missing the answer means that when the true
vision of justice fills this hungry mind
it is not understood i have turned blind
to what is obvious not known the due
reception of the gifts of midday blue
warm and attractive nothing left behind
to be cleaned up by the unfailing kind
while i accept the price for what is due
time makes no changes on its very own
except in the bland lies that old folk tell
to calm the foolish on their downward run
instead they  seek to gnaw upon cold stone
while listening for the distant warning bell
and for the sound of the last urgent gun

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

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

what choices for the poor or for the dead
in myth or legend amount to the same
decline of knowledge ending of the game
feasting on shadows and the ghost of bread
stale waters and the odours of the head
nought to the matter there is no more shame
where we have gone only the ***** flame
of penny passions when the nights are red
now dreadful options face us on each side
when we must turn toward the fallen night
with little hope that anything we say
could make a difference it's a thorny ride
where we'll be going and the sort of plight
we find ourselves in is not healed by day

no bounds to honour yet the unjust lie
faster than lightning reaches for each throat
enforcing silence there's a bitter note
we can detect even when on the fly
a universe of difference going by
while on one side are those eager to gloat
over the losers in the daily vote
our only option here seems rather dry
what has been paid does not in full restore
the world we had but what we tell each child
will matter in the end since their delight
in the large world will become so much more
absorb the truth and gather in the wild
on that fine day when their strong hearts take flight

i wrote the words and sent them on their way
not knowing how each reader understood
just what was meant nor whether any good
would come from what was simple dance and play
of thought and vision now the options sway
between the meadow and the darkling wood
and we are trapped right where the choices could
not be more difficult on the worst day
what's said can be repaired but what is made
is fixed within the world once and for all
to be acknowledged  or to be denied
that is the problem puts us in the shade
leaves us exhausted makes us want to bawl
and in the end will take away our pride

fallen from glory the world now turns drab
so easily a single dullish cloud
before the sun and all brightness is cowed
without resistance we can never grab
the moment back it's cast upon the slab
and we are from all justice disendowed
who were not long ago happy and proud
but now have come to the realm of the crab
the world is many things other than fair
since what we have we always have to earn
on terms that change each day and are not right
when most we want the best of things to dare
but never mind all that is good must burn
and from the fire we gain a better light

none of it matters but it must be said
while we have breath to speak and time to cry
since in the end we can't give in to dread

choice is not easy once we're out of bed
facing the truth and under every eye
none of it matters but it must be said

not just to you but to the ones who sped
away so fast who feared the cloudy sky
since in the end we can't give in to dread

we wait the storm knowing what lies ahead
is no wise worse that what has now gone by
none of it matters but it must be said

in plainest words and set down in black lead
for all to see and for none to deny
since in the end we can't give in to dread

and none can take the duty in our stead
nor be in place when our turn comes to die
none of it matters but it must be said
since in the end we can't give in to dread

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

rage overflows the normal decent heart
breaking  the rule of ordinary mind
to take us right back to a sorry start

where we are governed by no common art
of ancient orders that were never kind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

once each has learnt that justice will depart
with no conclusion save the one designed
to take us right back to a sorry start

ensuring that  all of our limbs will smart
while we'll be stuck more deeply in the bind
rage overflows the normal decent heart

while all the  good and kindly fall apart
and the best choices have now been declined
to take us right back to a sorry start

where those who gather do not give a ****
for what should matter and the world seems blind
rage overflows the normal decent heart
to take us right back to a sorry start

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

no time to change from what i used to be
but now and when it happens i must leave
not just this place but all that i conceive
to be in tune with senses that agree
in total beauty that we all can see
in that one moment when we cease to grieve
for all our losses that i must believe
will become true for what is the new me
we fall into the silence one by one
who were a certain band and knew our way
in the strong moment of unpolished youth
but there's still light the time is far from done
and there is much to do while it is day
that is my story and it is the truth

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

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

such easy choices made by those still young
who do not see the meanings of each hour
but hope to be there when the green woods flower
and other words come flying off the tongue
these are triumphs all of which we've sung
before old time could our weak hearts devour
in slender hope that's we'd still have the power
that from our last reserve of pain was wrung
no other option left but truth to tell
we'd go the same dull route if given chance
to start all over and redo the game
it's not as if we play it all that well
but more that we just know only this dance
and are afraid to show too bright a flame

words being said in this open debate
frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies
nor traps and gluepots that we might devise
for maximum confusion of the great
and not so clever who would pass the gate
to make themselves seem honest to our eyes
for a short season till they get the prize
and can then smile unburdened by all freight
there is much honour in sticking to fact
in simple truthful measuring of all
that needs be said before the earnest crowd
but yet the ones who think silence is tact
and fail to understand the urgent call
are those with greatest need to hear things loud

there is a corner where light does not reach
even at noontime so we go to hide
away from where the foolish yellers preach

some days we dream of lazing on the beach
and waiting for the changing of the tide
there is a corner where light does not reach

untouched by hardness of unruly speech
where none can urge and no one can deride
away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be safe from murderer and leech
both from the open blade and from the snide
there is a corner where light does not reach

into the silence where there is no screech
of angry voices seeking to divide
away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be sure of what belongs to each
and how we find that only out of pride
there is a corner  where light does not reach
away from where the foolish yellers preach

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

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

we find no limits on these warming days
when the horizon beckons us to flee
out past the forest deep into the haze

for those indoors whose eyes are all aglaze
with lack of vision there's a thing to see
we find no limits on these warming days

our minds are liberated from the maze
of ordinary tasks we choose to be
out past the forest deep into the haze

where all of life has changed in this new phase
the rules are different both for bird and tree
we find no limits on these warming days

where light and colour mingle in one blaze
while heart and mind in peace have to agree
out past the forest deep into the haze

breaking the silence in melodious phrase
one chant of joy from mountain down to sea
we find no limits on these warming days
out past the forest deep into the haze

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

there are some facts that will my anger trigger
as when a child eats ******* from a skip
or dumb inanity escapes some lip
or when the worst express themselves with vigour
for i love best good honest thought and rigour
and want life to improve at a smart clip
to have a world with neither chain nor whip
where no one will be called a slave or ******
this is a future all can understand
and tightly hold in each understanding
where gold is not a synonym for worth
and help is to be found from every hand
while every boat comes tinto a safe landing
and every child is welcomed at their birth

such clarity in morning sky
a world of promise showing green
with purple buds beyond the screen

no chance today the earth will dry
while we are caught in the machine
such clarity in morning sky

will soon be past the time goes by
swiftly to conquer the serene
leaving as record of the scene
such clarity in morning sky

sounds matter but true meaning's in the eye
where what we note of colour size or shape
becomes the means by which honest escape
from what is known and what we can descry
by normal means will happen by and by
for each of us the record on the tape
is not the whole we're not out of the scrape
just when we we think the story has to die
so let the note be sounded once for all
while the conductor smiles at his good task
for we have taken on the cloak of grace
by overcoming each pain of the fall
from mortal height to these shores where we bask
in warmth and joy beyond the cold embrace

there's no choice that the ordinary make
each normal day that driven by desire
in all those things the heart seeks to acquire
we wish to fault and yet the words that break
in angry torrents on our backs must take
all of our patience since they each require
that we must suffer and yet hold our fire
while moving onward for our freedom's sake
not that we grudge the right to raging voice
of those who do not understand that change
must happen that new things must come to be
in this old world and that we should rejoice
to see emergence of the happy strange
and energetic lives of liberty

the circle's now completed that is plain
even to those who will not trust their eyes
who weighted down by hope and by surmise

have given little thought to the campaign
and left the door quite open to the spies
the circle's now completed that is plain

for those who come here seeking rapid gain
and always eager to hurt or despise
the slow and gentle baffling them with lies
the circle's now completed that is plain

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

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

returning home and noting the white blooms
and purple blossoms as the year proceeds
to resurrect the signs of healthy deeds
that furtive humans keep to quiet rooms
not wanting to announce that life resumes
its normal course that each of us concedes
our mortal happiness too flowers bleeds
and has its joyous moments not just dooms
a simple justice tells us to observe
how the world works and then to understand
how great our folly that we seek to hold
back the ticking clock think we can preserve
all fragile nature if we lift a hand
and keep the flower perfect if we're bold

there are no rules that do not become stale
with greasy age but never quite can fade
into disuse there's an unspoken trade
that does not need the ruler or the scale
but measures all those things that must avail
to keep us steady when we call for aid
the ones who never come out to parade
but without whom the enterprise would fail
these actions have the qualities of rite
imbued with meaning sanctified by age
yet all the agents seem such normal folk
people who sleep through the short hours of night
would not be caught dead strutting on the stage
but will not bend beneath the whip or yoke

no thought of loss just so much heavy grey
thickness of smoke  unfolding on the ground
removing colour flattening all sound
and yet we can note little of the day
too warm we think but yet no time for play
all wait to hear a message more profound
but all who speak seem narrow closely bound
by weighty powers all have lost the way
instead of music we have flighty speech
to serve as background for the journey out
beyond the doors to where all roads must start
each of us pledged to do our best to reach
the highest goal and by the human art
we know the best to overcome all doubt

more loud than thunder with its rumbling shout
is the clear voice that says the course is set
from west to east and there is none to let
down the lines nor to put the candles out
when storm's upon us rattling hard the spout
so half asleep and too late to regret
the cost of excess calm and price of sweat
we still confront the truth of pain and doubt
less certain that the world to which we'll wake
shall be the one in which we went to sleep
no matter what the colour of the skies
we live to understand the great mistake
to learn about just what we get to keep
and what to make of the long stream of lies

so many echoes in the rain
leave nothing of our vision clear
but when we breathe the morning air

the feeling's fresh the scent is plain
to all who notice yet we hear
so many echoes in the rain

that every ordinary brain
is forced into a deep despair
at oaths that we are forced to swear
so many echoes in the rain

we did not know all that the words have said
in the dead past and what was on the wall
vivid in sunlight is now past recall
but not all meanings dwell amongst the dead
waiting for better times and less cold dread
to illustrate the human rise and fall
of hearts that circulate and do not stall
but pain and narrowness stay in the head
that was a different and a better mind
possessed by those who sought to build our hope
in concrete forms and who not thinking stealth
in any way a virtue felt the kind
were more equipped for climbing the long *****
towards a place where all would share the wealth

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

behind the house we see the jonquils blow
in the mild air when winter seems a lie
it is the time for all good things to grow

outside the breezes do not cease to flow
and clouds are scudding grey across the sky
behind the house we see the jonquils blow

so clearly yellow do those flowers show
they banish dullness and we can descry
it is the time for all good things to grow

life is so eager to get up and go
so energetic it could almost fly
behind the house we see the jonquils blow

returning from their sleep as if they know
we long for colour to delight each eye
it is the time for all good things to grow

in proper order this is nature's show
we only guide it then we smile and sigh
behind the house we see the jonquils blow
it is the time for all good things to grow

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

there are no answers coming in the night
nor clarity in morning that is why
we seek for explanations on the fly
in earnest wish for ending of our plight
but nothing comes there is no vivid sight
all's grey and dullness settles on each eye
there's no firm sanity we can espy
the universe seems ordered by mere spite
when we were children we were told that cause
and effect followed by a straight decree
of nature's and the world was really plain
to adult eyes but now we have no laws
to follow and we find we are not free
since those who want to lead us are insane

so many orders of which none matter
in this harsh place where all words come to fail
in giddy smoke and stinking horses' stale

it seems that all our urges need to shatter
because we have not found the proper scale
so many orders of which none matter

but many fools who do not cease to flatter
yet will not stoop to help us when we ail
nor build a roof to shelter from the hail
so many orders of which none matter

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

the normal vision of the human way
is what we bring at first into each mind
in hope that when we are by fate confined
in the beige cubes of ordinary day
no creeping horrors will come out to prey
on thoughts that must to wider worlds be blind
for fear of just exactly what we'd find
if honest brain was let come out to play
but there are dragons just beyond the wall
the child inside will know though adults fail
so often just to open up their eyes
or let their ears adjust to hear the call
of beings greater than the normal scale
moving their wings across the winter skies

already buds are forming on each tree
visible through the february mist
this sign of coming spring won't be dismissed
life makes to us its yearly guarantee
that after darkness comes the jubilee
while all of nature's colours still persist
and will explode the roadsides will be kissed
with  light again all life yearns to be free
in each heart hides a promissory note
from past to future valid for all time
worth all the stories that our folk have told
to be redeemed when we are called to vote
weighed in the balance and cleansed of all grime
for a true substance worth far more than gold

so much is meant but carried in each head
is other freight the which no one could lift
without some aid to take us cross the rift
that separates our bodies that's the dread
that strikes all of a sudden with a red
intensity that's hot as well as swift
but gives way fortunately to your gift
and the great sweetness of all that you've said
time's not enough for all the forms of play
nor for the music that love can require
of us but life goes by at such a pace
clip that years compress into just one day
while we are still warmed by the same fire
and held together in the same embrace

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

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

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

in february when there should be frost
bright daffodils present in yellow bloom
such firm rejection of the winter gloom

it makes me smile not all the past is lost
and there are things that death will not consume
in february when there should be frost

we look on beauty and don't count the cost
of what it means to have full life resume
but take each step and see beyond the doom
in february when there should be frost

if asked what happened and there's no reply
that can be safely given that is true
do not evade the words that stick like glue
on your mouth's roof and just refuse to fly
where you most want them there's a reason why
your tongue's not obedient why you might rue
that former ease of discourse when askew
the complex facts make it so hard to lie
not now nor ever will the monster wait
to let you finish but will swiftly pounce
upon your weakest utterance and yell
that here's false coin pretending noble state
worth less than nothing for each ****** ounce
you hear this all as clear as the noon bell

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

those are the places that have lost their names
gaining thereby not even a tin piece
that some bright spark might give out of caprice
too keep hope going in the complex games
of pride and anger but there are few shames
that will get those who've been ****** just to cease
once they've been shown up for all time as geese
since they'd much rather go into the flames
all tortures will destroy those who are brave
no matter what they say but never mind
there are no secrets will be left intact
on this side of the shelter of the grave
hope will remain for those who still are kind
to all who know just how their world is wracked