurance of sweet sound

our voices echo silence is the crime

we need the warm assurance of sweet sound

for all our urgency fears empty time

so much is caught between the fall and climb

but haste is needed to bring things around

our voices echo silence is the crime

for which we will be punished now the chime

of teachers' bell is something most profound

for all our urgency fears empty time

which must be filled with order the sublime

decree of trust in which we seek for ground

our voices echo silence is the crime

and we're so guilty yet we have to prime

the rule of virtues so they might abound

for all our urgency fears empty time

while hope for magic is expressed in rhyme

which we desire to ring and to resound

our voices echo silence is the crime

for all our urgency fears empty time

subjects of your talk

mark this for turn of hope or choice or chance

that when we rise our hearts to joy are turned

instead of knowing that our work had earned

such tiny wages but the real advance

we did not realize nor yet enhance

those ways in which the greater fires burned

but did not eat up all of those who yearned

to set their feet free in the happy dance

now we have given you our honest word

and you fall silent it is not enough

that you do nothing to prevent our walk

along the forest path where golden bird

is seen at sunset matters not so tough

must in the end be subjects of your talk

groupons nous

we can't escape the honest final fact

of what we are but knowledge of the when

evades our thought for women and for men

the whole affair requires a lot of tact

while ancient legions trooper and cataphract

do battle to control both hill and fen

while we are in the grip of thought again

having no choice but fearing still to act

all voyages must come at last to port

or end at the sea-bottom ever lost

those are the options and we cannot choose

the fate that we are given time is short

as we find out we have to pay the cost

of all delaying and we always lose

cross communication

all of our memories slip out through the net

fearsome grandmothers will not let us hide

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

when pain of living has us most upset

then we hear loudest voices that deride

all of  our memories slip out through the net

leaving behind just the fury and fret

the shouts of anger and the words that chide

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

no matter what the lie or epithet

effects of injury won't be denied

all of our memories slip out through the net

so we are trapped knowing we cannot let

our hearts be opened to the other side

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

for all we knew still the true course was set

from the beginning by our manic pride

all of our memories slip out through the net

the truth is bound up tightly with regret

no honest name

we do not get the choice to grow or fade

since each of us is placed just where we ought

to find the truth of all the things we're taught

which is much more that what life must abrade

with its rough edges we are ever frayed

broken and blinded knowing that we fought

both hard and well but losing were caught

in the old trap and sent back to the shade

so much to tell about where we were cast

the clawing upwards that's another fight

though none will listen to the loser's tale

nor should they we recall the faded past

while today's children look towards the light

and have no patience with the ones who fail

the meaning of the word

this is the truth that no one need be told

we do not go the same way that we came

the downhill path is not the very same

as the short tunnel out of the long cold

but journey's one for coward and for bold

with equal vision for the wild and tame

and one good reason that we guard the flame

from foolish youth until we are too old

the crooked timber frames a crooked world

still we would have no other and the best

is what we make since there is none above

to judge or burden so with flag unfurled

we must go forward to confront the test

our only certainty before is love

missing the answer

 missing the answer means that when the true

vision of justice fills this hungry mind

it is not understood i have turned blind

to what is obvious not known the due

reception of the gifts of midday blue

warm and attractive nothing left behind

to be cleaned up by the unfailing kind

while i accept the price for what is due

time makes no changes on its very own

except in the bland lies that old folk tell

to calm the foolish on their downward run

instead they  seek to gnaw upon cold stone

while listening for the distant warning bell

and for the sound of the last urgent gun

not worthy of their salt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

convinced that they at least were not at fault

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

one had been certain but now what the heck

the blame is placed on pot or single malt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

a little more afraid daring to check

for signs of trauma not wanting to halt

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

but silent refusing to note the beck

of anyone around in fear of assault

each walks away from the last awful wreck

stiffly uncertainly just like a mech

robotic being we would not exalt

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

what's visible from up here on the deck

are shaken folk not worthy of their salt

each walks away from the last awful wreck

in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

then they say goodbye

being denizen of no place ready set

within the bounds of the sublunar realm

is nowise daunting the facts overwhelm

only the weaker minds instead each debt

incurred in course of duty or regret

is paid in full by shade of oak or elm

in memory of the old man with cracked helm

by one who can't resist that final bet

each night is sacrificed so that my rest

becomes a loss that's added to the pile

just one more line that goes into the jest

another little twist those are in style

the truth is always harder than the lie

that's what they tell us then they say goodbye

flowers have been cut

what choices for the poor or for the dead

in myth or legend amount to the same

decline of knowledge ending of the game

feasting on shadows and the ghost of bread

stale waters and the odours of the head

nought to the matter there is no more shame

where we have gone only the dirty flame

of penny passions when the nights are red

now dreadful options face us on each side

when we must turn toward the fallen night

with little hope that anything we say

could make a difference it's a thorny ride

where we'll be going and the sort of plight

we find ourselves in is not healed by day

no bounds to honour

no bounds to honour yet the unjust lie

faster than lightning reaches for each throat

enforcing silence there's a bitter note

we can detect even when on the fly

a universe of difference going by

while on one side are those eager to gloat

over the losers in the daily vote

our only option here seems rather dry

what has been paid does not in full restore

the world we had but what we tell each child

will matter in the end since their delight

in the large world will become so much more

absorb the truth and gather in the wild

on that fine day when their strong hearts take flight

the end of pride

i wrote the words and sent them on their way

not knowing how each reader understood

just what was meant nor whether any good

would come from what was simple dance and play

of thought and vision now the options sway

between the meadow and the darkling wood

and we are trapped right where the choices could

not be more difficult on the worst day

what's said can be repaired but what is made

is fixed within the world once and for all

to be acknowledged  or to be denied

that is the problem puts us in the shade

leaves us exhausted makes us want to bawl

and in the end will take away our pride

now the news

fallen from glory the world now turns drab

so easily a single dullish cloud

before the sun and all brightness is cowed

without resistance we can never grab

the moment back it's cast upon the slab

and we are from all justice disendowed

who were not long ago happy and proud

but now have come to the realm of the crab

the world is many things other than fair

since what we have we always have to earn

on terms that change each day and are not right

when most we want the best of things to dare

but never mind all that is good must burn

and from the fire we gain a better light

it must be said

none of it matters but it must be said

while we have breath to speak and time to cry

since in the end we can't give in to dread

choice is not easy once we're out of bed

facing the truth and under every eye

none of it matters but it must be said

not just to you but to the ones who sped

away so fast who feared the cloudy sky

since in the end we can't give in to dread

we wait the storm knowing what lies ahead

is no wise worse that what has now gone by

none of it matters but it must be said

in plainest words and set down in black lead

for all to see and for none to deny

since in the end we can't give in to dread

and none can take the duty in our stead

nor be in place when our turn comes to die

none of it matters but it must be said

since in the end we can't give in to dread

what is human

there's no sense in the judgment that we make

concerning all the tricks of the old trade

nor in belief that turns out to be fake

in all those things that are fated to fade

the world is as it is and what must come

is less not more than what we'd thought the sum

of what we earn in simple steady pay

but given to us with little delay

we're far too eager and give in to haste

the infant mind attains its highest sway

so what is human ends up most abased

our duty never got an honest shake

but found its honour hidden in the shade

while we were learning good things by mistake

and wondering why none came by to aid

for our relief we did not earn a crumb

while happy others made off with the plum

meanwhile the foolish urged us just to pray

as if that answer were more than cliché

while our best efforts had to be replaced

and matters finished in another way

so what is human ends up most abased

the truth is clear we could not get a break

from anybody here the whole charade

was guaranteed  to maximise their take

and in the process our spirits abrade

dumping us all down in the meanest slum

because we were so obviously dumb

we were served up upon a silver tray

trapped and devoured to our immense dismay

our skills dismissed and all of us disgraced

moulded and shaped just like the softest clay

so what is human ends up most abased

prince you observe as we suffer this day

ordering whips our tender backs to flay

you think this moment easily erased

yours is the power and the word today

so what is human ends up most abased

the normal decent heart

rage overflows the normal decent heart

breaking  the rule of ordinary mind

to take us right back to a sorry start

where we are governed by no common art

of ancient orders that were never kind

rage overflows the normal decent heart

once each has learnt that justice will depart

with no conclusion save the one designed

to take us right back to a sorry start

ensuring that  all of our limbs will smart

while we'll be stuck more deeply in the bind

rage overflows the normal decent heart

while all the  good and kindly fall apart

and the best choices have now been declined

to take us right back to a sorry start

where those who gather do not give a fart

for what should matter and the world seems blind

rage overflows the normal decent heart

to take us right back to a sorry start

so many failings

there are so many failings but the one

that most we fear will come to us so fast

it will not truly matter we will cast

away anger and hope then face the sun

one final time knowing the course is done

all dues are paid and all pain in the past

where it belongs nothing left but one blast

of rage or vision to pay for the run

so is it set in the soft human mud

that we call history shaped by the tide

of shallow seas that will all marks erase

and take away as well the taint of blood

letting forgetfulness replace all pride

and a calm vista do instead of praise

that is my story

no time to change from what i used to be

but now and when it happens i must leave

not just this place but all that i conceive

to be in tune with senses that agree

in total beauty that we all can see

in that one moment when we cease to grieve

for all our losses that i must believe

will become true for what is the new me

we fall into the silence one by one

who were a certain band and knew our way

in the strong moment of unpolished youth

but there's still light the time is far from done

and there is much to do while it is day

that is my story and it is the truth

unravelled myth

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

throughout each life is given extra sheen

by honest labour it will never burn

the deeper vision that permits a turn

towards an understanding of the seen

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

both in and out of school is the concern

for honest dealing which becomes so keen

by honest labour it will never burn

our hands but lead us rather to discern

the better way by which to intervene

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

reminds us of the need for what we earn

not just for us but those in the machine

by honest labour it will never burn

the ones who cry and those who only yearn

for what is not and what has never been

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

by honest labour it will never burn

a fact of growth

the maples out in front are now in leaf

they're always late only the top is green

below they've budded with a reddish sheen

but all i know's the sight gives me relief

once more we're past the season of slow grief

and watch as down the street the youngsters preen

in repetition of an ancient scene

knowing the heat of summer won't be brief

what's left inside must still be given voice

to sing of what has been and what must come

that's honest truth the whole and not some part

since what we do is really not our choice

but what we must add to the human sum

out of our knowledge and by gentle art

too bright a flame

such easy choices made by those still young

who do not see the meanings of each hour

but hope to be there when the green woods flower

and other words come flying off the tongue

these are triumphs all of which we've sung

before old time could our weak hearts devour

in slender hope that's we'd still have the power

that from our last reserve of pain was wrung

no other option left but truth to tell

we'd go the same dull route if given chance

to start all over and redo the game

it's not as if we play it all that well

but more that we just know only this dance

and are afraid to show too bright a flame

who needs to listen

words being said in this open debate

frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies

nor traps and gluepots that we might devise

for maximum confusion of the great

and not so clever who would pass the gate

to make themselves seem honest to our eyes

for a short season till they get the prize

and can then smile unburdened by all freight

there is much honour in sticking to fact

in simple truthful measuring of all

that needs be said before the earnest crowd

but yet the ones who think silence is tact

and fail to understand the urgent call

are those with greatest need to hear things loud

where light does not reach

there is a corner where light does not reach

even at noontime so we go to hide

away from where the foolish yellers preach

some days we dream of lazing on the beach

and waiting for the changing of the tide

there is a corner where light does not reach

untouched by hardness of unruly speech

where none can urge and no one can deride

away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be safe from murderer and leech

both from the open blade and from the snide

there is a corner where light does not reach

into the silence where there is no screech

of angry voices seeking to divide

away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be sure of what belongs to each

and how we find that only out of pride

there is a corner  where light does not reach

away from where the foolish yellers preach

so brief a sport

now pink and white to trumpet urgent spring

we see these blooms that were not there last night

and hearts are gladdened by this joyful sight

such lovely touches a fine day can bring

with the whole world brought into proper swing

nature's true colours turned honestly bright

after soft rain that seemed for once just right

both mind and heart demand to shout and sing

order will pass we know but for this day

we take the kindness as a goodly gift

one all the better since it soon will pass

into oblivion as is still the way

of all those living things which move so swift

from blazing sight to underneath the grass