fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

you haven't got the sense to make things short

when length must matter brevity's the key

to bridge the immense gap from is to ought

which many of us do not want to see

since clarity of vision makes us flee

straight to the place where no one wants to hide

afraid of all the facts that cannot be

but truth and passion have to coincide

 

your choices do not lead us to support

the cause that we learnt at our parents' knee

when we were told that it was dearly bought

and at that time all things seemed to agree

with what we wanted and no absentee

masters abroad were eager to deride

nor wail and whimper like a mad banshee

but truth and passion have to coincide

 

you think the vessel won't get into port

since nothing you commanded came to be

while those you ordered have to face a court

and some of then will hang from gallows-tree

or lie beneath a dark and angry sea

as fate and anguish either may decide

since neither time nor  force will hear your plea

but truth and passion have to coincide

 

prince you have given cause to disagree

with all your actions but you've shown esprit

the problem is you've chosen the wrong side

the time has come to fight or else to flee

but truth and passion have to coincide

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

out of the light some errant hope may creep

to stay harsh fears and keep in stern control

those bitter terrors which reign over sleep

since we are many miles short of our goal

nor can a single one afford the toll

for all our efforts we have come up short

one of our heads might yet adorn a pole

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

our sense of history does not go deep

nor yet much further than the old school roll

for we want all our stories on the cheap

and honour is not something we extol

we want the stallion but not the foal

and find it is so easy to distort

the symbols that are written on the scroll

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

in coming dark we will react like sheep

whose bleating the kind butcher must console

before he throws each body on the heap

or drinks another beer from his large bowl

the watcher might just find the whole thing droll

or take the scheduled slaughter for good sport

did he not see the shepherd on patrol

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

prince you believe your subject has no soul

and can say nothing here of great import

but without him you cannot soon be whole

there is no justice in our rulers' court

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

out of the light some errant hope may creep

to stay harsh fears and keep in stern control

those bitter terrors which reign over sleep

since we are many miles short of our goal

nor can a single one afford the toll

for all our efforts we have come up short

one of our heads might yet adorn a pole

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

our sense of history does not go deep

nor yet much further than the old school roll

for we want all our stories on the cheap

and honour is not something we extol

we want the stallion but not the foal

and find it is so easy to distort

the symbols that are written on the scroll

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

in coming dark we will react like sheep

whose bleating the kind butcher must console

before he throws each body on the heap

or drinks another beer from his large bowl

the watcher might just find the whole thing droll

or take the scheduled slaughter for good sport

did he not see the shepherd on patrol

there is no justice in our rulers' court

 

prince you believe your subject has no soul

and can say nothing here of great import

but without him you cannot soon be whole

there is no justice in our rulers' court

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 your duty is to serve without a pause

those who are worse than you and who must hurt

your heart and soul and give you justest cause

to overturn them and cast into dirt

all of their forces you must disconcert

those who expect that you are just a pawn

who do not think that you get your desert

night lasts its time but the earth turns to dawn

 

the ones who always get loudest applause

are those who in their way have to assert

entitlement both to tears and guffaws

it takes you little effort to exert

your claim to justice that is not covert

against a force that is not soon withdrawn

it is no easy matter to assert

night lasts its time but the earth turns to dawn

 

we find it written in a complex clause

that scholars have no reason to pervert

reason is subject to no human laws

we must to basic principles revert

and from its course the evil power divert

by dint of honesty as well as brawn

until the force of terror lies inert

night lasts its time but the earth turns to dawn

 

prince we are flattered you have not been curt

and have not chosen our hopes to subvert

these are the times when hopes are not yet gone

we might with many choices have to flirt

night lasts its time but the earth turns to dawn

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 so much is owed to those who cannot speak

for all their silences and we who jest

at wounding others are the truly weak

too much to do as we go up the creek

computing meanings on our steady way

not knowing what it is we really seek

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

significance has now become antique

opinion is not subject here to test

and any question is dismissed as cheek

every approach can only be oblique

expressed as falsehood or as plain cliché

wondering now if any pain's unique

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

desire cannot lift us above the reek

of those who suffer nor lead us to rest

while bodies remain hale and bones don't creak

we are not yet exposed nor pierced by beak

nor yet the victims of unholy play

we're heading down the last losing streak

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

 

prince this is not the time for you to freak

at the great weakness of our mortal clay

we're fearful of the end of your critique

yet hoping all the time we will reach day

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 this is the master key to the great gate
we hold it close and know it keeps desire
as far from us as we would modulate
our patient thoughts so much is on the wire
that we would not expect you to enquire
about such matters we must deem absurd
you would take after your departed sire
we are the keepers of the truest word

we will erase and then rewrite the slate
as long as you sing gravely in the choir
in tones that cheer and do not sneer or grate
you'll find that we are conqueror and buyer
and that our hand is over you entire
all that you have we have indeed conferred
your very heart we know is out for hire
we are the keepers of the truest word

we are the masters of what you call fate
and will place you into the line of fire
for our good reasons and not out of hate
since all you have we easily acquire
we see you as just one suit of attire
or just another member of the herd
who cares how well you play upon the lyre
we are the keepers of the truest word

prince on such matters you are no denier
but keep your eye upon the noble bird
do not with any fools seek to conspire
we are the keepers of the truest word

 
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
we give applause at first by mere reflex
but laughter comes from something truly deep
to think about this long would not perplex
the ones who come to this from little sleep
for there are things here that will not long keep
we know of this because of long complaint
out of the heart both gods and monsters creep
joy is the best part of the human taint

we are in this thing right up to our necks
and should be grateful that the hill's not steep
the better kind could be of either sex
we treat our equals as if they're a heap
and not plain people we cannot just sweep
all they're concerns aside without restraint
and not expect even a single peep
joy is the best part of the human taint

you may just think that your act is complex
and soon enough your profit hope to reap
and all your benefits to you annex
the overall result may seem quite cheap
above our heads you quite expect to leap
while keeping the appearance of a saint
no hostile thoughts into our minds should seep
joy is the best part of the human taint

prince you may find that you have cause to weep
as in the end your prospects turn out faint
we are not as you thought just humble sheep
joy is the best part of the human taint

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
the ship we sail on lacks engine and mast
it moves on tides that have no human name
on an eternal ocean each is cast
with hardly knowledge of their sire or dame
but certain plain reality's a game
there's only so far anyone could ride
this monster that no normal hand could tame
still each of us must wait for the next tide

on land or sea we fear the sudden blast
that shakes our feelings from their normal frame
knowing that the next blow could be the last
things never change but they are not the same
as when our forebears fought and overcame
for slowly into history they slide
and no one wants to bear the heavy blame
still each of us must wait for the next tide

the journey's made soon be it slow or fast
though each is different each has but one aim
the future far too quickly becomes past
and each their sad preceders will defame
not caring once just what the earnest claim
had been nor why it was so swift denied
not one of us would think our reasons lame
still each of us must wait for the next tide

prince as the keeper of the brightest flame
you know the things that we still want to hide
and all the penalties of sudden fame
still each of us must wait for the next tide

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
we leave so many matters of true art
to folk whose souls have never taken wing
or think that they're fit subjects of the mart
we want to think that we hear the sharp ring
of honest gold the clear and decent ching
of metal as we strike down from above
the message we all know is not the thing
but the securest bond is human love

we cannot go back now and just restart
 with the initial energy and zing
since time and age will urge us to depart
but we desire to see another spring
for summer's light upon the purple ling
to cast away from us the cumbering glove
hope's in the child we push upon the swing
but the securest bond is human love

we can't forget that each must play a part
one plays the fool while you just play the king
the final word is kept safe in the heart
we listen while another plucks the string
upon the winter winds our blessings fling
and give the happy child another shove
joy gives each note an extra sweeter ping
but the securest bond is human love

prince what you want is what the people bring
while over each head floats the morning dove
each knows the happy moment when we sing
but the securest bond is human love
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
some think that this is not the time to hop
over the water to some sunny isle
and watch as donkeys on the seaside clop
in what we're told is their perennial style
over a distance mile after sandy mile
while tourists all enjoy the salt sea air
the drovers hide their anger and their bile
but wait till they can drink in the town square

the higher wine enjoyed to the last drop
may not abstemious travellers beguile
but to the tired it is a perfect sop
as each rests weary carcase for a while
and does not have to understand or smile
the folk for whom he never has to care
they smell the dung and watch it start to pile
but wait till they can drink in the town square

no matter who might make you start and stop
you cannot match these fellows in their bile
but should you read their minds you'd call a cop
though i'm not saying it would be worthwhile
since all you'll do is plain annoy and rile
the ones whe are pretending to be fair
yet they will not reveal the complex wile
but wait till they can drink in the town square

prince you observe them walking down the aisle
and bowing when they pass your noble chair
not one will to your face your name revile
but wait till they can drink in the town square

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
the world we have will never give us time
to do our work and find proper repose
we always have some new-made pump to prime
doors we must open and the windows close
good things support and all evils oppose
and this has never been a passing phase
we hit the target straight upon the nose
for what we know are the superior ways

what's foolish will one day become sublime
the vein of gold calm efforts will expose
and diamond glitter appears under grime
the orchard trees are blooming in their rows
and year by year each knows just how it goes
we find ourselves approaching the next craze
but not a conflict here will come to blows
for what we know are the superior ways

only the fools don't see beneath the slime
to plant that in due course becomes a rose
we say the clearest things in subtle rhyme
but they're not clearer in the plainest prose
the one who comments rarely ever knows
the likely outcome of the working days
still they'll still say their pieces we suppose
for what we know are the superior ways

prince you have seen such things in many shows
but know that every ending's a true blaze
the last one gets to tell us how it goes
for what we know are the superior ways

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
the raging fires are seen far out to sea
we rue the chance that will bring us to beach
but have not either wit or hope to flee
there's no power here the which to beseech
for any aid since there is no common speech
and storms are pressing us from on the main
we find the situation's just a peach
but we must tell the story straight and plain

a fiery death must come to house and tree
we wonder if we'll come within its reach
not wise the words that tell us leave things be
and those not in great trouble prate and preach
they aid us no more than a common leech
provides a respite from surgical pain
experience is the best way to teach
but we must tell the story straight and plain

we are not frightened of the things we see
but unseen dangers might our hopes impeach
and of some tremors we are never free
the subtler acids through hard stone may leach
and in the stoutest barrier make a breach
and such things trouble the impassioned brain
you load the cannon muzzle or the breech
but we must tell the story straight and plain

prince the bloodstains recede under the bleach
but we've been marked out for a greater pain
the wounded cannot speak out each to each
but we must tell the story straight and plain

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
we see the products of the empty brain
each day as we are early on the road
and beauty is replaced by filthy stain
honours that were on better folk bestowed
are wasted here all that we see is owed
to those who could not get away in time
and passed the winter where it never snowed
we are not friends but just partners in crime

the hoardings would be better down the drain
our eyes are better without ugly load
but not a single fool who would refrain
from adding something to the episode
there's naught but rubbish where the river flowed
and here and there a smelly patch of slime
upon the hour the morning cock has crowed
we are not friends but just partners in crime

the hope of decency was too soon slain
and honesty has vanished from the code
we have to rush to catch the early train
since there's no safety in the calm abode
we seek the jewel in the horrid toad
since we are told that it's truly sublime
but that may be an arficact of mode
we are not friends but just partners in crime

prince from the safety of a common node
we wait for someone else the pump to prime
and for the wall of patience to erode
we are not friends but just partners in crime

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
what truths we have will not fade in the light
the thing that is remains what we are shown
a million stars fade with the end of night
and we return into the mapped and known
though not without a quiet sigh or groan
as we insert our feet into the daily flow
what is important isn't just the tone
we feel the absence of the rain and snow

the universe is under a vast blight
justice from many hearts too long has flown
and there is no calm moment for respite
the world we have is just a small wet stone
passing each day far into the unknown
the journey is not either fast or slow
but what we hear is not an honest moan
we feel the absence of the rain and snow

we know the days are never truly bright
but better not to face the dark alone
the chance of true retrieval is but slight
the risks of failure are not overblown
and yet we will not panic nor atone
but wait instead for the next morning glow
there's much to say upon the telephone
we feel the absence of the rain and snow

prince all the past is now but dust and bone
we cannot say the things that we all know
your seat is not the safest on the throne
we feel the absence of the rain and snow

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 
across the sky the clouds still slowly creep
without much notice and without acclaim
right now i had much rather be asleep
we cannot on our own these days proclaim
for rest or love not even for old fame
instead we wait to seek just what will hap
in hope the lion still is kind and tame
and only wants to snore and take a nap

the life we want is neither broad nor deep
most people just want things to be the same
and all expenses to come out quite cheap
we aren't expecting to receive the blame
for those who left nor yet for those who came
our wisdom and our purses both to tap
cat seems to think this not much of a game
and only wants to snore and take a nap

we don't expect the passing clouds to keep
not even when the sun turns them aflame
as through the lattices small children peep
we think of this as just another frame
a service that we choose not to proclaim
since we don't want the audience to clap
the sleepy feline has some other aim
and only wants to snore and take a nap

prince you won't think it horrid or a shame
nor even some unsubtle sort of trap
to praise the one who eschews wealth and fame
and only wants to snore and take a nap

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 not one thing left that anyone could gain
and this is not a war you'd hope to win
there's nothing here that's ever clear or plain
we threw the honest options in the bin
and for the rest we let the coin spin
exchanging what had been the happy site
of youthful hope for a handful of tin
and sounds of gunfire in the middle night

there's never hope of decent mist or rain
instead we huddle close and drink our gin
while waiting for true decency in vain
the dirt has found its way beneath the skin
and all our honour turned into chagrin
we know that we must lose in every fight
we listen for the soulful violin
and sounds of gunfire in the middle night

what's left of us would make a tiny stain
a message poked out by a sharpish pin
by one who long ago was lost or slain
too cold outside and yet more cold within
it's hard enought either to smirk or grin
when waiting for the other ones to bite
too shrill the voices of our friends and kin
and sounds of gunfire in the middle night

prince we grow tired of your eternal grin
you've led us far from the sustaining light
we hear our chances growing yet more thin
and sounds of gunfire in the middle night
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
there's nothing we can do to end the strain
on all the hearts that beat beneath our air
the hero who would be will soon be slain
those who remain with ten-thousand-mile stare
ignore your words or see them as a snare
no means remain for us to stop the rot
the wisest ones are burning in the square
while i am at the centre you are not

a million children go against the grain
and claim to beard the wolf right in his lair
that something is the matter should be plain
but honesty's a thing that's now quite rare
we don't expect that any day'll be fair
and not a one of you's a little snot
we want the stallion but ride the mare
while i am at the centre you are not

an echo of the message signals pain
for those who have a heart and want to care
while others think such things a dismal stain
on those who act while others would not dare
no ghosts are hiding underneath the stair
and everything's been placed in proper slot
to ride the train you have to pay the fare
while i am at the centre you are not

prince i would urge you never to despair
though things are hard you have not lost the plot
some day there comes an end to this affair
while i am at the centre you are not

 
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 we were not members of a fighting band
your mind and ours could not one one thing meet
still you showed that you had the strongest hand
so memory tells us and the thought's still sweet
i'd give so much if i could once more greet
you as i did when young and filled with pride
for even now i cannot feel complete
six years have passed since i learned you had died

there's so much i still cannot understand
about the way that time becomes so fleet
while life's own taste turns out to be more bland
you hated to explain or to repeat
or have your business in the public street
the pain you felt you always had to hide
as fitted one made for the judgment-seat
six years have passed since i learned you had died

the past you said was never great or grand
you threatened but you rarely had to beat
what mattered most of all was owning land
and standing up upon your proper feet
being honest upright fair and always neat
ready to know and take the better side
never to bow the head in frank defeat
six years have passed since i learned you had died

prince you were not you had no great conceit
of what you were but what you knew applied
to all that we could do to face the heat
and keep our place in spite of the great tide
without dishonour and without deceit
six years have passed since i learned you had died

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

we learn that every choice leads to a wall
three thousand years of teaching do not fail
the loser's always one who stands most tall
we learn to love things on their proper scale
and not to seek for treasure or the grail
instead to find the normal use of skill
while others hesitate or even quail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

we did not answer when you chose to call
the gospel that you sold us has grown stale
so many things that honest hearts appal
occult within each ordinary bale
while rusty swords are hung upon the nail
in sign of heroes who have fought their fill
until the blood has rusted their chain mail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

we are told nothing but we would know all
about the ones whose mention turns you pale
and what princess managed to miss the ball
to read the message of the glowing sail
we wonder at the ones who seem to ail
for want of what is found in any pill
and those who trust too much in creaking rail
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

prince there's no end to this annoying tale
we have to find a way to keep the thrill
all of your servants know what's here for sale
and nothing holds us but mere force of will
the fruit is thick and juicy in the dale
the holly bushes sit up on the hill

 

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (negative avatar)

The wind was heavy on the wooded hill,
all creatures waited for the hungry bear
fearing the Great Old Beings darkest will.
Yet all the time, the Pooh without a care
ignored the squamous terrors and the fear
that caused even Eeyore to cast a shoe.
We find that now all nature is laid bare
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

The Shadow poisons every stream and rill,
we sense a monstrous presence in the air.
There's no escape, not even poison pill
can keep us all from falling in the snare
where rugose horrors still await their share.
There's naught but evil that lies in our view,
not one of us will the Dark Power spare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

Now falls to silence factory and mill,
there are no masses waiting in the square.
The Woods now dark and horrid creatures fill,
and Kanga, Roo and Piglet are past care.
The author screams that things just are not fair,
and thinks that he's announcing something new.
Through the long darkness must we all now fare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

Prince Robin, riding on your spavined mare,
give us some thought as you your last meal spew.
Now all that's funny has become quite rare;
still nothing can annoy the happy Pooh!

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fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
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March 2015

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