promise of march

the southern aspect of a season's tale
when clouds have parted and the days advance
with kinder sunlight into springs expanse
just at the point where hearts might seek to fail
is our new vantage right here we inhale
both air and sound the enemies of chance
encourage hearts to feel the hope of dance
and with a new enlightenment to sail
good airs inspire the lungs and cause the feet
to find their rhythm with the season’s change
in a new blend that came from over sea
a deeper wiser measure of the street
bringing homeward what was once so strange
to make us in the end a bit more free

looking another way

dull red and heavy is the morning sky

the storm is coming so we are afraid

while time is wasting yet to make the grade

the air's unmoving birds refuse to fly

there is no hope that the great storm's delayed

dull red and heavy is the morning sky

no better world is showing to the eye

what's been released we hope will not degrade

beneath the coming rain yet we're dismayed

dull red and heavy is the morning sky

lacking all ease

we're faced with everything but honest grief

hard lies are shouted in the open street

and pleasant words recited in retreat

by both the kind physician and the thief

until we think the harsh venom is sweet

we're faced with everything but honest grief

so we resile still there's no real relief

for either broken hearts or weary feet

since life itself turns out to be a cheat

we're faced with everything but honest grief

where we have been

where we have been both sombre and perplexed

relieved in winter by the thoughts of light

in coming seasons knowing that the bright

hours that have passed will leave me no less vexed

than heavy cloud in this wintry context

of damp and rain and days that fade to night

with little notice nothing it seems is right

as we engage to find out what comes next

this is the law by which our lives are bound

in lands both narrow and unseemly wide

to face the future with unsteady arms

in fainting hope of finding safer ground

not certain that there is a winning side

and listening for the end of all alarms

early in the morning

crescent moon sharp upon the plate of sky

one hour before the lazy winter sun

signal that my long day is well begun

with clarity that shows the air is dry

and cold at this still moment no birds fly

while urgent humans have the need to run

up the dark street for health instead of fun

as if the end was one they could defy

out to the world we go each blessed day

to find our pain and reach another dark

of calm oblivion and short time of rest

all the time knowing that we've lost our way

been baffled and come short of the true mark

in our misunderstanding of the test

where the cord lies

we leave behind the warm and easy pace

in places where the past remains awake

in swamp and cornfield for the old gods' sake

while modern wisdom does not show its face

except at urgent need the hot embrace

of constant summer overcomes mistake

in the fast living of each pool and lake

with ways of showing that there is still grace

what we approach is not as bright or bold

the subdued pallor of the northern skies

cannot approach the deep december blue

that give us cheer is kind and is not cold

announces promise yet contains no lies

but expectation of a future due