a meeting graven deep in the recall
so scents and colours you cannot repress
the place the time all seem to coalesce
the heat was summer but the season fall
and from this distance no detail is small
since paths were crossed and cannot now regress
back out of meaning life itself must bless
what we have been and forbid us to bawl
now roads will take us far but not so far
that voices cannot take us back in time
to where the light first taught us how to touch
our minds to plastic shapes that had no scar
before to hope was made a sort of crime
and any knowledge had become too much

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

there are no answers but the simple fact
that we have asked will make some things more clear
even to those for whom the worlds appear
as cheap illusions or as the abstract
daubings of visions that might not attract
the subtler gaze here in this colder air
what we must ask is that the wise compare
the truths of things and then that they just act
not all who reach this place have learnt to look
at the right angles where they might discern
those matters not for ordinary sight
yet what we find in not so secret book
for those who have the time truly to learn
is that there is each day for all some light

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

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

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

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

the world outside will not let one alone
not for one second to breathe open air
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


speaking his truth in simple honest tone
with words of import durable and fair
the world outside will not let one alone


but like a dog protecting its last bone
will growl and dart at those who only dare
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


with such a message that we have to own
ourselves bemused and forced indeed to care
the world outside will not let one alone


not even emperor asleep on throne
who would methought have time enough to spare
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone


give up the past and head beyond the known
into the heart of humans everywhere
the world outside will not let one alone
just heed the rastaman on rastaphone

this is the place where pigeons play their games
untroubled by the large ungainly folk
who never have been seen to get the joke

birds **** on heroes and on noble dames
that's not a fact that we want to evoke
this is the place where pigeons play their games

here where our leaders make their sordid claims
upon our hearts and liars go for broke
old beggars note again the stinking smoke
this is the place where pigeons play their games

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

you learn the shadows do not hide all lies
nor is the truth what's gleaming in the sun
for far too frequently the tale's not done
when light has faded from all noonday skies
or wisdom woken in the youngest eyes
no not at all yet for each honour won
by those whose struggle is the daily run
through the hot lands there are no final lies
instead we face a constant horrid stream
of angry platitudes regarding fate
and what it means when we give up the fight
for who we are and what we dare to dream
in these dread times there can be no debate
since there's one chance to leap into the light

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

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


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


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

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

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

each journey's not a problem for the road
but recollection tricks us into tears
each sudden image coming unawares
and  then revealing there's a complex code
that we'd forgotten then time overflowed
into each heart and took away our fears
washed out the sad crustation of the years
displaying all the good that was bestowed
in this refraction what we see is clear
to older heads unbowed by weight of age
whose eyes preserve a proper youthful sight
with memory of that softer mountain air
of solemn words declared on rustic stage
before a passage into tropic light

we can't escape the honest final fact
of what we are but knowledge of the when
evades our thought for women and for men
the whole affair requires a lot of tact
while ancient legions trooper and cataphract
do battle to control both hill and fen
while we are in the grip of thought again
having no choice but fearing still to act
all voyages must come at last to port
or end at the sea-bottom ever lost
those are the options and we cannot choose
the fate that we are given time is short
as we find out we have to pay the cost
of all delaying and we always lose

your choices come down fast to none at all
an echo of the truth is no reward
since none will hear you if you have to call

out through the darkness that shall swiftly fall
when hope and vengeance reach their first accord
your choices come down fast to none at all

a world once large has rapidly grown small
and all good options have gone by the board
since none will hear you if you have to call

so half the planet listens to this brawl
while all the others look away quite bored
your choices come down fast to none at all

you've lost the plot been cast beyond the wall
finding out now just what you had deplored
since none will hear you if you have to call

in utter silence you confront the squall
with all the energy you can afford
your choices come down fast to none at all
since none will hear you if you have to call

we make the nation out of heart and mind
but give allegiance only when we're paid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

for all that we have been to truth inclined
its consequences make us all afraid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

yet cannot doubt that we’ve still been consigned
to the old trap we're in the same old trade
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

and thus we know already what we'll find
once we unravel all the plots we'd laid
we make the nation out of heart and mind

expecting history will be more kind
granting some measure of good ease and aid
which means this kingdom's truly of the blind

since no such hope has ever been designed
instead we'll have to do with what we've made
we make the nation out of heart and mind
which means this kingdom's truly  of the blind

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

what we have managed is to slowly fail

out of the passion where we did not mark

each fallen moment nor discern the stark

announcement of the coming winter gale

and so were lost now this message is stale

lacking all force and having no more spark

than a dead candle yet we must embark

on one more journey out beyond the pale

to where the signal has not ever gone

that says just what we are or who we were

and thus sets limits on what we might do

that way we're told the battle might be won

or ought to be if only we would dare

step out and act as if the world were new

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

when eyes look up there is no blue to spy
but clouds of blemished dark and ***** grey
no sign of laughing sun of yesterday
the joyful world of summer seems a lie
told by sad fools each eager to deny
the horrid truth that beauties never stay
while we're the victims in this tragic play
who quail and shiver under lowering sky
still there's an answer as the night returns
and deeper darkness holds us closer in
we're not yet trapped by walls nor iron bars
the cold is met by all the force that burns
from hopeful hearts that still ache to begin
and wisdom that will reach up to the stars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

if knowledge is the end that each must seek
through all the tangled forest of the text
it is no wonder that we are so vexed
on the occasion of a sharp critique
delivered in plain words only the meek
affect to listen though they are perplexed
since they have no real sense of what comes next
and no desire to let their hurt minds speak
while up above the hunter is alert
to every nuance of the changing breeze
eager to know what comes in scent or sight
since that one thing may help or may yet hurt
but either way must fall before it flees
and be dragged out into the open light

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

we take the signs of spring and call them grand
each knows they'll weep some day to see them pass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

words tell us little but they have to stand
for all our knowledge of the wind on grass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

since each bright sigil comes at sun's command
and all together form a joyous mass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

reflection of the heart sprung from the land
for one short season then they're gone alas
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

inadequate the words so brief and bland
lacking in strength and grace like so much gas
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

need so much more for sentiments they fanned
their colours cannot stay within the glass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

where no salvation comes from a dead lord
we're cast adrift and there's no guiding star
no symbol serves to act as luminar
and we have taken a strange one aboard
as sign and seal in these realms unexplored
of all our dangers yet we're not so far
beyond the norms of everyday devoir
but have paid more than mortals can afford
we asked for honesty and got hard stone
straight in the face nothing could be so plain
but to push onward is the single choice
that folk of honour have bred in the bone
regardless of the threat of lash and chain
or whether the old villains will rejoice

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

yesterday's snow is ***** now and dark
we look for ice and worry about shade
as the sun rises and the long parade
of normal time resumes along the stark
roads and each newly-woken seems to mark
a world made gritty when light must abrade
both faith and fear the horror we have made
there's nothing but the chance of a new spark
from a great distance in another zone
there's news more bitter than the fleeting cold
and nothing that can make it feel more light
since each plain word will cut right to the bone
yet do no more than let us know what's told
which is that all will come to end in night

so now we measure trust by line of sight
as all depart in wonder at the rain
not knowing what the new day might contain
but happy that they've made it past the night
just one more time in this uncertain light
no one is guaranteed surcease of pain
but all are pleased and they will not complain
out of sheer gladness at escape from blight
we are not clear just what is the true rule
with which to govern those who always tell
the human story from the underside
since they have learnt it in a horrid school
where life comes down to touch and taste and smell
and there's no room for any thought of pride

there are some gains from adding years to life
then there are losses from the very start
that cannot be avoided by the art
or skill that teaches ease of horrid strife
although the world with pain and death is rife
we don't just throw the bodies on the cart
and pass on by each of us has some heart
yet still we know we must go under knife
no magic keeps us hidden from the fact
that life's a process with an ending point
and not some bird forever on the wing
this play must reach at last the closing act
the times must be put into proper joint
and winter come long after the bright spring

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

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock
the furthest outlier of a merry isle
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

your modesty inclines you to take stock
in all those things that we would not revile
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

impervious to any mortal shock
we hope to land and stay for quite a while
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

our ship is not for any normal dock
we've gone way past the ordinary style
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

rejects enclosure will break every lock
and has more power still than any bile
where there's no foe except the hateful clock

though you despise and though you still may mock
our sacred purpose you cannot defile
love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock
where there's no foe except the hateful clock