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

they fill in visions and repeat in sound
the touch of light on rock the moving shade
marking a changing time then the parade
of trucks and buses moving folk around
since we must hurry to get off this ground
back to our homes back to the normal trade
of simple speaking in words that are flayed
out of all meaning then twisted and bound
a short escape leads to another place
with older energies but the same tide
washed on that shore beneath a certain light
allowing these historians to trace
the roots of anger and the base of pride
straight to their homes in certainty and right

for a short while we sit and watch the sea
the ships that pass the people on the shore
and then turn back to what we were before

there's understanding here of what must be
a straightforward accounting of the score
for a short while we sit and watch the sea

smile at the world knowing that we agree
on the good things that no one could want more
than such warm moments till the final door
for a short while we sit and watch the sea

this empty form with simple sound
is filled echoes amplify the space
they occupy but lack  the grace

to be both honest and profound
as keepers of spirit and pace
this empty form with simple sound

becomes the whole complete and round
that we desire more than the chase
of life itself marked on each face
this empty form with simple sound

what's given forth may come out true
we lose at first just so we learn
the complex tricks and in our turn

teach each young one to pay their due
expend a little and discern
what's given forth may come out true

each change will mean the world made new
by other hands and thus we yearn
to see the old fires once more burn
what's given forth may come out true

a story told  was measured once in lead
the words turned cold and grey with its hard weight
but in our age we value fear and dread

a single message on the page was spread
to give the people the plain meaning straight
a story told was measured once in lead

meanings held firm in each old reader's head
if not on paper we could see the date
but in our age we value fear and dread

above the meanings that were sent to bed
as the last call of copy came so late
a story told was measured once in lead

where pixels and electrons rule instead
no paradise nor  true human estate
for in our age we value fear and dread

up to the point where even we are led
to recognise the symbols on the plate
a story told was measured once in lead
but in our age we value fear and dread

today my thoughts are focused on the task
that is to come the duty that must be
not just for us but for what we agree
must lie behind the smile upon the mask
up we must get then while yet others bask
in remnant sunshine by the still-warm sea
no one is left upon a bended knee
to find a purpose you must simply ask
if scripture says a slave is due to serve
and must not raise his head above the rest
that's an obscenity and shall not stand
each has to get the honour they deserve
find out the hard way passage of the test
and win the garland with their own hard hand

we leave behind the warm and easy pace
in places where the past remains awake
in swamp and cornfield for the old gods' sake
while modern wisdom does not show its face
except at urgent need the hot embrace
of constant summer overcomes mistake
in the fast living of each pool and lake
with ways of showing that there is still grace
what we approach is not as bright or bold
the subdued pallor of the northern skies
cannot approach the deep december blue
that give us cheer is kind and is not cold
announces promise yet contains no lies
but expectation of a future due

crescent moon sharp upon the plate of sky
one hour before the lazy winter sun
signal that my long day is well begun
with clarity that shows the air is dry
and cold at this still moment no birds fly
while urgent humans have the need to run
up the dark street for health instead of fun
as if the end was one they could defy
out to the world we go each blessed day
to find our pain and reach another dark
of calm oblivion and short time of rest
all the time knowing that we've lost our way
been baffled and come short of the true mark
in our misunderstanding of the test

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

where we have been both sombre and perplexed
relieved in winter by the thoughts of light
in coming seasons knowing that the bright
hours that have passed will leave me no less vexed
than heavy cloud in this wintry context
of damp and rain and days that fade to night
with little notice nothing it seems is right
as we  engage to find out what comes next
this is the law by which our lives are bound
in lands both narrow and unseemly wide
to face the future with unsteady arms
in fainting hope of finding safer ground
not certain that there is a winning side
and listening for the end of all alarms

dull red and heavy is the morning sky
the storm is coming  so we are afraid
while time is wasting yet to make the grade

the air's unmoving birds refuse to fly
there is no hope that the great storm's delayed
dull red and heavy is the morning sky

no better world is showing to the eye
what's been released we hope will not degrade
beneath the coming rain yet we're dismayed
dull red and heavy is the morning sky

we're faced with everything but honest grief
hard lies are shouted in the open street
and pleasant words recited in retreat

by both the kind physician and the thief
until we think the harsh venom is sweet
we're faced with everything but honest grief

so we resile still there's no real relief
for either broken hearts or weary feet
since life itself turns out to be a cheat
we're faced with everything but honest grief

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

the words come clear by thought they're not unkind
and say those things that wisdom would intend
in careful thought there's nothing here to mend
so to say truth we're in no sort of bind
no trap no evil case has been defined
nor have we with fell beings to contend
our choice is clear the task is to defend
the facts about the kingdom of the blind
where anyone would go to find the pain
within the heart of he who built the fort
is not for me right now to speak or say
enough to note the hauteur and distain
for those who came up just a bit too short
or did not understand when it was day

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

no reason for your heart to get the joke
we took the road and followed every twist
found villages that  time seemed to have missed
and watched the sun come out from autumn's cloak
into a world we wanted to evoke
for younger selves but that could not exist
where light and warmth burnt off the silly mist
and foolish wishes turned into thin smoke
smile now at folly and give measured praise
for what must be and grant the purpose set
that we must give a lead to urgent youth
who wish to set the turning world ablaze
as we did once before we learnt regret
and found our tiny corner of the truth

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

after the rain i hear the ravens call
one sits a moment on the highest crown
of autumn hemlock then it wings on down
into the valley bringing on the fall
of hanging drops the evergreens are tall
in pale sunlight the day chooses to frown
upon my actions leaves are turning brown
on the wet lawn this cycle fulfills it all
inside the cat comes up to sniff my feet
fearful of noises from the great outside
but still desiring to know what is there
the sounds and silences of our small street
muffled so easily when we are inside
but sharp and carrying in the open air

out of the cloud one moment of calm rain
and silver light can overwhelm the sense
we're left with life the journey may commence
our path is known our purpose now made plain
even to fools nothing left to detain
the cautious watcher there's no great defence
we have to make our task is not intense
all is gone past that we have to attain
so now the summing up the verdict clear
on who the losers were and what they lost
paid for in full without a single word
by those who smiled and laughed in the free air
enduring all and knowing what it cost
but still rejoicing in the free absurd

there are no magic secrets in the mud
beneath our feet but worlds have passed away
while it was formed and our own great display
marks just a stage in passing drought and flood
each one of us from hero down to dud
knows that we have so little time to stay
and yet seem hasty to fritter our day
in silly matters that just waste our blood
time was we might have made some sort of stand
against the forces that push down so hard
to turn our efforts into so much smoke
but we are left with only a weak hand
remaining on what seems the final yard
and sense enough to understand the joke

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

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

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

so many long to have a golden king
for certainties amid the roil and noise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

in urgent times  there is nothing to bring
that will secure against what most annoys
so many long to have a golden king

as being for now the most important thing
to guarantee the safety of their joys
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

of better hours when they were on the wing
and deadly forces were not kept as toys
so many long to have a golden king

who do not wish their liberty to fling
so cavalierly with such little poise
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

since all the world is trapped inside one ring
and none can tell just what the rest enjoys
so many long to have a golden king
and yet won't listen when the sweet doves sing

few are the leaves and buds late on these trees
that heart grows weak and even time might ail
as weathers slowly change while the clouds sail
above our heads driven by random breeze
towards the east nothing that wants to please
our needy minds as this brief cold must fail
the warmth return before our hopes turn stale
and just in time our anger turn to ease
but in the night some matters are too deep
for ordinary dreams and break my rest
to let me know that there is no mistake
relief shall not be granted by kind sleep
the warmth of bed is not a comfy nest
but there are worse fates than coming awake

we cycle round and mark another year
when spring has come and buds are on the tree
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

what started in my heart as just a dare
(a challenge against fate) has come to be
we cycle round and mark another year

with greater hope and more reasons for care
as darker odours join the potpourri
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

but time's a gift that we don't have to spare
nor is good chance coming upon the sea
we cycle round and mark another year

by blending vacant smile and distant stare
with swift refusal of the things we see
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

those are the givens and all else is smear
upon the screen of life we cannot flee
we cycle round and mark another year
the skies are light and pollen's in the air

the echoes never cease in time
so we are stuck on the cliff face
losers without redeeming grace


those farts that in primordial slime
began old evolution's race
(the echoes never cease in time)


now seem to us divine sublime
but were just stinks in some dark place
far from the light or so we trace
the echoes never cease in time

so much is wanted but what we must ask
is for the measure that cannot be told
by ordinary creatures at their task
of making worlds to fit the human mould
beyond the which we could not be consoled
but asked for pity and received no share
of what was paid except this empty air
so turning we discerned no further bar
to our escaping save a simple stair
the crescent mirror and the morning star

you give a good account behind your mask
of where the trail was good and where just cold
no warmth remains except within the flask
nor any honour that's not paid with gold
right on the table where the hearts are sold
while every victim hears the case is fair
and yet the axe does not strike unaware
there's no part of the process that's bizarre
while far above our unbowed heads there stare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

in balmier times we might hope to bask
in the approval of the good and bold
enjoy the plaudits while we broach the cask
and wonder why a single voice would scold
instead the angry lessons are unrolled
as every back is loaded down with care
nor is there chance of freedom anywhere
that foolish interlopers hope to mar
beyond the chances of the normal player
the crescent mirror and the morning star

prince in the end you won't respond to prayer
as no petition has the sort of flair
to touch the souls of palace and bazaar
yet you must go to where the boldest dare
the crescent mirror and the morning star

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
tall is the tree and strong deep is its root
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls
their work is constant though most rare its fruit
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls
and bow their heads honour may touch the brute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls
shed our few tears and learn it's absolute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls
or broadcasting to folk on their commute
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls
his voice away we cannot refute
the forest echoes when the mahoe falls
at end of day even the staunchest bawls

edge cases are the ones we have to test
the bounds of who and how we are to know
not truly purpose but beneath it flow
with reason and direction to invest
both mind and fortune as at once possessed
before we're dragged down by the undertow
no hope of rescue since our hero's slow
while time is real and out here uncompressed
we need our little lies or so it seems
just to make sense of all the complex tales
read every morning on electric air
as we awake from satisfying dreams
not truly certain that we know what fails
nor why the trees are all now dry and bare

there's no returning from the sacred ship
that bears each victim from the eastern shore
far out to westward where the oceans pour
past the world's edge and over freedom's lip
into the void we move at such a clip
that in a moment we're at the new door
and none is ready to assess the score
add up the bill and work out the full tip
enough of images it's time to scold
those who wait patiently with their critique
but cannot see the beauty in the pain
of torment in harsh sun and twisting cold
that tears the strongest heart and turns it weak
nor can it find true healing in the rain

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

this is the year when each week brings more pain
we dread to hear the news since it must shock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we heard your cry and knew it was in vain
no one would come not even to take stock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

there is no balance there's no even strain
the boat will sink after it leaves the dock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we see the message and it is quite plain
the fates have gathered and they seem to mock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

the victim's due is to be killed again
at a set time as measured by the clock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

and never shelter that we could attain
since every hope we have turns out a crock
this is the year when each week brings more pain
there's death instead of healing in the rain

steam on the mountain road just after dark
we've brought our geyser with us this one time
and laughter in the moment seems a crime
which choice is easy though the answer's stark
you have to wait until the proper bark
get back inside and get back on the climb
when you get home you will wash off the grime
and wonder why the effort left no mark
we pass those places where the words of craft
are spoken gently where old wisdom sits
and are not moved we can no longer stay
safe in our skins to do that now is daft
instead we joke and battle with our wits
knowing that others follow in our way

nothing we have is greater than this gift
of light in motion on the eastern wall
midafternoon the moments seem to crawl
the music flows and mind appears to drift
from work to sleep always an easy shift
you're tired and your thought's not on the ball
there is no duty and no one will call
no need for passion nor any for thrift
listen the song begins and it is clear
coming a distance and gentle in tone
so many voices urging you to rest
with magic now upon the summer air
announcing that you will not be alone
giving the day that extra bit of zest

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

september and the butterflies still flit
from bloom to bloom trees manage still to sway
in gentle time in nature's smoothest play
while i am still alive to smile at it
my heart and mind have found the truest grit
is not in words nor in what good folk say
but in the patterns of the everyday
in ready laughter and in honest wit
there are no angels waiting for my soul
nor gods in the beyond with secrets grand
ready to weigh my spirit for its worth
i take this journey for a single whole
the good i do must come from a kind hand
and honest tears are good with honest mirth

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

mischief is made by those who hate all peace
and want us all within hard walls and gates
with loudest words and after harsh debates
they'll order silence and demand we cease
turbulent thoughts that challenge their caprice
command each soul into narrow estates
and keep each heart distinct from its best mates
just so that love and light may both decrease
they call it summer when they see it snow
mistake  the cold for some redeeming balm
and bid us all accept the freezing rain
out of the north claiming they see it glow
with ready warmth they tell us all is calm
that all is gentle that we're past all pain

who saw the flame and saw us put it out
was not the first but fell soon into line
marching in order that was the design
both for the wayward and the most devout
seemingly magic but we dare to pout
noting this sourness far from the divine
where modern forces just cannot combine
and older strength no longer is so stout
assert what's true in spite of all this heat
it will not matter no one will be told
the proper story what is is to fail
in our sad hour this token of defeat
is valued more than coin of hoarded gold
while honesty remains so long on sale

in no great haste to change the solemn art
that deals with those who cannot render ease
in modern terms we make a florid start
presenting our regards upon our knees
as if our thoughts were villain amputees
regarding with some horror how the strain
of vision reaching through this veil of rain
has no effect on motion nor on rate
all in the end must seep into the brain
where only losers claim to lead the state

both rich and poor rub shoulders in the mart
while finding nothing that could truly please
an honest mind or else a yearning heart
since all the market has is hopping fleas
and some lost objects baking in the breeze
there's not a single value to retain
and all our hope might just go down the drain
as laughing gargoyles seem to contemplate
you cannot speak except now to complain
where only losers claim to lead the state

no one today would ever give a ****
for decent laws or honest high decrees
the vultures wait until the wolves depart
then each devours the carrion that it sees
there's no means left the monster to appease
just throw another **** upon the wain
since we have read the signal very plain
the door is shut and rescue's come too late
all that is left is one more ugly stain
where only losers claim to lead the state

prince as you look out from the morning train
you'll see the same old shadow once again
don't think of it as duty nor as fate
that's just a path that leads you to more pain
where only losers claim to lead the state

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

out of a legend that we do not know

this warm reminder with its pallid glow



absent all anger absent too all glee

for a short season we absorb the show

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree



so magic fills the air and what we see

is all the ground covered in golden snow

a lovely moment if we let it be

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

go up the rise and look down on the sea
ten miles away the moon is setting now
this is a moment which will long allow
warm recollection both of bird and tree
there's nothing here right now would disagree
that time is perfect but we can't endow
life and eternity instead the plough
pushes it under where we cannot see
lost to us all and so left far behind
are all those things only half understood
but not then wanted since the childish voice
is not the speaker for the full-grown mind
nor can we tell yet what is truly good
when we are forced to make a final choice

no mystery nor reason for the day
to start so simply since the bright alarm
brought us to wakefulness with simple charm
while this last warden had now news to say
but that there were some causes for delay
and none for haste but we are past all harm
of foolish words nor may the time disarm
our urgent thoughts we must be on our way
onward to where the final tolling bell
cannot be heard and then so far beyond
that on our senses we cannot depend
who will not know if any live to tell
the meaning and the substance of our bond
or who will care that any reach the end

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

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

i miss the master of the golden house
who has gone down to view the changing tide
or so i'm told perhaps to soothe my pride
for some new message now i must espouse
before the last new flame we have to douse
in the new dawn there is no place to hide
this anger at being taken for a ride
or knowledge that i'm smaller than a mouse
vision is lost the message all unsent
when signal flame no longer seems to  leap
above the hills nor on the mountain peak
can any see just where the last word went
now no one has a single hearth to keep
and in the clamour none would dare to speak

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

we miss the mark by blaming modern haste
for all the losses that the old declare
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

why bother waiting when the one abased
will be revenged when none is left to care
we miss the mark by blaming modern taste

instead of noting that the old displaced
was most unkind and never was quite fair
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

you ought to leave at once before the taste
of anger drives our guardians all spare
we miss  the mark by blaming modern taste

for those disasters that our kind have faced
the ***** magics came on unaware
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste

burning our feet showing our gems were paste
leaving behind only a haze in air
we miss the mark by blaming modern haste
since time's the one thing that we cannot waste