promise of fresh rain

under deep shadow hope becomes so slight
that we are still astonished at the day
forgetting that the whole thing is a play
and when we draw the curtain enters night
a character skulking at edge of sight
and interfering in the normal way
with anyone with useful things to say
since every action has to be done right
a purple glow at the far edge of dawn
reminds us that the standard rule is change
approaching us only at proper time
we wonder just what card we could have drawn
but then the answer has gone out of range
and morning bells have just begun to chime

inanition

these angry lions stand up for the king
there is no place where they cannot bear rule
we want the year to be forever spring

the words we speak lack a true honest ring
they move too slowly like a spavined mule
these angry lions stand up for the king

where darkness crowds us like a vibrant thing
we wait for morning and we sip our gruel
we want the year to be forever spring

announcing that the coming dawn will bring
a better day that's not unkind nor cruel
these angry lions stand up for the king

we're caught and raised up by a rapid sling
our task is not to quarrel nor to duel
we want the year to be forever spring

time there is not for a last happy fling
we lack the energy and basic fuel
these angry lions stand up for the king
we want the year to be forever spring

The truer, harder battle

War's become metaphor as much as act,
we know the world's in danger from the fire;
the rule requires that we accept each fact
not from requirement but from plain desire.
A time may come when we must choose to walk
away from all the things that keep us sane,
instead we are supposed to calmly talk
while other forces put us under strain.
No law that governs human soul or beast
can keep us from the truths that we all need
but if we wait too long we'll find the least
of our intensities will lack true speed.
All of the past comes out in one huge jest:
believing that the world is just a test.

foretelling history

i write my name in symbols that are coarse
composed at once of anger and desire
available at each exchange or bourse
i write my name in symbols that are coarse

we lead to water every willing horse
and hope that one will make it to the wire
i write my name in symbols that are coarse
composed at once of anger and desire

the goals to which each of us may aspire
are covered up by the dull autumn leaves
we seek each day to set up ever higher
the goals to which each of us may aspire

no rules may govern who shall start the fire
nor what is hidden up a jester's sleeves
the goals to which each of us may aspire
are covered up by the dull autumn leaves

ruler alike of merchants and of thieves
the divine being smiling on each street
takes all the credit for the farmers' sheaves
ruler alike of merchants and of thieves

so one may cheer just at the other grieves
while rats uncounted run about our feet
ruler alike of merchants and of thieves
the divine being smiling on each street

i walk about to speak and smile and greet
the ones who enter on the moving stage
each hopes the day will turn out calm and sweet
i walk about to speak and smile and greet

we may advance but we may not retreat
the losing option puts us in a rage
i walk about to speak and smile and greet
the ones who enter on the moving stage

an actor does not choose his proper age
nor where he enters in the play's long course
the playwright has become both fool and mage
an actor does not choose his proper page

instead i find myself obliged to gauge
the distance i must travel on each horse
an actor does not choose his proper age
nor where he enters in the play's long course

atlantis sunrise

let memory speak and we may learn the new
symbols and signs of a far better time
the rising towers always stay in true

we find ourselves still seeking for a clue
or any explanation for the crime
let memory speak and we may learn the new

the answers may come before they are due
and messages will shortly fit the rhyme
the rising towers always stay in true

winners are many losers are but few
from starting shot until the closing chime
let memory speak and we may learn the new

we urge the laggards to join with our crew
before the day has reached its proper prime
the rising towers always stay in true

choices are made and someday we may rue
the effort we have put into this climb
let memory speak and we may learn the new
the rising towers always stay in true

snowy summits old in story

slow hum of old machines marking a time
for acting swiftly before day turns loud
some distant echo of the morning crowd
the walls are red under the ancient grime
the moment passes for it is sublime
and then the waiting ones with their heads bowed
step forward only when they've been allowed
a rising sun will not burn off the slime
instead we wait and wonder what we've done
to set the formal boundaries of grace
before we make our way down the last hill
the answer is we've neither lost nor won
still must we make for others their true place
and little shall be subject to our will

last drops of gold

i see the light bleeds golden in the wood
a sign of kindness as the sun heads west
down the sky hill towards its time of rest
or that was what we all had understood
reality's beyond us bad or good
we watch the bird returning to her nest
and wonder at her energy and zest
as nature seems to vanish under hood
summer must end and autumn shall be back
to tease us and torment us with fair fruit
and then to toss us into winter's cold
time and slow age will place us on the rack
each of us in our shabby human suit
adding day to day soon becoming old

only the empty voices

all that is known ends at a wavy line
the boundary of truth and of the lie
we hear the angry and the happy whine
all that is known ends at a wavy line

we wrap the package up in baling twine
that's how we've done it and we don't ask why
all that is known ends at a wavy line
the boundary of truth and of the lie

the answer will not come down from the sky
we ask and ask and only get a stone
we make the effort we still have to try
the answer will not come down from the sky

the dove has died and nothing now will fly
in this large multitude each stands alone
the answer will not come down from the sky
we ask and ask and only get a stone

for others' crimes we've got now to atone
there's nothing left for us to understand
in the far distance all the bombers drone
for others' crimes we've now got to atone

beneath warm skin is cold and brittle bone
the signal is not what had once been planned
for others' crimes we've now got to atone
there's nothing left for us to understand

the speeches have become more flat and bland
intended just to subtly undermine
the ones who'd dare to take a solo stand
the speeches have become more flat and bland

there's only dust left for the grasping hand
dust and the fading scent of burning pine
the speeches have become more flat and bland
intended just to subtly undermine

an age of lead

mention the name and everyone's aghast
nobody wants to speak all wish to fly
the present's just an echo of the past

above us clouds are moving pretty fast
the ceiling here is never very high
mention the name and everyone's aghast

the coming thunderclap won't be the last
there's no place left secure and snug and dry
the present's just an echo of the past

we keep on waiting for the loudest blast
the tallest ones will always burn and fry
mention the name and everyone's aghast

we take the onomastics at the last
all meaning has been written in the sky
the present's just an echo of the past

the world's now small yet once it was most vast
no truths are now apparent to the eye
mention the name and everyone's aghast
the present's just an echo of the past

no other answer

another kind of darkness in the day
eyes cannot see every instance of pain
each of us waiting for the harder rain
not knowing who will each new dragon slay
far distant now from merry surf and spray
we measure things by numerary gain
all life's now complex not a thing is plain
there is no healing light of solar ray
a moment comes when lies will not suffice
we shiver in the light of summer sun
and cannot hope to feel a better heat
there's not a thing that doesn't have a price
we've hardly started and yet we are done
now every hopeful smile will see defeat

The framework starts to go

And what is left, since all now has been said,
but the salt tears of those who can't forget
the sunny day, begun with no regret
and ended after sight of falling dead?
A moment and the blue sky turns to red;
we're told that now we've got to make the bet.
The die is cast, the purpose now is set,
and decency and reason have long fled.
The count of death rises without a pause
and we are numb under late summer sky
to anything but our imagined pain.
We have no need for honour nor for laws,
only desiring the most soothing lie.
All memory vanishes in the hard rain.

a place to dance

the tale's been told
time does not heal
memory's cold
we can't appeal
lies now are bold
we're told to feel
that brass is gold
under the wheel

the eye is filled
with many tears
the hopes then killed
the constant cares
innocents grilled
morons with airs
the grain is milled
it has been years

rules now are made
to hold pain back
but there's no shade
we know the lack
hate makes the grade
all fades to black
one more parade
then we attack

the ones who died
are all now dust
the ones who cried
have lost all trust
we know who lied
and feel disgust
no blushing bride
no golden crust

we feel the shame
of showing fear
we take the blame
we were not there
there's been a claim
no one would dare
snuff out the flame
let in the air

too little time
too swift a shove
under the grime
a single glove
it was a crime
they say above
the moment's prime
still we may love

commend all summer long

savour each moment and still it will pass
into pale memory and lose all weight
the world is seen through a distorting glass

the truth is known to every lad and lass
who kisses and farewells at the closed gate
savour each moment and still it will pass

all human flesh goes on to make fresh grass
we know the ending although not the date
the world is seen through a distorting glass

taste and desire have feeling but not mass
we know reality comes always late
savour each moment and still it will pass

green or dull grey the answer remains crass
the best we do is never adequate
the world is seen through a distorting glass

age sex and status colour race and class
all in the end merely the price inflate
savour each moment and still it will pass
the world is seen through a distorting glass

frog in the morning

frog on the porch size of a fingernail
seems to seek shelter from the pelting rain
tiny brown creature weighing just a grain
or so i think (perhaps my measures fail)
from the fierce heat i certainly must quail
but wonder what you seek and what you'll gain
what efforts you must make of might or main
on what you must admit is a small scale
you do not move but when i look you're fled
gone into grass and then i cannot say
life intersects and then things fall apart
i hope on vermin you have been well fed
and found in your short life a happy way
a tiny creature yet with so much heart

more than a dream

we take the rule and know we must obey
a sort of lassitude provides excuse
still we require no map to find the way

we turn the dial soon from night to day
our minds rebel at this renewed abuse
we take the rule and know we must obey

the least of us will mighty dragons slay
and giant fortresses swiftly reduce
still we require no map to find the way

we see the monster as our highest prey
and all our praises soon will be profuse
we take the rule and know we must obey

the action will be seen within the play
minds hearts and spirits willingly seduce
still we require no map to find the way

another sun may light us with its ray
another voice awoken by the muse
we take the rule and know we must obey
still we require no map to find the way

Squamosity future

A giant squid arrived here to explore
this planet full of bipeds, yet it knew
already something revealed but to few:
there would be carnivals of blood and gore
and elder beings would arise. A score
of insane prophets laid it all in view,
that there would come a day when Cthulhu slew
all humans and restored what was before.
Now we, the fortunate, on the squid-ship
are set to voyage to an eldritch place.
We are the passengers of cuttle-fish
whose dark existence was but now a blip,
still we must venture out into deep space
where we will be the ones upon the dish.

The ultimate science-fiction tale

I'm writing from Atlanta in shock,
my spaceship's just out of its dock,
but a fellow named Jim
whose light is not dim
has just christened it 'Four O'Clock'.

I knew I was just on the brink
of transilience; yet without pause to think
Teresa declared
what we all wanted aired
that now it was time for a drink.

All you people who voyage in space
know matters have their proper place;
before the first call
up in Montreal
the order is 'splice the mainbrace'.

I got the contract -- lowest bid --
but one simple fact I had hid.
Though we were all staunch
about the great launch,
the one who got drunk was the squid.

wise men's sons

a simple word for some things may suffice
but at the best of times we need to fight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

we have to make a choice of fire or ice
while we maintain that success may be slight
a simple word for some things may suffice

our words and actions have to be precise
falling between the bounty and the blight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

we scurry onwards like a flock of mice
unpleasant to the ear and to the sight
a simple word for some things may suffice

of all the joy of living we've a slice
bitten before we thought of taking flight
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

the choice once made we have to pay the price
and right this minute ahead of the night
a simple word for some things may suffice
for all those beings neither neat nor nice

Back to work

Too brief a liberty, then back to work,
to ordinary, quotidian grind
determined to sharpen each dull young mind
into a solid intellectual dirk.
There isn't time to take in every quirk
but you just have to deal with what you find
and in that dealing be both hard and kind
for far too many relish still the murk.
You hate confinement in a flying can
but seeing other places is divine.
Each journey has a grammar you must parse,
teaches you something far outside the plan,
allows you a small taste of different wine;
but still you have to get there on your arse.

beyond cosplay

for one weekend we leave the normal whirl
and pass from our world to a sort of space
where gods and monsters walk with easy pace
where someone is enarmoured like an earl
and eye is drawn to nearly-naked girl
a creature walks right by with heavy mace
one sees a joker and one sees an ace
and somewhere eldritch pipes still wail and skirl
a journey of few steps but many years
and these are folk who find the world too small
and hope for something different in the rain
whose hearts have overflowed with urgent tears
but who still listen for the distant call
and in the meanwhile seek to ease the pain