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

impossible to miss that shining blue
the eye drawn outward to the furthest bound
where sense and vision come together drowned
in the immensity of that deep hue
where worlds and hopes are both slightly askew
some better wisdom is what we have found
where other souls in torment run aground
justice may grant an option to renew
no mind's enough to catch at all we need
for this long voyage through the middle air
though patience grants a chance to set all right
when each has found some soil to plant a seed
and seen it nurtured given proper care
allowed to shoot its blossom into light

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

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

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

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

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'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 music moves across the cold grey sea
through empty space and then the warm applause
erupts into my heart the proper cause
is truth and order in all that we see
set out before us the true honest plea
of decent life that grows without a  pause
through urgent summer with its verdant laws
written in thunder music sets us free
now let our eyes not focus on the cloud
but seek the sunlight and the surging tide
never complain that enemies are proud
nor that there are key matters to decide
for now's the moment to use your own voice
unleash your proper laughter and rejoice

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

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

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

this is the truth that no one need be told
we do not go the same way that we came
the downhill path is not the very same
as the short tunnel out of the long cold
but journey's one for coward and for bold
with equal vision for the wild and tame
and one good reason that we guard the flame
from foolish youth until we are too old
the crooked timber frames a crooked world
still we would have no other and the best
is what we make since there is none above
to judge or burden so with flag unfurled
we must go forward to confront the test
our only certainty before is love

in the beginning we counted no cost
but went rejoicing into the warm rain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

so many choices into the mix tossed
almost at random it all seemed so plain
in the beginning we counted no cost

as being worth waiting no text was glossed
for hidden messages all was just gain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

a world more troubled a future star-crossed
no brilliant thoughts emerging from each brain
in the beginning we counted no cost

instead we are the ones who now are bossed
ordered about and marked with a sad stain
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

knowing that morning will see the first frost
that signals a new winter with its pain
in the beginning we counted no cost
so now more grimly we face what we've lost

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

where no one sits there’s no reason to wait
yet there are many who with sharp regard
look in the distance with eyes that are hard
to see what they can measure of the gait
or bearing of the folk whose heavy freight
will end like all things in the somber yard
together with the honest and disbarred
and all that we can do is blame dull fate
our vision does not fail yet when we glance
outside the window matters not so bold
will move us not to hope but unto ire
for what we know seems ruled by evil chance
while brilliant sunshine does nothing to cold
since long ago each chose to bank the fire

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

no one who feels the changing seasons' bite
can be assured that growth is purely good
since each tall tree each ancient of the wood
that waits there leafless through the winter night
with chilly taproot is in the same plight
as you might be and has for long withstood
the final pain in ways you wish you could
but it wont matter there'll be a last rite
spring is too short and one day sap won't rise
to renew bud and energise new leaf
but for the moment all we have is time
and universes open to our eyes
the products none of them of our belief
while every limb towards the sun must climb

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

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

no accident of language catches quite
the changing shades of meaning that reflect
not what is said but what we could reject
if well presented to our proper sight
but when we take as given in due right
and not as secrets of some hidden sect
they are the matters we have truly checked
and we are lost deep in the summer night
yet no one wonders at the altered state
nor at the clash of symbols that is seen
by those few waking through the starlit time
eager  to find a different sort of fate
but not to learn just what it ought to mean
nor yet the purpose of the long hard climb

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

we know each mountain has to have a name
to fix in place what's true to foot and eye
allow for thought lest history go by
announcing that our hearts and tongues were lame
and silent that's the nature of this game
we label both the rock and butterfly
put signs in mobile water and still sky
so that the world entire is ours to frame
some other choice we might have to behold
a universe and let it go its way
without harsh imprint of the human touch
still we think ourselves noble brave and bold
eager to go forth and extend our sway
not caring in the  end we do too much

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

no trumpets echo in the deepest night
each is alone and must make their own way
towards the portals that let in new day
lacking the hearty pleasures of insight
and most uncertain still the ******* fright
will not much longer have unfettered sway
within this realm nor will the foolish bray
insisting on what cannot long be right
what we find true belongs to honest chance
the golden bloom that in the dawn we pluck
with loving thoughts arisen in each heart
ready the while to furnish our advance
with certainty that goes beyond plain luck
and all the wisdom that is from our art

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

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

there's reason for our silence at your boast
of honours gained but we would never mock
the complex manner in which you take stock
of those who might give unto you the most
value for effort there's certainly no ghost
of a chance that our sharpest words would  rock
your placid mind nor ever serve to shock
your foolish heart that is why you are toast
our hopes are otherwise for you to learn
new meanings in the light and make it plain
that you have understood the open word
of those who do far more than simply yearn
for what has been who go far past their pain
into the laughing world of the absurd

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

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

so here right now at anchor on dry land
by no storm tossed with shelter from the gale
is no good time to falter nor turn stale
but find some urgent task for working hand
increase the space of mind at my command
the length of time before my thoughts must fail
have hope of better judgment from the scale
and make a thorough honest humane stand
where bound from here by fate or lowly chance
the end's the same but shares of joy and pain
will not be even between now and night
there's one great task to rejoice in the dance
get out and fully measure sun and rain
keep back the dark and glory in the light

when all is measured time begins to grate
upon the senses then we have to start
a different sort of journey where the part
that makes our human feeling more than freight
is what's required to set the message straight
not only in the realms of work and art
but so the honest signal might depart
from deep inside to past the furthest gate
not every cloud is signal of new rain
or so we learn from waiting as each night
the sigh of wind brings us no fresh relief
from all our suffering and the hard pain
nor are the killer birds disturbed in flight
nor yet the door secured against the thief

so now we listen for the coming rain
deceived by breezes knowing the moist air
is filled with promise and that it must bear
more than mere fruitfulness that much is plain
as we await the changes and explain
to eager watchers just how much our care
has been to guard lest each of them despair
and hold inside the messages of pain
this is the boundary beyond which none
but foolish folk will venture without charts
yet we have come here eager to press on
being certain now that this game has been won
by each of us through mastery of arts
that gave us certainty and have not gone

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

no matter what there's no reason to shout
with joy or anger since the rules are neat
and clear not heavy in this summer heat
we have no reason now for fear or doubt
just worry at the thought of coming drought
and utter silence in the noontime street
while on the air so many voices bleat
but none can tell us what it is about
upon the ground a shadow and a sign
of what the times have shown and what they mean
to those who read the signals straight and plain
yet we are waiting since the shades align
to form a boundary just past the seen
where those inside may sigh for coming rain

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

beneath the cloud is clarity of sight
where choices made do not entail regret
but only wistfulness that we have set
our hopes too high as swiftly-coming night
will end the journey still in our despite
there's magic against which we may not bet
so each must laugh while all the foolish fret
for there's still someone who can make all right
not for us here the option to renew
all the old answers that no longer serve
to cover up what must now be made plain
those monstrous forms that we refuse to view
or the old houses just around the curve
where we used to take shelter from the rain

the seeking eye that even seems to speak
of urgent matters at an early time
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

not in the option given to the meek
to keep heads lowered as the sweet bells chime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak

looks through a wall apparently unique
but hidden in its recesses and grime
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

a simple tool not modern nor antique
whose users have come under in their prime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak

and not been frighted they are past critique
able to know just where in the long climb
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

those who are able find they are to peek
in hidden places for the true sublime
the seeking eye that even seems to speak
is the best weapon wielded by the weak

there's no occasion to admit defeat
beneath an empty sky of callous blue
in this proud season when we must renew
so many hopes our senses cannot treat
these many messages of the hard street
as what they are and the time's overdue
for easy answers so the young must rue
what they can't know and old ones lose the beat
we change the era as we change our socks
in solemn mode but yet with little thought
of any deeper meaning in the act
one moment free the next cast on the rocks
with every motion seeming overwrought
our species lost now between truth and fact

when falls the echo on forgotten ground
none of our heroes can come up for air
since there is not one inch's room to spare
for exploration and we must confound
the masters of each noble hill and mound
who watch as we succumb to deep despair
and laugh while those who voice kind words of care
fall silent as our last good hopes are drowned
the long goodnight that none would dare to say
to any who has travelled through that cloud
past all the boundaries of human grime
is spoken now so we might reach a day
when all that's visible all that's allowed
within the reach of normal common time
is but the text of one less moral play

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

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

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

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

a missionary aching to be done
with all the trappings of the muddy past
shed the sad history as a worm its cast
be new and happy in the springtime sun
we know who has this and there is not one
secure or guarded from the sullen blast
of deep-felt hatred striking at the last
signs of old story shouting out they've won
there are some means of easing the old ire
of turning rage back into wholesome ways
of decent living yet we watch each fail
as all our truths are cast into the fire
just so a new world can face different days
and there can be a better kind of tale

golden and warm in the december sun
this fading year will pass and be no more
we pause and take account of all that's done
since normal duty includes keeping score
what we must do is often clear and plain
to be repeated and done once again
our task unfinished this mild winter day
is not the simple message we convey
but something awesome born of nature's grace
seen not on mountain nor in ocean spray
the true redemption of the human race

we think we can escape that we can run
some massive distance from the starting door
and then be free but there's no means to shun
the things we are they're with us to the core
clear in the light and won't wash off in rain
that is the fact of our eternal stain
nor is there any word that we might say
to grant us ease nor even to delay
the fact of judgment the truth we must face
is not one we avoid in any way
the true redemption of the human race

the journey starts with us thinking it fun
but none believe that on the final shore
nor think of it in terms of lost and won
of those we love and those we now abhor
we speak of rivers that have found the main
of means by which we might a truth sustain
and understandings of the honest way
including moments that will never stay
but all that comes is part of the whole case
and from that knowledge no true soul will stray
the true redemption of the human race

prince none will wish our poor hopes to betray
and there's no unjust word that you could say
we have direction and we know our place
participants in nature's grand ballet
the true redemption of the human race

take this and jell it as remembered light

one simple gesture laughing at a joke

in middle afternoon and at one stroke

you've got it down and kept it in plain sight

when all the other moments take their flight

or disappear behind the darkest cloak

of all forgetting where the world is broke

but yet we act to make things come out right

vision is sure and clear when you are young

so slow to fade but still the edges pale

we can't recall the colour of the stone

on the south wall nor where the laundry hung

long years have passed and recollections fail

still there is crystal fire within the bone

name after name recorded on the wall
a sombre history of the long crime
against us all now fading into time
made by those giants who to us seem small
through urgent years when little could appal
our fervent thoughts when worlds were at their prime
(so we believed) yet we feared the dark slime
that seemed to lurk awaiting our long fall
now it’s the turn of those who would proclaim
a better day and shout it very loud
so even the ancestors could rejoice
but we who are uncertain of our flame
no longer urgent and no more as proud
are not so eager to exalt our voice

the voices that are loudest in the dark
need not be those on which we must depend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

for which new voyage when we first embark
there's no clear meaning that we could intend
the voices which are loudest in the dark

are not the ones we first set out to mark
on whose loud booming our thoughts would perpend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

that is the task of scholar priest and clerk
here now to master each unworldly trend
the voices that are loudest in the dark

will not be those who cannot just remark
on ordinary passage they must bend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

allow the motion to ignite a spark
of true humanity before the end
the voices that are loudest in the dark
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

whatever happens there is no regret
for tempests that  have shredded new-leaved trees
awakening the youthful from their ease
into a present that is all upset
where each is cast at once deep into debt
not knowing whom to help nor whom to please
frozen in place by the harsh sky's decrees
and driven only to hard fear and fret
still there are signs that we have not been told
all that we need in order to get by
the simple passage of each normal plight
instead we're warned to be urgent and bold
focus inhuman danger in the eye
but not be lured by any trick of light