always needful

Words never matter
say our politicians
since theirs are empty;

to nourish the heart
we need poems and stories
from each fresh spirit.

All revolutions
begin with clear honest words
challenging silence.

murmur name upon name

as voices break through calms that are too deep
the echoes of the silence fill our hearts
after a time of errors and false starts
the door has opened and we have to weep
for all the things that from the dark do creep
entities of such broken and dull parts
that we cannot restore them by true arts
our healing powers have all gone back to sleep
never before have we desired the night
not to depart but neither to remain
a moment of transition that would stay
until we find out how to set all right
neither our sorrow nor our joy restrain
and once again remember how to play

verb sap

we have to be but each word has to mean
something to others something we can share
so that they'll listen in the open square
or while they picnic on the public green
words must contain a lot more than a sheen
of clarity in the fresh morning air
we have to think and we have to compare
each actor on the stage each acted scene
for truth and honesty require debate
so that we all may see things in our heads
and not be worried about every fact
lies and evasions properly should grate
even those sluggards hiding in their beds
and verity should show itself intact

fury and mire

beyond these hills are more hills and the sea
life is the same as well on other shores
the same green plants born of similar spores
the same cool shade under the morning tree
we watch the folk as they go out to spree
knowing at night we'd hear the same old snores
and morning brings the same settling of scores
all that we are is what we've sought to be
under each skin the same beating of blood
through the same veins and by similar art
the same sharp intake of astonished breath
all of these matters easy understood
take no account of every different heart
nor of the unity that comes with death

Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn

we know that love remains the only law
our chances for survival are so clear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

from time to time the card that we may draw
will not depress but will our moment cheer
we know that love remains the only law

though fate awaits our feet with open maw
we are not given more than we should bear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

we test the boundaries and find no flaw
and still we find the enemy is near
we know that love remains the only law

the happy stallion sleeps on the straw
and knows that we have always held him dear
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

the truest weapon is the living jaw
and none as vital ever will appear
we know that love remains the only law
the waiting monster may withhold its claw

the eternal game

we have to choose between dragon or rat
between a fiery and a gnawing fate
by honest judgment or plain estimate

only a fool declares the world is flat
one who feels comfort in unearned estate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

the loser's always taken to the mat
we know this clearly and without debate
the impost falls and we must pay the rate
we have to choose between dragon and rat

sleep desired

there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke
to mark the spot for those who would be bold
there is a factory where fire turns cold

so we discover how to play or fold
what once seemed magical is now a joke
there is a factory where fire turns cold
no paradox but only some dark smoke

cul-de-sac

a simple sort of answer may suffice
for ordinary uses but right here
it's not nearly enough we're now too near
the borderlands of danger to be nice
we dare not speak of piquancy or spice
when all too soon a body on its bier
announces that there is a charge too dear
and some young fellow has to pay the price
lies glibly told may rapidly excite
the foolish sort to go out and enlist
but when they do they find the duty hard
we came to cheer the ones who youthful bright
went out and fought not thinking they'd be missed
and now the peaceful road of life is barred

a perfect moment

the lights received at this noonday angle
auriferous leaves and these silver trees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

we might with craft some of this peace wangle
listening to the drone of summer bees
the lights received at this noonday angle

avoiding all struggle fuss and brangle
to rise above the ones now on their knees
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

in calm heat we hope that fruit will dangle
within our reach such courtesy would please
the lights received at this noonday angle

rushing through short life what we might mangle
are all the messages brought by the breeze
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

the withes and vines will not the soul entangle
we pass through friendly nature at our ease
the lights received at this noonday angle
crystalline they glitter and they spangle

no mystic realms

on edge of vision something not of light
nor of the darkness breeding in the thought
an image that was neither made nor caught
that we imagine just may come in sight
the rules require that everything be right
not just because we have been trained and taught
but to secure all that for which we fought
and thus ensure that we may soon requite
the pains that we endured for all these years
of waiting for the change that would not come
while others climbed the hill and found the way
past anger and the blinding salt of tears
to see the greatest enemies struck dumb
on seeing what is just a normal day

only eight miles

the road that plunges deeper through the dark
leads to no mysteries just other homes
and in the end to where the sea just foams
on shores where fading pirates left their mark
great worlds collide in what is not a park
but where the hungry child or poet roams
or where the mermaid her soft hair now combs
and yet we went there only on a lark
earth's curve hides from us more than just a tale
of who we are or were and where we've been
the past is never past but we forget
the force of sunlight and the angry gale
the image of some awful monstruous grin
and deviate from the stern purpose set
we laughing will tramp forward on a bet
without regard for the sad empty wail
of spirits that must take it on the chin
uncertain now of just what we might get
as in the distance we see the last sail
and right behind us people bob and spin
truth comes and goes when we here speak of art
the setting sun sends arrows through the heart

time has been

a voice arises from the brazen head
speaking of time and of a coming end
under the sudden wind all branches bend
we cannot tell the living from the dead
cracks in the metal swiftly seem to spread
there's no one here to cry nor to defend
nor yet explain what all these things portend
from bakery shelves now vanishes the bread
and yet the storm we fear has not yet come
we think that we are still allowed some choice
from this lowly place we may rise higher
the head repeats and we are all struck dumb
our breath is silenced by the might voice
and all our lights now lose their honest fire

time sliced in summer

small summer moments
flashes of gold in forest
restoring balance

frog hopping on lawn
tiny brown creature on green
let it be happy

green insect crawling
across the driveway goes on
to hide in the lawn

promise of rain

there are some truths we know deep in the bone
that we find out are really not quite true
there's nothing really awful in the view
but suddenly we're fearful and alone
machinery provides a steady drone
to silence voices of the angry crew
each longs for sunlight sparkling in the dew
when we were young and fear was an unknown
the hero's not the one who does great deeds
but one who does their job day after day
ignoring all the weather every cloud
comes here in answer to our deepest needs
whether or not we choose to beg and pray
and all comes swiftly and now very loud

much too early

a moment passes and the light will change
we see the pinkish colour slowly fade
in the mid-distance the morning parade
continues all commuters to derange
what stays the same and what will one day change
are matters that should make us all afraid
even the ones who know they'll make the grade
fear moments when the stable becomes strange
the deepest heat fades swiftly to the past
we turn to duty and to common task
and wait for footsteps coming down the hall
your wants are simple but respite won't last
you make demands and get just what you ask
but never invitations to the ball

the last mango tree

slaves built the road we think this as we pass
feet weary as so many feet before
the silent generations under grass

a woman passes smoking on an ass
she's heading towards a most welcome door
slaves built the road we think this as we pass

reaching the church too early for low mass
we pass on by wondering at the score
the silent generations under grass

too many here would harry or harass
any who dared ask for just a little more
slaves built the road we think this as we pass

too many years of blending race and class
have left the good folk sad and all too sore
the silent generations under grass

all is distorted memory's no glass
to see or to reflect on all this lore
slaves built the road we think this as we pass
the silent generations under grass

grown up

no simple set of words could now relate
what we have learned and what all of it means
our thoughts and hopes aren't worth a hill of beans
and all our anguish seems to come too late
the things that most we want we here debate
as if we were no more than little weans
playacting all the time as kings and queens
subjected to no laws save those of fate
the limits of our day are not so clear
that we can't moan and chatter as they come
just knowing that too soon we mount the train
for now we walk about and take the air
hoping that things will not add to the sum
and we may dance and play before the rain

hampton square

honest the voice that speaks of gentle light
beyond the trees are merely other folk
like me like us they bend under the yoke
we are all caught in the same human plight
rules change when they are kept out of our sight
all of our hope turns into thinnest smoke
and we are not the ones who see the joke
revolving earth turns every day to night
old houses standing in foreign places
that once we saw as safety and as home
do those who live in them still remember
not only form and feature of our faces
but why we had to up our stakes and roam
from summer up to constant november

music while i work

electrons turn to sound and bring release
from solemn duty turned into a game
distant but living we observe the flame

the arts of joy aren't always arts of peace
experience instructs to avoid blame
electrons turn to sound and bring release

from obligations there must come some ease
we fit the needed parts into the frame
declare an end and give desire a name
electrons turn to sound and bring release

transformation

no word escapes to tell just what began
when mountains fell and order was restored
truth is no longer under any ban
no word escapes to tell just what began

each actor in this play woman or man
knows that the story depends on a sword
no word escapes to tell just what began
when mountains fell and freedom was restored

we asked a single man to be our lord
yet he refused and swore by the great tree
that he all power and lordship abhorred
we asked a single man to be our lord

what was required has now gone by the board
we reach the points that we once could not see
we asked a single man to be our lord
yet he refused and swore by the great tree

the price we paid requires that we be free
to see the newer higher mountains rise
the world that we desire will one day be
the price we paid requires that we be free

to no lord shall we henceforth bend the knee
a fact that came as an immense surprise
the price we paid requires that we be free
to see the newer higher mountains rise

another light now enters through our eyes
another river where a dead one ran
truth puts an end to all the easy lies
another light now enters through our eyes

we leave behind the sorrow and the sighs
our vision's focused on the coming span
another light now enters through our eyes
another river where a dead one ran