fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 too many answers come down to the same

non-explanation of the simple fact

we are the ones who always bear the blame

 

for all the anger we have one hard name

clear and precise both noble and exact

too many answers come down to the same

 

wave of exhaustion so that we must claim

not what we earned but all the goods we lacked

we are the ones who always bear the blame

 

for what was lost and for the constant shame

that was included in the lost compact

too many answers come down to the same

 

inauguration of the truth of fame

which we can neither add to nor detract

we are the ones who always bear the the blame

 

for those who come when we call the right name

but have no thought of what it means to act

too many answers come down to the same

we are the ones who always bear the blame

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
  

to speak of valour is no great mistake

when each of us confronts the howling gale

those who are ready when the sandbags fail

know what is meant when city turns to lake

each of them is that moment wide awake

while in their corners all the cowards quail

left with no benefit save their own stale      

as even stoutest bodies bend and shake

words that are spoken in the autumn sun

lose all their purchase during winter's turn

but are the currency of many schools

repenting of their choices no one's done

before they see their youthful wishes burn

and know themselves for ordinary fools

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 our meanings come from choices handed down

by those who built the towers and raised the sky

the folk who farmed the fields and filled the town

who'd made the horrid trip and did not die

their long hope was back to lost home to fly

but all the horrors made their footsteps slow

while home was lost in the far eastern glow

they had their duties and their constant care

and all the many pains we cannot know

all changed with dessalines at vertières

 

so much depends upon a simple frown

a gesture or a winking of the eye

to  make disaster or to grant renown

turn all our wishes into one great lie

or  send us each to the last great good-bye

by means of one most massive mortal blow

that bursts the normal cheery human flow

and sends us hurtling to the upper air

until that moment all had seemed too slow

all changed with dessalines at vertières

 

the human is a move from verb to noun

a chance to prove that we can best rely

upon the one who could not play the clown

but was the stalwart soul who did not cry

under the lash but rather chose to fly

with the fresh dawn and the new morning glow

the day of history when all would know

just what we were and how much we would dare

to do when we came up from down below

all changed with dessalines at vertières

 

prince you have heard your men were far too slow

to face our wrath and take the angry blow

that meant our freedom in the open air

do not be angry for you could not know

the outcome would be more than a tableau

all changed with dessalines at vertières

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

no evidence the world is bent in shape

a bluish globe with wooly white of cloud

the mountains form a contrast sharp and proud

against the sea we note the golden cape

while in the sky dark birds seem to escape

the planetary force while winds are loud

above the foam and yet we are uncowed

though eyes are open and all mouths agape

there is a reason we have reached this place

and taken stock at the appropriate time

for our authority to be compelled

into new channels and a different space

with better thought and clearer paradigm

now that the party’s over and trial’s held

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

no matter what we say we do not feel

the pain of others right inside each heart

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

 

for one more challenge for the last appeal

which was presaged right at the very start

no matter what we say we do not feel

 

our hopes and urges have been brought to heel

and the last hero laid upon a cart

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

 

to see the message and to take our meal

in comfort all who come here will depart

no matter what we say we do not feel

 

we will start forward and then we will reel

back down in sign that we have lacked the art

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

 

for what is good the last hard spring of steel

yet still the while some fool will strain to fart

no matter what we say we do not feel

instead we wait the turning of the wheel

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 where no man argues and no woman fights

for good or evil we have reached an end

of human battles and the stars portend

no better indications as the nights

close in we note their distant blinking lights

as symbols we might faintly comprehend

when we are whole but what the worlds intend

is not a matter that we have to rights

the argument of workers in the day

or farmers when the wind upsets the trees

is much the same as when we all were young

to bring about the work without delay

ignore the rain and not yield to the breeze

since a strong back outdoes a silver tongue

human wit

Oct. 31st, 2014 11:40 am
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

we hit the wall and then the world goes down

into the dark and nothing good returns

for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

 

as winter comes like satan into town

all minds are numb just as the river churns

we hit the wall and then the world goes down

 

a sad destruction but no one will frown

believing that we get what the thief earns

for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

 

now skies are darker than a priestly gown

for what one makes the other overturns

we hit the wall and then the world goes down

 

so no one stands for hope or for renown

but gets instead just what the jackass earns

for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

 

this is the truth where hero becomes clown

you have to flee before the city burns

we hit the wall and then the world goes down

for all we’ve done what once was gold is brown

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 here on the boundary of truth and lie

where ordinary magics have their rule

underneath heaven permanently cool

no one escapes nor is allowed to cry

against the judgment of the steely sky

since every human is at last a fool

while failure is the final mark at school

the arrow that will find each weeping eye

all that we know amounts to waste of air

on these strange days when we desire to feel

the urgent courage of our better days

but what we get is new return of care

another revolution of the wheel

and nothing better coming through the haze

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

the world defies our choices and our rage

in the republic of the wholly damned

 

we spoke and then our thoughts were truly slammed

by those who said that with keen words on page

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

 

the metre's right and the line's not enjambed

yet all we get is a poor poet's wage

in the republic of the wholly damned

 

since for the moment the signal's not jammed

so that the the enemy cannot engage

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

 

until they burst and our dead corpses rammed

into the the dullest moments of the age

in the republic of the wholly dammed

 

by those who thought that the most decent shammed

their honest words and strutted on a stage

our hearts with humour and with pain are crammed

in the republic of the wholly dammed

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 we fall so far that the first sign of light

awakens us to shaking and to pain

not ready but we face it all again

there was no comfort in the arms of night

we got it wrong so gelid is our plight

yet these are things that no one need explain

each is quite normal not a one's arcane

for suffering's a universal rite

what each must do is take up the hard load

of human courage as if it were new

and clasp it tightly without much regret

accept that this is one rough stony road

that comes with  sorrow and no good long view

and all is paid with labour and cold sweat

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

their echo forms our terrible surround

for this whole century the world’s a tomb

 

it isn’t that we just ran out of room

for good intentions our shots will redound

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

 

from shore to shore and the explosives’ bloom

accompanied by their pervading sound

for this whole century the world’s a tomb

 

though skies are sunny we are cast in gloom

parents and children thrown into the mound

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

 

perhaps in time some scholar will exhume

the reason why we all now lie in ground

for this whole century the world’s a tomb

 

 and every hope has fallen down to doom

while goodness trust and honesty are bound

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

for this whole century the world’s a tomb

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

a century ago the world began

in blood and pain the auguries were wild

so many things have changed in a short span

 

my father’s world the currents overran

there was no time for words or thoughts too mild

a century ago the world began

 

we have to choose which of the screens to scan

it is too easy to become beguiled

so many things have changed in a short span

 

and we are all entranced woman and man

by all the facts that overcome the child

a century ago the world began

 

two shots and then the faeces struck the fan

for all mankind none would be reconciled

so many things have changed in a short span

 

the light itself has been placed under ban

and all that once was purest been defiled

a century ago the world began

so many things have  changed in a short span

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
to those who wait there is no better name
in the wide oceans for the coming wild
giving us hope when all we had was shame

our fathers left us heritage of blame
although their rule was temperate and mild
to those who wait there is no better name

except perhaps the trumpet cry of fame
though that by wise folk is sometimes reviled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

the thought of danger puts us in the frame
yet for our good we left the hearth exiled
to those who wait there is no better name 

for hero but we find the story lame
and punish those we thought might just have smiled
giving us hope when all we had was shame

since now we learn the whole thing is a game
and the best player no more than a child
to those who wait there is no better name
giving us hope when all we had was shame
 
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 some mention made then must the silence fall

upon the envies that have held us late

within the barrier lacking all freight

of decency or commerce but the tall

protectors of our honour lightly call

on such devotion as the wise relate

in their long histories and we do not state

a better truth the pain belongs to all

so what is earned after the sacrifice

no one regards as worthy of our toil

since it has fallen from no awesome height

but rather we are told that the full price

is not a matter for complaint or broil

but can be settled in a day and night

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 what meanings truth and justice had

we've understood and will not pass

that bill was paid at stalingrad

 

(not the first time) and we are glad

to see reflected in the glass

what meanings truth and justice had

 

in eyes that are forever sad

seeing the bones beneath the grass

that bill was paid at stalingrad

 

for generations good and bad

by that immense levée-en-masse

(what meanings truth and justice had)

 

so demos spoke and thus forbade

the foolish claims of herrenrass

that bill was paid at stalingrad

 

so many folk might think us mad

to speak of mankind as one class

what meanings truth and justice had

that bill was paid at stalingrad

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