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

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

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

no need for echoes where the silence heaps
up in dark corners waiting for new night
to lower herself and let the breathy might
that we call summer with its sudden leaps
of devastating beauty stay our sleeps
from each astonishment that seems so right
just when it happens then we turn that slight
degree of justice into one that weeps
we are not wrong to ask just what the time
must measure out for each unwanted child
who comes upon the wall and does pause
to beg for mercy nor to ring the chime
of those who think the tenor is too mild
but will uphold the harshest of our laws

who knows the journeys taken by the just
over the saddened earth to find true light
and not be blinded by the sudden sight
of the fair city rising from the dust
when once is passed the desert of distrust
and all have gone through the last sleepless night
cold lacking comfort knowing that the right
answer was coming that is human trust
each is ambassador to the new realm
where equal rulers crudely give reply
to those who cannot truly understand
the forces that will subtly overwhelm
the ragged armies of the ancient lie
and so bring justice to the angry land

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

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

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

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

all that we know has been subject to loss
of definition and of common sense
so we make of the remnant a pretense
and aim to sneak our last hard words across
the barrier between plain truth and dross
but find that we are caught up on that fence
lacking a guide and with no good defense
our coins have come up wrong side on the toss
no messengers will reach the happy place
where children think that justice is at home
to  give report now that is no regret
for those who stand to win or lose in grace
or find what's hidden underneath the foam
the seat is ready and the board is set

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

all that we know is measured in degrees
of silence or of truth that we declare
not loudly but most firmly into air
that has been purified by these dark trees
standing impassive in the midday breeze
while we afflicted by most reasoned fear
are not so hopeful that we’ll choose to dare
go through the woods to face the heat or freeze
no options are so good are purest chance
but all our wishes end up just as vain
as when we started so we must endure
let other figures enter in the dance
hope for the sun but buck up under rain
and face each ill uncertain of the cure

we sit here caught twixt history and text
interpreters of one more well-told tale
another weight that's added to the scale
of knowledge what wisdom comes unvexed
by normal suffering in the context
of work and study long before we ail
or fade into the dark with one last wail
that's the hard question leaving us perplexed
the act political we cannot doubt
must be for us the central urgent norm
for making easier the chance that curled
within the force that bids each one to shout
the truth and nature of the rising form
is the bright hope of an emergent world

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

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
throughout each life is given extra sheen
by honest labour it will never burn

the deeper vision that permits a turn
towards an understanding of the seen
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

both in and out of school is the concern
for honest dealing which becomes so keen
by honest labour it will never burn

our hands but lead us rather to discern
the better way by which to intervene
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

reminds us of the need for what we earn
not just for us but those in the machine
by honest labour it will never burn

the ones who cry and those who only yearn
for what is not and what has never been
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
by honest labour it will never burn

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

forbear to throw more weight upon the ***
since longer journey we must soon begin
the copper coin that the lone guide shall spin
no better guide through the hardest impasse
since at the end there may be but rough grass
and all our commons could turn out most thin
still none of that our better hope's to win
leaving our enemies in the morass
the hardest victory is still the first
when no experience is on our side
but suffering so all we know is pain
so we must say this has to be the worst
in largest part just to protect our pride
but also to account for your huge gain

now say good riddance to the year gone by
at one more fading of the foolish light
with full rejoicing that you did not die

tomorrow sun will rise on the same sky
and yours will be the task to get things right
now say good riddance to the year gone by

do not dwell long on how it seemed to fly
right past your thought and your diminished might
with full rejoicing that you did not die

get on your feet and led the hard words lie
just keep in mind that things could be less bright
now say good riddance to the year gone by

and get on with the stuff you can't deny
the tasks the pile up and the work not slight
with full rejoicing that you did not die

in dreamless sleep where all thought had run dry
you live for now don't rush the longest night
now say good riddance to the year gone by
with full rejoicing that you did not die

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane
for bitter striving on the mountainside
don't count hard labour now as any pain

since now there is good reason to hold strain
while men on horseback dare not shout nor chide
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

whose feet are moving uphill from the plain
towards the places where they used to hide
don't count hard labour now as any pain

when it's all yours when none of it's in vain
as hopes are reached and none of them denied
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

have seas to cross and great dreams to attain
their inner voices have made them decide
don't count hard labour now as any pain

they will not fall back to ******* again
but face the world with proper joy and pride
free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane
don't count hard labour now as any pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the turning circle of the years

is so set up that we must fail

must fall into the grinding gears



give up and go with one last wail

lift up our eyes and see our friends

heads bent with tears and then set sail



there's no great purpose that commends

itself to us no message sent

in the pale wintry light that bends



upon our heads and won't relent

lying on the floor in solemn bars

where the sole word is discontent



at night the clouds will hide bright stars

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

there's no sense in the judgment that we make
concerning all the tricks of the old trade
nor in belief that turns out to be fake
in all those things that are fated to fade
the world is as it is and what must come
is less not more than what we'd thought the sum
of what we earn in simple steady pay
but given to us with little delay
we're far too eager and give in to haste
the infant mind attains its highest sway
so what is human ends up most abased

our duty never got an honest shake
but found its honour hidden in the shade
while we were learning good things by mistake
and wondering why none came by to aid
for our relief we did not earn a crumb
while happy others made off with the plum
meanwhile the foolish urged us just to pray
as if that answer were more than cliché
while our best efforts had to be replaced
and matters finished in another way
so what is human ends up most abased

the truth is clear we could not get a break
from anybody here the whole charade
was guaranteed  to maximise their take
and in the process our spirits abrade
dumping us all down in the meanest slum
because we were so obviously dumb
we were served up upon a silver tray
trapped and devoured to our immense dismay
our skills dismissed and all of us disgraced
moulded and shaped just like the softest clay
so what is human ends up most abased

prince you observe as we suffer this day
ordering whips our tender backs to flay
you think this moment easily erased
yours is the power and the word today
so what is human ends up most abased

day follows day in precise normal mode

all of our arrows remain in quiver

nothing it seems can act as force or goad

the journey's not made in ancient flivver

all is dependent on silent giver

to take us past what might have never been

the gallows raised upon the village green

such matters take a single simple course

and end in places that are now unseen

the sage must value man and never horse



this is the start of a long tiring road

ending at mouth of a large slow river

a standard gift or horrid curse bestowed

as blessing or as truly painful shiver

not something that we could deliver

this matters we find not a single bean

so much we say we cannot ever mean

the word in each mouth turns so swiftly coarse

the voyage never becomes transmarine

the sage must value man and never horse



our hope is never wholly safely stowed

dependent as it is on heart and liver

a sort of signal in a secret code

of which we can know only a sliver

enough at least to tell the forgiver

how to begin to set the final scene

and to command as if a king or queen

speaking in honour and without remorse

a gathering that we could all convene

the sage must value man and never horse



prince we escape and know that we are clean

of human wisdom all that we could glean

to the full limits of our petty force

do not attempt to fight or intervene

the sage must value man and never horse

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

long toil will end when good folk all agree
on what is just and how the work divides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so many years that each lack harmony
we seemed only to wait for changing tides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on how we fare and how we stand to see
the ones who move or that which still abides
and on this morning we all wake up free

the music plays with skill and constancy
while one who would have punished simply hides
long toil will end when good folk all agree

on codes of honour sitting by the sea
watch as the last bad soldier changes sides
and on this morning we all wake up free

so now we gather under an old tree
to give our promises and choose our guides
long toil will end when good folk all agree
and on this morning we all wake up free

some answers teach us that we have to ask
in simple words but make the complex set
of terminologies our broadest net
the tool that's aptest for this ample task
of abyssal exploring those who bask
on  the warm hills they who will never get
how hard the job is whose feet are not wet
they'll not discern the world behind the mask
but on some morning when the mists depart
those who go furthest out may well discern
in the sharp moment of deepest desire
the one thing missing to complete each heart
at the right moment when the waters burn
with the clear light of universal fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

deep in the forest withies climb each tree
birds cry our presence we are monsters here
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

in each small clearing there's not much to see
the light of morning seems harsh and austere
deep in the forest withies climb each tree

wild pines in the high branches in the lee
of the bright breezes which bring so much cheer
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

much further in avoiding the decree
of the hard fate that they all seem to fear
deep in the forest withies climb each tree

commensal vision where we might agree
on how life comes both to survive and share
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

while we explain how these things come to be
in dappled light within this pleasant air
deep in the forest withies climb each tree
beneath our feet the little creatures flee

we lack the honest mastery of time
though calendars and tables give the shape
of power to our lives and let us ape
the feeling of authority sublime
against the forces pushing from the slime
that are true horror still there's no escape
all in the end will stand with mouth agape
and weep and then fall back from the long climb
children look up and ask for a great dad
to hold their hands and pat them on the cheeks
while looking down from his house in the sky
the adult now can't help but feel quite sad
recalling that poor child with its soiled breeks
when first it learnt the whole tale was a lie

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