fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

we navigate by methods good and fair

our science has been tested and found true

for many seasons the hard-working crew

have full and thorough trust in our good care

so do not worry at the changing air

in certainty that we have paid our due

before the mast the storms we have been through

are the best measure of how much we dare

yet each adventure has its own sweet trap

since we dare not refuse to face the test

so must discover just how little sure

we really are of what is on the map

and what we know but must face all with zest

for all that matters is that we endure

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

go through the shallows then out past the wreck

until you reach the point where water burns

you’ll know it clearly by the sharp returns

then note the ship the one with golden deck

and figurehead of angel with wry neck

you’d sign up on her as one does who yearns

for urgent journeys yet as each child learns

there are no funds left to support the cheque

still without vision no one would begin

a single enterprise and we’d remain

stuck in the mud unable to set sail

instead we face each whimsy with a grin

allow the facts of chance to come out plain

and turn our faces right into the gale

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

in dead of winter but it marks the spring

the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

 

what we discover when we fall among

the hordes who struggle to avoid the sting

(no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

 

but has a sense that they are drawn along

into the silence) is the sharp high ring

the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

 

enough to to let  us know that we belong

in this strange place where all our hopes may cling

no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

 

and yet when choruses turn to a throng

we want so urgently our hearts to fling

the creature's small  and yet its voice is strong

 

enough for us to know it is not wrong

to feel its force and want ourselves to sing

no one recalls the red bird's haunting song

the creature's small and yet its voice is strong

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 when we are lost in rapture at the sight

of the spring flowers at last fully blown

we are then healed down to the very bone

of the last vestiges of winter's blight

so too when we have passed beyond the night

into another domain of the known

where once again we cease to be alone

we can be certain that the world is right

the simple magics are the ones most true

not to feel terror at the change of time

yet to be awed that life returns again

in all those places that the sun makes new

so we rejoice in the slow upward climb

and let our bodies cast away their pain

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 where all the edges reach into the heart

are no clear corners nor a single sign

that time is changing the dividing line

is never crossed yet all are kept apart

by the hard means of some still arcane art

which the most foolish will insist divine

or claim as kindly warm tender benign

although they bleed from entry of the dart

we're far into the strange realm of the blind

where all the rules evil and perverse

and every bullet seems to find its mark

dead centre but the lying human mind

insists reality can't be adverse

that all is light down here deep in the dark

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

in all our doings there’s a rule we make

about the bounds beyond which we won’t go

those limits of the matters we may know

or of the facts in which we may partake

like the good flints that sharpen when they flake

or that swift stream with hidden deeper flow

beneath the mountain with the secret glow

all of the places that we can’t forsake

within each heart are truths that none may speak

yet in our song they’re vibrant in their call

to warm the spirit and release the mind

allowing us the harmony to seek

beyond the power of the strong and tall

right into where the force of love must bind

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 all of our answers turn out to be true

though journeys start and end in pouring rain

there comes a time to pause and take the view

 

our knowledge is constrained by what is new

not by the old nor yet by thoughts of gain

all of our answers turn out to be true

 

since what we've done must constitute a coup

in favour of the honest and the plain

there comes a time to pause and take the view

 

of all the folk whose minds may yet construe

the simple vision that when we entrain

all of our answers turn out to be true

 

both to our hearts and to those who are due

the seats of honour and the high domain

there comes a time to pause and take the view

 

when all is clear and the noon sky full blue

we are redeemed by virtue of our pain

all of our answers turn out to be true

there comes a time to pause and take the view

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 in what new name are honours to be read

by those who fall along the weary road

bearing the last and most unwanted load

of fear and horror no unblemished head

do we acknowledge all our limbs have bled

leaking the symbols of a hated code

while it was plain that nothing could corrode

either the cover or the weight of dread

but there's a message in the signal flame

as we who watch may come to understand

far past all bearing yet within our care

are those who know the truth is not a game

that all good matter comes within a hand

but must go free to rise up in the air
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 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
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

burning a message across the dull sky

telling us all that fate may be a liar

 

although we are the ones who still aspire

to honour in a world where all seems dry

here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

 

a vision that combines beauty and ire

reminder that some final truth is nigh

telling us all that fate may be a liar

 

that in the end both pain and joy are higher

than we expect or might ask to supply

here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

 

a mark of fear but still it is not dire

there's more above than we know to espy

telling us all that fate may be a liar

 

that is the burden of the early crier

who warns that those who care will come to die

here is a dragon that breathes golden fire

telling us all that fate may be a liar

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 if there are ways to measure all the tale

in years of story how the shapes are made

without an edge of humour being frayed

by passing breeze or rough attacking gale

you'd say that we must in this wise assail

the aged creators of the human braid

for all the crimes of their despairing trade

before we mark their effort with a fail

no truths have been discovered by our kind

without an effort to disturb the soil

uproot the weeds and plant a better seed

so that the newer products of keen mind

emergent in the end from bitter toil

can match the urge exactly to the deed
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

emerging from the freighted dark no thought

but that the sky be clear and hands be filled

with all the needful that your warm hearts willed

when in good daylight the first words were caught

by eager listeners who had been taught

that not all prizes went to those best drilled

in the arcana of the freshly-killed

rather to ones who would account for naught

there is a victory that no one regrets

up in the hills when all the gifts are due

then hunters call and do not comprehend

the plainer meanings and the open sets

though when we have been silenced and review

our final forces we find there’s no end

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

at the commencement all the world was dared

for a small prize a kiss  and then a hope

so that the magic feeling would be shared

 

not by the ones whose  urgency was feared

as they came running down the morning slope

at the commencement all the world was dared

 

just so they could with justice be prepared

for honourable parting we elope

so that the magic feeling would be shared

 

in proper form and time by those who cared

more deeply and were happy they could cope

at the commencement all the world was dared

 

yet we survive while all the children stared

as new dawn seemed to offer yet more scope

so that the magic feeling would be shared

 

by all the folk who knew they had been spared

to hold with strength what they could barely grope

at the commencement all the world was dared

so that the magic feeling would be shared

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

what’s left unknown weighs down  until we bleat

in rage and fear then leave off being bold

for better nights and stories wiser told

as those with longer practice wait the fleet

leaving the late ones to patrol the street

in angry silence so while it is cold

as the dew rises and the night turns old

the urgent and the foolish still may meet

this is the game of rats that always prey

upon the leavings that once made for joy

cast away now beneath the starless sky

as every denizen flees from the day

in certainty that even truth’s a toy

and honour turns out just another lie

fever

Feb. 25th, 2014 02:52 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 running into darkness and the grey wall

in the strange quicksand which is some dark trap

you have no choice you must cry out and fall

 

yet this is not the time for you to bawl

at life's injustice and go off the map

running into darkness and the grey wall

 

with none to hear as the hard sun stands tall

you have the strength to go another lap

you have no choice you must cry out and fall

 

but will get up though none may hear your call

since there is still a way out of the crap

running into darkness and the grey wall

 

even though light itself may seem to maul

your heart and no one ever gives a rap

you have no choice you must cry out and fall

 

struggle again to show you have the gall

to face down all the ravages of hap

running into darkness and the grey wall

you have no choice  you must cry out and fall

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 yesterday's snow is dirty 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

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