there are dark clouds beginning to take shape
out in the west so soon we'll hear the drums
aloft in heaven as the earth succumbs
its tender softness under grassy drape
is waiting eager happy mouth agape
certain that summer in its fervour comes
to soothe each rough spot that grim winter numbs
and grant each of us respite and escape
the chains that hold each down are real enough
to warrant our desire for honest ease
and liberation from the cycle's hurt
yet all in common learn how to be tough
from horrid  heat wave to the hardest freeze
we'll make it all the way until the dirt

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

resounding horns in deep glittering cave
not music now nor urgent call of hunt
a message that is both banal and blunt
containing nothing that we need or crave
yet full of meaning those who are so brave
may striking upward swiftly to confront
the enemy who blasts may hear them grunt
with sudden shock of nothing left to save
our hope is not in music nor in joy
of victory hard won by those who fought
without the expectation of reward
we seek instead the means to best employ
the tools of wisdom and the ways of thought
to bring about best means of good accord

far out beyond the eastern shore
where all our senses ought to fail
the howling realm of shark and whale

exist dim hints of something more
another place on larger scale
far out beyond the eastern shore

what's there is easy to ignore
the oceans are too wide to sail
waters are deep winds loudly wail
far out beyond the eastern shore

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

there are deep echoes across the dry wall
so sky seems brassy and bereft of cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

to stony death where no one will recall
how once you were so youthful and so proud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

where the old vultures circle seeing all
the land below them forested or ploughed
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

from narrow path your heart now seems so small
and fate so large the silence seems so loud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall

the distant birds across the sky now scrawl
in ragged letters on the small puffy cloud
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

into forever certain none will bawl
the earth itself will be your only shroud
there are deep echoes across the dry wall
while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

the echo of the horror goes away
leaving behind this memory of shock
a break in time not noted by the clock
while passing cloud has covered up the ray
we are not certain yet this is full day
so we come here and place our hearts in dock
for your perusal so that you might mock
or press us hard or even probe and slay
the signal here is of a subtle sort
made for discernment by an elder eye
thus nor for wasting on our hasty youth
who are on this day in another court
beneath a vision of a different sky
but still must learn there is a single truth

where all the edges reach into the heart
are no clear corners nor a single sign
that time is changing the dividing line
is never crossed yet all are kept apart
by the hard means of some still arcane art
which the most foolish will insist divine
or claim as kindly warm tender benign
although they bleed from entry of the dart
we're far into the strange realm of the blind
where all the rules evil and perverse
and every bullet seems to find its mark
dead centre but the lying human mind
insists reality can't be adverse
that all is light down here deep in the dark

there's little room for laughter nor for wit
in a beige room with a good downtown view
learning that not all good comes with the new
and breathing in the scents of bile and ****
you learn then all  the signals of hard grit
but night and day someone must turn the *****
the pain will come as much as you are due
and you must sleep now for a little bit
love is sustained upon a sea of tears
though brotherhood itself may seem to fail
in curtest questions still you can draw breath
surprise yourself that you withstood your fears
and are arrived to laugh about this tale
since by a hair you walked away from death

how fresh the world was complex and still strange
as we crossed shark-filled seas with little thought
of what bright magics in the clouds were caught
or what the cities past the mountain range
would have for us instead we sought the grange
the country quiet where oldest rules were taught
in plainest movement from old is to ought
from then to now where all we did was change
into clear selves who know the middle way
by just refinement of that youthful choice
made all rejoicing under bluest sky
for we who learn the paths and tracks of day
know it's no simple thing to have a voice
and far more difficult to keep an eye

on a cool morning we may see the dew
settled on grass as butterflies flit by
in mild september still the world is new

seasons must change and time will have her due
others will have their honest reasons why
on a cool morning we may see the dew

through the back window this calm sunday view
of houses road and the late summer sky
in mild september still the world is new

when we are happy and our pains are few
the task today is to rejoice not cry
on a cool morning we may see the dew

before it burns off while the sky's still blue
this moment fits so neatly in the eye
in mild september still the world is new

we taste once more the sweetness of the brew
knowing the truths that life may yet supply
on a cool morning we may see the dew
in mild september still the world is new

where crossing rivers can be made to count
against the value of all we hold dear
in spite of all that’s known at the frontier
where hope and learning are held paramount
no one would wait on those who’d dare remount
for the long journey of the pioneer
made by the awkward and the most sincere
who have their truths to keep and to recount
no voyage matters this at last we learn
except to those who never need the map
the ones excepted from each changing trend
those are the masters who will always yearn
to hear our answer yet not give a rap
since all must come out equal in the end

this is the day when we may bless the sun
no cloud can daunt us once we're through the night
for on this morning all our good is won

the long dark course of horror has been run
so now we have true clarity of sight
this is the day when we may bless the sun

not as our whip for that time is now done
but as an honest beneficent light
for on this morning all our good is won

we must make real the tales that once we spun
around the fire to keep our spirits bright
this is the day when we may bless the sun

for now there is no fear of lance or gun
since we may dance in our masters' despite
for on this morning all our good is won

service to past and future we won't shun
nor ever drop from memory the long fight
this is the day when we may bless the sun
for on this morning all our good is won

from mountains coloured by no faint regret
there's never pause to think we must be past
the urgent moment when we were beset

by what seemed armies that could not forget
the banner that was once seen on our mast
from mountains coloured by no faint regret

yet we must move to wait would be to fret
and patience is for those who have not passed
the urgent moment when we were beset

from every side but still would take the bet
against despair we could not be outclassed
from mountains coloured with no faint regret

each could discern what would not be upset
till beyond hope all pilgrims would hold fast
the urgent moment when we were beset

right at the point where all the roads had met
and journeys would have reached their end at last
from mountains coloured by no faint regret
the urgent moment when we were beset

we always seem to leave there in the rain
not in light drizzle but a heavy pour
that catches us straightway we leave the door
yet we're back with no reason once again
to find our way through torrents to the plain
it seems too much and yet we ask for more
as if this were a torment we adore
the price of pleasure being this hard strain
the thunder speaks and we dare not respond
since all our fears are centred in that sound
when it is echoed by each traitor heart
revealing that we won't refuse the bond
and most afraid that hope will not rebound
because our hands and minds have lost the art

careful with the measure but still short
of what was needed to assure the mind
that we moved forward certain and not blind
grounded in reason never to abort
without good cause ours not the plan to thwart
but to complete the task we were assigned
tie up the knots and leave others to find
what judgment they would in the final court
instead we tread the boards in heady dance
uncertain of the beat and of the cure
while far above us scud the autumn clouds
driven by winds we know not ruled by chance
under a law that is far less than pure
that leads us all towards the cold grey shrouds

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

so much to do but go lie in the sun
and watch the clouds observe each changing shape
while looking upward with your mouth agape
allow the world to go by on the run
there are so many tasks that must be done
but not today there's time for one escape
from sordid duty take some rest and drape
your body on the bench just have some fun
soon you'll encounter the familiar task
hear the old words and even older lies
plunge back into the service of the known
to answer all the questions that they ask
hope to awaken light behind fresh eyes
and heal the causes of the longest groan

we navigate by methods good and fair
our science has been tested and found true
for many seasons the hard-working crew
have full and thorough trust in our good care
so do not worry at the changing air
in certainty that we have paid our due
before the mast the storms we have been through
are the best measure of how much we dare
yet each adventure has its own sweet trap
since we dare not refuse to face the test
so must discover just how little sure
we really are of what is on the map
and what we know but must face all with zest
for all that matters is that we endure

despair embodied in dark winter rain
through fitful sleep in absence of all dream
to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam
within a world marked by the human stain
there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain
nothing that honest living might redeem
from what we suffer at the last extreme
paid for in horror and in stabbing pain
there's no deliverance from what we are
nor is it chosen freely in the sun
in a light-hearted moment with a smile
by each of us no favourable star
can serve to light our steps on homeward run
nor gleam and brighten on the final mile

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

you think the boundaries are all the same

imbued with meaning by the hand of time

not records of some old forgotten crime

but guarantees the world is safe and tame

that there are limits set to hate and flame

so we keep back the fury and the grime

of human nature and wall in the slime

of all our hatred that is the full game

now miracles come extra that's the rule

you must expect as we deploy each troop

of brazen rescuers who'll save the day

in proper form and manage to stay cool

keep things in order and then all regroup

off to one side while others come to play

observe the future and record the past
that's our plain duty and it is enough
to get us our redemption at long last

we're only part of the supporting cast
whose job it is to murmur words of fluff
observe the future and record the past

while others move about the world so fast
they seem like angels yet we call their bluff
to get us our redemption at long last

our task's not simple though we have been classed
among the lesser folk the job is tough
observe the future and record the past

note who showed fear and who survived the blast
that changed the world write all fear no rebuff
to get us our redemption at long last

though there are horrors we'll not stand aghast
nor yield to silence or fear of the rough
observe the future and record the past
to get us our redemption  at long last

with what fresh words of choice or soft regret
are we to fight our battles now that time
has tolled against us the dull weight of grime
obscures our vision but no sort of debt
to past or future could hurt or abet
the heart of purpose as we seek to climb
beyond this moment past the normal slime
where there is neither  injury nor fret
you see us crawling searching for one spark
of ordinary kindness that might lead
the normal person from their weary plight
relieve our hearts from burden of the dark
reward with honour the most worthy deed
and grant assurance of a renewed light

outside the winter storm is pelting down
with ancient power recalling us to true
vision of our places so then we rue
both the larger anger and the lesser frown
each gout of pressure under which we drown
unheeded here withheld from public view
still grasping for some force that would renew
each broken heart and smile at each sad clown
tonight we’re promised snow that will not stick
to the warm ground and ice that will not chill
for any length of time the naked skin
yet winter ‘s taking only the first lick
at these soft hides there’s still much room for ill
since we are in a race the clock must win

the garden’s keeper is the one who knows
the time of fruiting and the ways of light
the meanings of the lily and the rose

to all who pause to watch as each plant grows
in its true place as firm hands set it right
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

when to stay calm and just when to disclose
the secret word that guards from every blight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

that in their beds do far more than repose
for the pure delectation of our sight
the garden's keeper is the one who knows

the proper manner of setting the rows
to mimic motion and to arrest flight
the meanings of the lily and the rose

are not in words still less in strikes and blows
against the passage that leads into night
the garden's keeper is the one who knows
the meanings of the lily and the rose

what we have managed is to slowly fail

out of the passion where we did not mark

each fallen moment nor discern the stark

announcement of the coming winter gale

and so were lost now this message is stale

lacking all force and having no more spark

than a dead candle yet we must embark

on one more journey out beyond the pale

to where the signal has not ever gone

that says just what we are or who we were

and thus sets limits on what we might do

that way we're told the battle might be won

or ought to be if only we would dare

step out and act as if the world were new

go through the shallows then out past the wreck
until you reach the point where water burns
you’ll know it clearly by the sharp returns
then note the ship the one with golden deck
and figurehead of angel with wry neck
you’d sign up on her as one does who yearns
for urgent journeys yet as each child learns
there are no funds left to support the cheque
still without vision no one would begin
a single enterprise and we’d remain
stuck in the mud unable to set sail
instead we face each whimsy with a grin
allow the facts of chance to come out plain
and turn our faces right into the gale

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

at night the sounds of aircraft blend with rain
lulling to sleep and then we're in the place
where trips begin moving at steady pace
towards the boarding steps and then again
above the clouds where everything's seen plain
in rapid motion back to present grace
with clarity we know can't be the case
facing a truth that's all shot through with pain
the earth still turns and darkness has to lift
at daily sunreturn we find each choice
to be like putting on a shoe or glove
a simple matter of the human gift
for stating facts in ordinary voice
once it is understood the word is love

let us recall  the best effects of style
when those who listen know how best to hear
and do not injure those who hold most dear
the hidden blessings of the final mile
rather they wish the urgent to beguile
expecting that the best might engineer
sounds that will please the most discerning ear
and lead once drooping eyes to shine and smile
the age of wonder has no fixed return
but comes upon us as we seem to find
not a changed world but a remarked abode
the home that we have loved for which we yearn
that seemed so hidden for time out of mind
appear before us as we climb the road

no name will matter at the very last
when all the pains we wandered for are done
in the last drops we crave of pallid sun
and the dark bones we hate are being cast
we'll smile and nod knowing we were outclassed
by those we taught who passed us on the run
not knowing that the game was not in fun
and soon they too will fade into the past
all that we know is just a tiny bit
of the whole tale a mere partial story
which each is given for their proper role
enough to play with some essay at wit
although we all wish the full of glory
not one of us can grasp the very whole

the job before us is to chop the hog
into constituent parts and serve the meat
to all the hungry cut up into neat
easily cooked servings none for the dog
but plenty to be seared upon the log
given a thorough and sufficient heat
and then served up for all the poor to eat
spreading good warmth throughout the cold and fog
so much is duty and the common task
of ordinary service and the name
we give is cruel but the purpose just
to do the action that good heart may ask
of any decent players of the game
who know the meanings of both light and trust

some choose some wait but heroes seldom laugh
at life or fate that's for  the braver fool
who enters action with a certain cool
and finishes the final paragraph
not in the weeds and out beyond the chaff
like any villain we who've been to school
refuse to smile obedient to that rule
established on the citizens' behalf
which choices made permit you to depart
towards new worlds where other pains await
not eager now as you were at the start
but better studied in the ways of fate
yours is the hand but not the means to guide
the angry heart away from paths of pride

all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
we've hit the boundary of human reach
out here in the republic of the dead

there's no necessity to get ahead
once we have heard the words of the last speech
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread

for this we struggled long to earn our bread
and bowed low as the vile old friars preach
out here in the republic of the dead

where are are equal in the weight of lead
but none will listen as the poor beseech
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread

at every sound that penetrates the head
while silent men walk up and down the beach
out here in the republic of the dead

where none dare speak and all the good are fled
and what we learnt no one could ever teach
all hearts are filled with horror and with dread
out here in the republic of the dead

the journey we've begun has no right end
or so we think since all our hopes are wild
for there are many motives we'll defend
though not all of our charges are defiled
by hatreds of the sort that you reviled
when speaking in plain justice of the fact
that none of us come through the world intact

each of the winners learns just how to bend
the moment that she stops being a child
while he who's wise knows best just to pretend
a temperament that's always calm and mild
just so the watching eye is safe beguiled
none of these matters is at all abstract
keep this in mind and you won't be attacked

not one of us can think now to depend
on those who might be honourably styled
our champions we can't call on one friend
whose name is not in the red record filed
to live full grown and not die as a child
that's all the purpose we will not be wracked
but others must be seen to live and act

my feet have known the streets each long hot mile
the greyish dust has sunk into each toe
there's not a corner that i did not know
but i have not been back there a long while
i've not forgotten places on the isle
where in my youth i used to have to go
in a warm time when life was soft and slow
and what concerned us most were form and style
so much recalled yet so much that must count
in a new age when time has outreached rope
so that we find our feet have travelled far
from where each started on that rural mount
in a bright year when everyone had hope
unto this time beneath a troubled star

a moment's vision just a little nudge
of seeing what the normal eye can't see
in moving time just so we might agree
on one fast rule but no you will not budge
from  that position nor will you begrudge
what we assume is given us for free
to stay or go just so each has to be
the honest broker and the silent judge
this course of pain is now so well begun
you take the measure and devise a trap
knowing that soon the true moment will come
since each desire has in us one swift run
a journey noted well upon the map
and valued now at a gigantic sum

across the gully is another place
a different world with silver roughbarked trees
where stubborn beasts resist you on their knees
while walls and fences leave a proper trace
for those bewildered nature shows her face
in complicated motions that each sees
in the raw colours and the harsh decrees
that come upon us with the morning's grace
so this is recollection of the sight
from high above broad river as the grey
of false dawn marks the ending of the night
but here and now the moment cannot stay
we've paid hard cash for all that we have lost
and got no credit for the hills we've crossed

no matter that the cap's been set askew

there is no better story we could tell

about the way our honest vision grew

out of cold pain to fill the broken shell

healing the ill that you could not dispel

for all your efforts since there was no way

to break the walls or give the soul full play

we reach the bounds and have no better terms

than these old worn words no more than cliché

you might as well give up and feed the worms



we watch as grey has come to rule the blue

there's nothing here against which to rebel

just the old order just the normal due

course of the world which we cannot compel

to alter for our will there is no spell

that folk of magic could use to allay

these ordinary fears which still betray

just what we are old time alone confirms

that it can do its will and have its say

you might as well give up and feed the worms



after the rain we hope to see the new

growth that will rise the blossoms that will swell

once more in the bright garden to show true

that all things in the end shall come out well

so that on painful matters we won't dwell

and not look at the fossils under clay

the ancient dead in their solid array

since he who looks is also he who squirms

at thought of what lies just beyond decay

you might as well give up and feed the worms



prince your approach is all the gift we pray

knowing how well we count on what you say

beneath your wisdom are the least of germs

unable to resist the force of day

you might as well give up and feed the worms

so we are clear that in the winter sun
beneath the cloudless sky when all is cold
though all is bright our hearts are not consoled
by any knowledge the good times are done
while an uncertain epoch has begun
when the best folk are not doomed to be old
when crab his kingdom has now been foretold
so that the countdown clock is on its run
we seldom grieve the brightness of the day
until we see the stars in the night sky
and then declare the sunlight was too brief
for all we had to do or had to say
yet know the while that our words are a lie
to cover up a monumental grief

we do not reach the edge and simply wait
for others to catch up and find us there
but plough on further deep in the affair
where there's a margin between will and fate
nothing's disclosed nor open to debate
since we are subject to recoil from care
or be abused and chided anywhere
we utter speech all choices have to grate
there is no reason that we must return
like beaten dogs in summer to this place
yet still you find us trying not to run
from any anger facing the harsh burn
of baying voices shouting out disgrace
at all of those who brave the brassy sun

in this stark universe no secrets left
for hawk-eyed seekers that's what we must know
to keep our minds still centred on the flow

of bodies moving with uncertain heft
from truth to fact like water from the snow
in this stark universe no secrets left

so what we find is that some sort of theft
has changed the weight of matters it is so
uncertain now and we are trapped below
in this stark universe no secrets left

not given much to metaphor as fact
the student struggles to relate her tale
each sentence on its own will sag or fail
the effort turns out bloated not compact
her model is the sermon and the tract
and writing comes to her like time in gaol
the style is cold the images are stale
and the whole enterprise with pain is packed
the reader wants so much to go outside
and take his whirling thoughts for a long walk
but finishing the job is all his pride
so from the horrid task he dare not balk
no leave nor yet excuse he has to plead
so the next essay he picks up to read

we looked on open water for a week
a warm green sea true eater of the sun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

this was our respite from a world made bleak
by constant duty service on the run
we looked on open water for a week

in hope of healing certain the unique
sense of the name would give us what we'd won
great arm of ocean not river or creek

immensity of peace that we could seek
as fullest respite when each day was done
we looked on open water for a week

with smiling faces that forbade critique
of any statement that would overrun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

where we end moving easily and sleek
towards the sunset knowing it was fun
we looked on open water for a week
great arm of ocean not river or creek

it is so easy to drift down to sleep
when the weak body lacking all defence
is at a moment when matters are tense
just eager to collapse into the deep
comfort of the dark hardest thoughts will keep
until winter sun makes some vague pretense
at warming earth but we have little sense
of whether honest hearts may make the leap
into the morning now we have some hope
that better judgment will be after night
and waking eyes will look on clearer choice
that at the least each will know how to cope
in what will be a keener form of light
and in a place where each will have a voice

these storms have turned the world all green
and sunlight limns the leaves in gold
no time today to chide or scold

we look and smile the birds all preen
while eager hunters become bold
these storms have turned the world all green

for beauty we have set the scene
a story known and often told
that hearts are broken and consoled
these storms have turned the world all green

we make our choices with honest conviction
and are persuaded that an angry curse
is just a matter for some plangent verse
or else results from sloppy bad male diction
all our desire is life with little friction
and we can't understand how the converse
happens how all our actions make things worse
just why the happy ending's only fiction
to tell this story would take me too long
so it must be cut short and that's a shame
since all the world is hanging on the tale
still all in all what hurts makes us more strong
and better able soon to win the game
while early victors in the end must fail

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

when the past does not fade and disappear
we're forced to confront it to face the pain
of solid memory to feel all again
within each mind something in the dull air
weighs down upon us with the weight of care
while every face reflects the groaning strain
and total terror that we can see plain
when nothing's left to mankind but raw fear
the once safe garden now becomes a cage
by our own efforts  for we are so dense
we cannot see the function of a wall
is to hold in not just to keep out rage
that justice functions better as defence
and isolation leads to the last fall