the peadove in the cage with healing wing
is fed and watered given proper care
but other birds have better cause to sing

in open freedom far beyond the ring
of human fences when we who now spare
the peadove in the cage with healing wing

have made the choice to take away the sting
of what was cruel in this whole affair
but other birds have better cause to sing

about the matters that our causes bring
and so their voices carry on the air
while peadove in the cage with healing wing

must be imprisoned though fed like a king
lacking all liberty and full of fear
but other birds have better cause to sing

upon the day we choose this bird to spring
out of its lodge and back into the the air
the peadove in the cage with healing wing
but other birds have better cause to sing

no count of years may still the hand of fate
but yet the kindly sunrise eases pain
as those who fought arise to fight again
with little rancour and without debate
for once removed the horrors cease to grate
on any soul and there’s no longer strain
when each of us can see the future plain
and know that we’re the owners of the state
this is the promise made by those who sleep
beneath our soil whose lives gave ours full worth
that a bright morning would our people see
not as a flock of tired and hungry sheep
but as a folk in fullest time of mirth
enjoying every taste of liberty

where in the sunlight all the dirt's dispelled
we take our leave then some will go to sleep
their blankets piled upon them in a heap
while in the forest all the spirits gelled
anticipating that when we excelled
at sport and art the answer would be deep
but nothing holds there's no place here to keep
our kindnesses the earth itself rebelled
none can permit the law to be denied
by those who are so bound to a far higher
that their hard hands are in the moment lit
by the illuminations of their pride
the incandescence of a greater fire
than can be understood by human wit

now there are echoes now hear silence fall
along with sunset all across the hill
for one short moment shadows on the wall
seem like the symbols of gigantic will
writing in darkest inks the coming night
not as despair but as remaking right
there is so much to do so much to say
our choices not so clear at end of day
but this is duty we are bound to cope
with all the tasks and burdens on our way
for we have nothing if we have not hope

we're told the journey's never for the small
and we don't doubt it there's a monstrous bill
that must be paid and horrors will befall
those who can't argue with sufficient skill
against their masters those with honest sight
have some good chance of seeing the new light
while those whose strategy is to delay
may find there are some other costs to pay
and twists and turns on the trip up the *****
but no great monsters that we'll need to slay
for we have nothing if we have not hope

on crest of mountain there's a merry hall
and those who get there do not come to ill
yet there's no triumph that would be so small
a payment for the effort and goodwill
that we put in nor are we folk of might
to carouse and rejoice on the warm height
just actors in one scene of a long play
torn between tragedy and cabaret
happy enough to have some towels and soap
to clean up at the end of a long day
for we have nothing if we have not hope

prince you may think that we have gone astray
stepped out of line and lost all our cachet
but there's a lot of play left to our rope
we will be watching for the sun's first ray
for we have nothing if we have not hope

our duty is to rectify the names
and ranks of those who serve and guide the state
take out the waste and cast in in the flames

the one who praises is the one who blames
so both should suffer an immediate fate
our duty is to rectify the names

remove the wrong assess all proper claims
while honouring those who patiently wait
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

not for us gaudy masks of knights and dames
we learnt our service how to clean each plate
our duty is to rectify the names

to take account of glories and of shames
of who was early and who coming late
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

we have no time for silly childish games
nor patience for discussion and debate
our duty is to rectify the names
take out the waste and cast it in the flames

call me a wimp and you will be a wreck
you stupid lad who tells tales out of school
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

you seemed to think that nobody would check
the things you said that everything was cool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck

you'll be destroyed naught left no single speck
and all they'll note is you were one more tool
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

don't think i won't don't think i give a heck
for who you are or all the lies you drool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck

so now you're silent now you hit the deck
full up with fear you've figured out the rule
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

you have to understand that not a fleck
of pity will you get since you're the fool
call me a wimp and you will be a wreck
just say the word i'll break your ******* neck

day follows day in precise normal mode

all of our arrows remain in quiver

nothing it seems can act as force or goad

the journey's not made in ancient flivver

all is dependent on silent giver

to take us past what might have never been

the gallows raised upon the village green

such matters take a single simple course

and end in places that are now unseen

the sage must value man and never horse



this is the start of a long tiring road

ending at mouth of a large slow river

a standard gift or horrid curse bestowed

as blessing or as truly painful shiver

not something that we could deliver

this matters we find not a single bean

so much we say we cannot ever mean

the word in each mouth turns so swiftly coarse

the voyage never becomes transmarine

the sage must value man and never horse



our hope is never wholly safely stowed

dependent as it is on heart and liver

a sort of signal in a secret code

of which we can know only a sliver

enough at least to tell the forgiver

how to begin to set the final scene

and to command as if a king or queen

speaking in honour and without remorse

a gathering that we could all convene

the sage must value man and never horse



prince we escape and know that we are clean

of human wisdom all that we could glean

to the full limits of our petty force

do not attempt to fight or intervene

the sage must value man and never horse

the wind traps each in their own tiny room
blasts out the silence and makes all take stock
for in the morning we face one last doom

it was but yesterday we saw the bloom
pallid yet vibrant not a thing to mock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room

on this dark day when the only perfume
is bitter scent of ashes our knees lock
for in the morning we face one last doom

with no sun rising to relieve the gloom
nor to bring warmth to the hard barren rock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room

for hearts to harden and for minds to fume
while each lost traveller waits on the knock
for in the morning we face one last doom

the golden cradle will serve for a tomb
to learn that fact will not come as a shock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room
for in the morning we face one last doom

you wake and read the message on your phone
which tells you something that is bitter cold
at edge of summer now you are not old
just middle-aged not in the best of tone
a little silly too inclined to moan
about the minor things yet not the gold
measure of what can now be truly told
you see the words a crab now eats her bone
the tale's been written on a rotting page
yet can be read by any human eye
we can't escape the poison nor the taint
nothing avails there is no use to rage
each comfortable answer is a lie
and yet she set the signal down in paint

here is the test of what we want to know
measured in force but not yet in desire
entombed disdain of what we must acquire
on this short trip there's not so far to go
before the flag comes down on the whole show
and story's done that tune's one for the lyre
unmusical but catchy round the fire
so we must learn before it's time to go
now heroes fail just like the common sort
and no birds cry when they let out last breath
but mountains soften underneath the rain
turning far greener with that soft support
in the sure knowledge that like any death
we will be thankful for an end of pain

what's meant is caring so deep into night
when fever drives me so far round the twist
i cannot be brought back without assist
yet when my mind is clear you are still bright
as summer noonday this is my best sight
of joyous wonder but the entire gist
of what i say is this that you exist
is total magic plus you set things right
this little gift of words is small return
for all those hours of complete devotion
for being there each time push came to shove
but words take time to make and each must learn
to take some time to gentle life's commotion
and know the meaning of what's truly love

the rain is over and sad clouds have passed
beyond the mountain to the hidden sea
where all our stillness has its time to be
acknowledged understood measured at last
but we the analysts are yet aghast
at all the pain of those who did not flee
the ultimate temptation that we see
in the hard present that is never past
obey the rules and that way you get by
the lesson taught almost from time of birth
is not sufficient to persuade the wise
they must ignore the message in each eye
the ruddy signal that comes down to earth
and dissipates the impact of old lies

the turning circle of the years

is so set up that we must fail

must fall into the grinding gears



give up and go with one last wail

lift up our eyes and see our friends

heads bent with tears and then set sail



there's no great purpose that commends

itself to us no message sent

in the pale wintry light that bends



upon our heads and won't relent

lying on the floor in solemn bars

where the sole word is discontent



at night the clouds will hide bright stars

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 *** 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

the nightly croaking from the pond
recalls another time and place
the sounds do not quite correspond
but have an equal sort of grace

what's winter here has turned so mild
that we can see the forceful green
reminder of the nearby wild
just inches past the window screen

those arguments that we have made
regarding mother nature's pain
seem all at once a sad charade
as weeds spring up after the rain

what we have learnt is very clear
about the cycles in their course
of tropic or of temperate year
they have the same gigantic force

the frogs that croak in pond or tree
ignoring us proclaiming life
for their short passage do live free
and teach us something about strife

now there's full green and truly honest leaf
on both our maples so we say the spring
has really come and hearts may duly sing
of happy changes and complete relief
for though we know that every joy is brief
and what hard messages each day may bring
for this short time at least some bells should ring
allowing us forgetfulness of grief
what we each know is not all that is known
beneath the sun of that at least i'm sure
there's more to life than simple blood and bone
nor is the world one giant ghastly tomb
for see the rose and iris are in bloom

believe the voices falling down the rift
of fading memory all lost to time
recall the faces touched with soot and grime
in days so clear and calm they seemed to drift
through subtle air and now all is too swift
hardly a moment between every chime
the downslope now but we were on the climb
and had not valued the taste of the gift
so here the choice is made and in the cold
dark of the rainy afternoon each deep
cutting word is truly cruel in its burn
the message is expected we turn old
and each day must bring reasons more to weep
even this day at eve of sunreturn

thunder declaring with a mighty noise
what we once knew but later chose to hide
believing we had so few other ploys
and only a small chance to save our pride
this was the the noble sound we came to hear
sublimest product of the engineer
of music there was the full weight of night
being lifted up around us the height
of passion reached in moments and the pace
of dragons felt as if it were their right
we knew it all and knew it all for grace

the calm the strain the skill that he deploys
marks the director as the truest guide
brimful of zest and  yet with equipoise
he knows he's got us all here for the ride
to turn us all at once to wolf and deer
and have a world of magic just appear
before our eyes without the power of sight
by mass effect of sound and not of light
no easy thing our plain lives to displace
a thousand voices is a tool of might
we knew it all and knew it all for grace

my eye is on the many girls and boys
in rank behind as all these worlds collide
what do they know how do they have such poise
in the great task in which they are allied
so much depends on voice bright and austere
all deeply human that is very clear
we have full understanding of the rite
and know the meaning all the words incite
into the sacred silence of this space
hope for escape from the old mortal plight
we knew it all and knew it all for grace

prince you have asked about that magic night
and how the mass of sound was got just right
across the world i tell you to your face
you had to be there darkness vanished quite
we knew it all and knew it all for grace

no echo here but silence tightly wound
upon the spindle of the rising year
has its effect on this our unburnt ground
where moths and spider in their turn appear
in pallid sheen with shadows most austere
our voices falter we do not belong
in place or time when memories are strong

ears are alert for the first human sound
for that one thing that we might hold most dear
explaining why the quiet is so profound
and why each heart must feel the touch of fear
before new day but nothing will come clear
the birds are sleeping this night will last long
cold hours must pass before we hear their song

there's no one present to teach or expound
those complex riddles about which we care
such folk of comfort are never around
when there's a nasty chill upon the air
or complications in the great affair
they simply vanish still if we prolong
our patient waiting dawn will strike the gong

some proper answer remains to be found
the process seeming almost cavalier
it being grasped and purposed on rebound
seeming to be the waste of a career
but those who cannot feel have yet to hear
the truth of where they are and we belong
in proper place to right all that went wrong

we sit here caught twixt history and text
interpreters of one more well-told tale
another weight that's added to the scale
of knowledge what wisdom comes unvexed
by normal suffering in the context
of work and study long before we ail
or fade into the dark with one last wail
that's the hard question leaving us perplexed
the act political we cannot doubt
must be for us the central urgent norm
for making easier the chance that curled
within the force that bids each one to shout
the truth and nature of the rising form
is the bright hope of an emergent world

we did not ask for change but still it came
with waving banner and in angry shout
for then our people showed not calm nor tame
but like a flood after long years of drought
that was the moment when the word was rage
that marked the turning of the ancient page
when cities smouldered and when fields were burned
governors fled and parliaments adjourned
in such a time the truth must come in play
the sacred hour of those who once were spurned
who come from darkness into proper day

no one expects the world will stay the same
nor that the light will once again go out
now that all eyes have seen its cheery flame
and minds have been resolved from fear and doubt
by understanding of the proper wage
now to be gained and nothing will assuage
the incensed feelings of the hearts that turned
truly to freedom as the wild waves churned
on the bright shore and we saw the array
of those once vanished who had now returned
who come from darkness into proper day

the story now is not a silly game
nor is it simply nonsense that we spout
about the ending of all hate and shame
now that the old injustice is thrown out
and a new order walks upon the stage
when ordinary folk may shape the age
a better land may some day be discerned
where each achieves the honest pay they earned
and plain respect when their dark hair turns grey
both simple things as far as we're concerned
who come from darkness into proper day

prince we apologise you were interned
your titles stripped and your petitions spurned
your words ignored and servants gone away
but we are with some other things concerned
who come from darkness into proper day

a sort of secret in this open yard
what is best hidden cannot be said plain
but may be whispered when the window's barred
so many stories of that concealed stain
of all the ones who went against the grain
and let the rope and leather simply fall
the beast escape from the well-guarded stall
matters like these are not beyond surmise
words might be spoken at noon in the hall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

you do not see the sign upon the card
that might be said to mark the loss or gain
of those who need to earn your good regard
the ones who speak know you will not remain
once all the symbols cease to be arcane
for what is sugar may one day be gall
that which now pleases must swiftly appall
if you aren't told that we should now advise
you must not let these foolish ways enthral
the winner is not he who gains the prize

an honest purpose may be easy marred
by those who want to tighten up the chain
and laugh and you the silly avant-garde
who seek the pleasure and forget the pain
that comes on later you cannot abstain
from taking part in the far larger brawl
that is expected when you hear the call
of the strange forces that reshape the skies
and come upon us like a sudden squall
the winner is not he who gains the prize

prince we are here for quite the longest haul
and ready for the struggle great or small
we may seem paltry to your noble eyes
but we will make it though we have to crawl
the winner is not he who claims the prize

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

who knows the journeys taken by the just
over the saddened earth to find true light
and not be blinded by the sudden sight
of the fair city rising from the dust
when once is passed the desert of distrust
and all have gone through the last sleepless night
cold lacking comfort knowing that the right
answer was coming that is human trust
each is ambassador to the new realm
where equal rulers crudely give reply
to those who cannot truly understand
the forces that will subtly overwhelm
the ragged armies of the ancient lie
and so bring justice to the angry land

dry grass thin stubble in late summer's heat
reflaring here and there to darker green
in mottled shade there's no one to be seen
a heavy silence rules upon the street
we crave completion seek the upward beat
of ravens' wings demand the vision keen
of tropic vultures we release our spleen
on hapless ears but then we must retreat
in each cool cave the music cannot fail
to guard against the horror of bright day
while keeping hearts in balance from the strain
of sensing that there's more to the true tale
as yet unheralded in what you say
but for the moment we must count the gain

the message failed it was not sent

our golden gospel dies unheard

another paradise deferred



on other missions we are bent

for stranger purposes conferred

the message failed it was not sent



to where we wanted where we meant

the sign to go each silver word

fell into silence was deterred

the message failed it was not sent

brash thunder in the dark is low and deep
it bids us rest and dream of milky light
of other places where with fresher sight
the follies of the seasons slower creep
may well be judged by those who always keep
a weather eye for things to come out right
as safe from mortal horror that's the plight
of one who knows just what hides down in sleep
there's better clarity in the grey dawn
a different heat another sort of life
to be confronted choices to be met
one fearful terrapin seen on the lawn
draws in its head for fear of hurt or strife
but then goes on with no thought or regret

when all the wars have ended we're bereft
of home and hope but have not yet been killed
so we construct a life from what is left

the new beginnings truly have no heft
all springs of old revival had been stilled
when all the wars have ended we're bereft

pained by misfortunes by our failures cleft
none can be certain of the truly willed
so we construct a life from what is left

of the old world knowing full well the deft
conversion to the new won't be distilled
when all the wars have ended we're bereft

of wisdom but we fear no further theft
our knowledge and our sorrow both fulfilled
so we construct a life from what is left

while in the dust the serpent and the eft
conduct their searches we must turn to build
when all the wars have ended we're bereft
so we construct a life from what is left

frogs croaking through the night even in cold
february so rustically loud
you feel immersed within a chanting crowd
and yet the sound itself does not grow old
the singers do not seem to be consoled
but croak majestically clear and proud
this is their world they won't be disallowed
by sleepy humans none of whom are bold
to say all this is merely to record
last night's concerto in the nearby pond
as one more sign of nature undismayed
by all we do for my part i just snored
dreamt of strange worlds and places far beyond
my normal life then woke to mundane trade

we hit the wall and then the world goes down
into the dark and nothing good returns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

as winter comes like satan into town
all minds are numb just as the river churns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

a sad destruction but no one will frown
believing that we get what the thief earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

now skies are darker than a priestly gown
for what one makes the other overturns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down

so no one stands for hope or for renown
but gets instead just what the ******* earns
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

this is the truth where hero becomes clown
you have to flee before the city burns
we hit the wall and then the world goes down
for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

in mild november every tree seems red
these maples blazing with unhidden fires
in briefest glory as the day expires
while winter is to come with heavy tread
but not just yet and while clouds overhead
cluster like doom the birds sit on the wires
and do not worry the winds may be liars
while changing seasons don't occasion dread
meanwhile we wonder at the changing scene
at who will be our neighbours and how plain
the day shall be with no leaves on the lawn
but nothing matters while the grass is green
and we have shelter from the chilling rain
with guarantee of sleep until the dawn

a simple honest vision birds in flight
across the narrow valley in dim air
while very slowly we prepare for night

in one swift moment we have to indite
magical incantations of despair
a simple honest vision birds in flight

will come upon us in the final light
to draw from every eye a single tear
while very slowly we prepare for night

in manner of old custom law and rite
withstanding all injustice pain and fear
a simple honest vision birds in flight

will transport each of us to some new height
beyond the weight of suffering or care
while very slowly we prepare for night

with understanding of both truth and right
to match the music that will make all clear
a simple honest vision birds in flight
while very slowly we prepare for night

the masks are worn but still remain as true
as in the early day but when we move
beyond the instant second then the groove
has changed and there's no power to renew
what was ill-made by any human view
the which we have no right to disapprove
rather to wait as others would remove
our final hope with the bright morning dew
behind each mask no ordinary face
but visage bearing some immortal sign
come down to us from the ancestral race
as sign and symbol of a truth divine
for who we are and for the paths we tread
the times are clear and the meanings dread

we chose at last the path out of deep night
through tangled vines and withes into clean air
nothing we gained came to us just by right

what we'd been told was that the facts would bite
each normal mind and send us to despair
we chose at last the path out of deep night

not with relief but knowing that a fight
would have to come and that no one would care
nothing we gained came to us just by right

instead we seemed the victims of some spite
from distant past inheritors of fear
we chose at last the path out of deep night

although each thought that hope was truly slight
the only thing we had to do was dare
nothing we gained came to us just by right

we were the folk throughout bereft of light
who never thought the process could be fair
we chose at last the path out of deep night
nothing we gained came to us just by right

the miracle of winter blossoms bright
against dull ground and weeds so sharply green
this early in the year what can it mean
as we inspect the gutters in clear light
nobody questions the unusual sight
yet each must know exactly what is seen
still fools expect some force to intervene
and set the balance of all things just right
the world's upset and we have lost our way
among the mirrors that we set to trap
unwary minds and those with little sense
too many seem to think the whole thing's play
as we are drowning in our own dumb crap
unable to tell true act from pretense

what matters in the end is you were kind
even to those you thought far in the wrong
which brought its wisdom and it made you strong
when the all the shouters said you undermined
goodness itself while you cursed them for blind
unpatriotic fools chanting their lone song
always so eager to make pain last long
while you desired to open up each mind
now that is in the past and what is left
is wisdom recollect gentle words and soft
suggestions made without pretence or guile
we see so clearly how all ends in theft
of those things we have held highest aloft
but we will all get to there in a while

no matter what the words remain the same
echoing blandly down the aching years
our beast once wild has now turned safely tame

your voice is one that could with depth proclaim
ending to hurt and to the weight of fears
no matter what the words remain the same

as when we started infants in the game
certain that we'd be the new cavaliers
our beast once wild has now turned safely tame

and we have come despite the threat of shame
to know the meaning of so many tears
no matter what the words remain the same

still they are uttered out of need for blame
while horror is doled out in lavish shares
our beast once wild has not turned safely tame

and cowers uncertain of the fading flame
as each who waits at last wails and despairs
no matter what the words remain the same
our beast once wild has now turned safely tame

lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream
into the noon the sum of all our fears
not caring much about the weight of dream

on every several head until the beam
of milky light reveals the open tears
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

not only terrified but eyes agleam
with anger so this long hard tale of years
not caring much about the weight of dream

has caught each up in both the milk and cream
and blended in the message of our cares
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream

all of our secrets in one clouded stream
while all around we feel the touch of stares
not caring much about the weight of dream

in middle day when the truth reigns supreme
denying mercy in the moveless airs
lacking all doubt choices unmade we scream
not caring much about the weight of dream

the outlines of this message are so clear
to those who wait to hear it at the door
of heavy summer there is so much more
that we will need coming across the air
the loudest want us all to be aware
of sacrifice and that since they abhor
all urgent pain they will remove the sore
by drastic means while stating they are fair
what was unknown turns out to be just brief
exploding anguish on the tainted scene
a sign perhaps of animating spark
or else the voice of one more human's grief
at what has turned into a might-have-been
and gone away like all else into dark

our meanings come from choices handed down
by those who built the towers and raised the sky
the folk who farmed the fields and filled the town
who'd made the horrid trip and did not die
their long hope was back to lost home to fly
but all the horrors made their footsteps slow
while home was lost in the far eastern glow
they had their duties and their constant care
and all the many pains we cannot know
all changed with dessalines at vertières

so much depends upon a simple frown
a gesture or a winking of the eye
to  make disaster or to grant renown
turn all our wishes into one great lie
or  send us each to the last great good-bye
by means of one most massive mortal blow
that bursts the normal cheery human flow
and sends us hurtling to the upper air
until that moment all had seemed too slow
all changed with dessalines at vertières

the human is a move from verb to noun
a chance to prove that we can best rely
upon the one who could not play the clown
but was the stalwart soul who did not cry
under the lash but rather chose to fly
with the fresh dawn and the new morning glow
the day of history when all would know
just what we were and how much we would dare
to do when we came up from down below
all changed with dessalines at vertières

prince you have heard your men were far too slow
to face our wrath and take the angry blow
that meant our freedom in the open air
do not be angry for you could not know
the outcome would be more than a tableau
all changed with dessalines at vertières

promise it seems is cloaked in a dull grey
to hide from us the honesty that's due
on thus cool morning so the normal view
is calmer now and what it might convey
about our place this ordinary day
is fully straight and not so sharp askew
as when the sky evanishing to blue
turns all to summer in a sudden way
promise achieved is not all we desire
once we have reached the goal and found it cold
past our endurance but still a-glitter
with intimations of some inner fire
when all that's there is falsity of gold
so that the staunchest leaves full bitter

this is the verb that we declare must stand
for place and season taken out of time
by our decision rendered full sublime
by simplest action of creative hand
uttered each morning by serene command
the sound itself is richer than each chime
of golden bells tuned to a perfect prime
while the symbolic meaning is so grand
all that we say can be reduced to this
concision of significance and sound
where every symbol strains into the light
yet not a thing is here that we could miss
even if we retreat to harder ground
since we have turned our backs upon the night

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
the world defies our choices and our rage
in the republic of the wholly ******

we spoke and then our thoughts were truly slammed
by those who said that with keen words on page
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

the metre's right and the line's not enjambed
yet all we get is a poor poet's wage
in the republic of the wholly ******

since for the moment the signal's not jammed
so that the the enemy cannot engage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

until they burst and our dead corpses rammed
into the the dullest moments of the age
in the republic of the wholly dammed

by those who thought that the most decent shammed
their honest words and strutted on a stage
our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed
in the republic of the wholly dammed

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

the key is getting human feeling right
not only understanding of the fact
and  answer blending suavity and tact


but proper sensing of the victim's plight
with sentiments concrete and not abstract
the key is getting human feeling right


then sitting with the injured through the night
binding their wounds when they had been attacked
ensuring they had the one thing they lacked
the key is getting human feeling right

so much is said by those who have to speak
in doubled phrases and in words which bite
so deeply that our hearts lose their delight
and all is darkness life becomes so bleak
all hope is lost in getting what we seek
and every choice leads only into blight
this sort of magic turns high noon to night
leaving us all dispirited and weak
what's absent here is just the honest word
uttered by decent souls who know that kind
regard goes further than law's formal writ
but what we have is odourific ****
showing its presence even to the blind
making it clear that all are in the ****

there is no magic that can outpace wit
nor any spell to outdo normal pluck
still in the end we all are in the ****

you might expect things would ease up a bit
but what you find is that your feet are stuck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

but not a single line of yours will hit
just where you want so you are out of luck
still in the end we all are in the ****

not one of us is ever quite legit
as all our best hopes end up in the muck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

we get a win our thoughts begin to flit
towards good chance if things don't go amuck
still in the end we all are in the ****

no matter what we do despite our grit
the laws of nature just don't give a ****
there is no magic that can outpace wit
still in the end we all are in the ****

no resolution ever fell so flat
as this decree though most sincerely meant
to bring all to their senses and repent
their every crime laid out upon the mat
as subjects proper for our daily chat
those matters upon which no true consent
has been achieved and on which we were lent
not enough time and oh well that’s that
when we have signaled that the end is come
to all deception we receive no prize
but only grievances a mighty store
since at the last we find that no one’s dumb
who comes beneath the censure of our eyes
but each believes they truly know the score

the fraction of the truth that now remains
within the bounds of what we are to speak
is current language words sodden and weak
lacking in power nothing now explains
the meaning of the anguish and the pains
that each had taken before these grey bleak
crowds of oppression forbade us to seek
the honest answers upon hills or plains
a light at noon would show no honest folk
in any corner of a world grown wild
with deepest passion of forgotten art
needing desire and raging for the yoke
to be laid on each grown person a child
once more but coals of hope burn in each heart

now spring appears all verdant on the scene
there's weight of dust and water in the air
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the change of seasons never comes quite clean
but winter's going with one sort of care
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

to reassure us that the great machine
continues working now the signs are fair
all eyes are taken by the sudden green

the starting colours almost seem obscene
after the starkness yet we cannot fear
now spring appears all verdant on the scene

as roughnesses are covered by a screen
of leaves and blossoms and now we stare
all  eyes are taken by the sudden green

of trees and bushes that we had long seen
bare and asleep so now a new affair
now spring appears all verdant on the scene
all eyes are taken by the sudden green