fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 the nightly croaking from the pond

recalls another time and place

the sounds do not quite correspond

but have an equal sort of grace


what's winter here has turned so mild

that we can see the forceful green

reminder of the nearby wild

just inches past the window screen


those arguments that we have made

regarding mother nature's pain

seem all at once a sad charade

as weeds spring up after the rain


what we have learnt is very clear

about the cycles in their course

of tropic or of temperate year

they have the same gigantic force


the frogs that croak in pond or tree

ignoring us proclaiming life

for their short passage do live free

and teach us something about strife

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

we go to meet

the losing side

nowhere to hide

the river's fleet


time has in tow

all our desire

so tell the choir

how much you know


out from the port

no ship departs

the while our hearts

each hope distorts


choices are made

visions described

policemen bribed

that is the trade


so when we learn

just how to speak

in the antique

manner you yearn


to see us grasp

all of your pride

held well inside

falls from your grasp


what is said true

within these walls

nobody calls

honest or new


nothing but old

rumours and lies

that we despise

pass here for gold

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

 to write in rhyme
a standard verse
and keep in time
staying not terse
is most sublime
or the reverse

so i should chime
or else disburse
no dismal rhyme
a welcome verse

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
all our words add up to quiet
not a thought we have of sound
light and shade here do abound
the wise man's eternal diet

sing aloud and each may listen
hour on hour of meaning froze
into place by knots and bows
while outside the grass will glisten

each reply will come uncertain
nothing's left to random chance
any fool can learn the dance
well before the final curtain

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
as we sit and face the future
there's no one knows just what we'll need
anger breeds on edge of suture
fire declares itself with speed

rhyme and reason fade in panic
fire and water meet in peace
not a one who waits is manic
yet not a one could blame caprice

grant the fire will burn the clover
and mighty flood will cleanse the vale
nothing's left here to recover
none of the wise will hear this tale

shallow paint the world in colour
make the choices come out flat
things will seem to come out duller
the night belongs to angry bat
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)


if stories are told
on such rainy days
we might yet grow old
knowing better ways

no sort of measure
even of plain time
no hidden treasure
to fill out the rhyme

a kind of magic
we have required
it's never tragic
to see them fired

one horse and rider
galloping so fast
a crawling spider
survives the great blast

this music flowing
filling up each heart
the maples glowing
will each play their part

there is a cancer
we can't ever cure
to give the answer
means we're not pure

the gate is broken
this we remember
the lie is spoken
truth is an ember

we name the teacher
who gives us all hope
we leave the preacher
hanging on a rope

no time left to pause
no world left to choose
we suffer the laws
and we win or lose

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
sweltering beneath the maples
there's not fleeing this great fire
we still don't lack basics and staples
but we're filled with heat and ire

rules were made and now are broken
hope was born and now has died
we have got only a token
but we know our leader lied

now we have to make the payment
when we have no ready cash
we have torn and smeared our raiment
waiting for the coming crash

all the birds of prey are waiting
for our great final fatal fall
all the while they are debating
if our taste will cloy and pall

messages sing down the wires
while the vermin sit and wait
proving that we all were liars
but that this was merely fate

each of us will tell a story
but we cannot make it nice
we have sought for greater glory
now we have to pay the price

at the last we will be tired
bowed and trembling in the heat
in our lies we have been mired
and soon justice we shall meet

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
 shallow rivers dry up quickly
not a one will last the summer
still we think this is a bummer
but our tongues are speaking thickly

echoes of future september
make us smile but very tightly
we can recall roasting nightly
and we don't want to remember

on the verge of sudden rages
we may halt and think a second
not a one who has not beckoned
and then swiftly turned the pages

rain may fall in its due season
but right now it isn't falling
for relief each one is calling
with an anger beyond reason

name a time for honest measure
we will stay right in our places
anger shines in all our faces
we have lost the final treasure

who desires an honest answer
will with reason wait for ever
answers we have obtained never
the whole world has got a cancer
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
magic in the woody sunset
no reward for our stern duty
a single flash of urgent beauty
no surprise and no regret

hours and hours of happy sleeping
not a thought of earthly power
a small glimpse of eldritch tower
and the dormice ever creeping

on the banks of the swift river
where there is no time of waiting
and the flood is slow abating
we keep arrows in our quiver

for the golden flying creature
that will satiate our hunger
while the day's not getting younger
anger fills each human feature

sleep and rest are ever fleeting
work devours each waking thought
and yet comes at last to nought
there is never merry meeting

every heart's a fading flower
in the sticky noontime sunheat
not a chance that we may greet
happy damsel in her bower

all our thoughts are inward trending
to the point of final pallor
no room here for heart or valour
sun and shadow are now blending

in the dark we're sad and fearful
daylight strips away all veils
no one's left to hear our wails
we have not been wise and careful

at the end there's no escaping
choices made in simple fury
tell that story to the jury
with the proper bow and scraping

as the sun destroys our pleasure
others wait to eat our dinner
each in turn will be the winner
as they view the world at leisure

name the day we won't remember
how we made our happy choices
silence covers all our voices
and our fire is now an ember
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
should the priests and soldiers learn
just what pain their work has brought
we might watch their faces burn
with the effort of plain thought

for one moment of straight time
they might feel the hottest fire
admit truth of cause and crime
do what justice would require

no they turn their faces blank
utter once more the sweet lie
then they stand there rank on rank
wishing that we all would die

if those crows and ravens see
what will happen by and by
a great shout of liberty
would become their final cry

yet they'll close both eye and ear
pray the tide will never come
think that rescue still is near
and not add the total sum

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

'All and every the Persons who on the said first Day of August One thousand eight hundred and thirty-four shall be holden in Slavery within any such British Colony as aforesaid shall upon and from and after the said first Day of August One thousand eight hundred and thirty-four become and be to all Intents and Purposes free and discharged of and from all Manner of Slavery, and shall be absolutely and for ever manumitted; and that the Children thereafter to be born to any such Persons, and the Offpring of such Children shall in like Manner be free from their Birth; and that from, and after the said first Day of August One thousand eight hundred and thirty-four Slavery shall be and is hereby utterly and for ever abolished and declared unlawful throughout the British Colonies, Plantations, and Possessions Abroad.' The Slavery Abolition Act 1833

every river runs to an ending place
we can't be sure that we know every turn
we praise the water praise the river's grace
and wonder if we'll ever truly learn

the honest tale of all that it has seen
just how the fields that rim it came to be
the names of all the people who have been
linked to this spot the names of every tree

that's cast its leaves into the stream's long flow
tales that will bring back all the childish joy
and tales for those who truly want to know
of what hard metals they are the alloy

so to begin the fisher folk who came
before the records later ones would write
have left us only here and there a name
and their own visages long passed from sight

and after those who came to turn the land
from green to gold and who brought other folk
making them work and taking from their hand
all of the glory leaving them the yoke

all of their lives have flowed into the dirt
and from the dirt down to the living stream
it's to their living that we must advert
to all their living and to their best dream

the truth is that i carry the strong taint
of both their angers both their frantic rages
history's not a matter for the faint
and honesty rewards us with strange wages

let it be said for those who did the work
it was a sordid task not honest toil
but under the swift lash they did not shirk
blood may flow silent but it still can boil

for boil it did and sugar turned to fire
for one small principle they rose to fight
and though forced down into the fertile mire
knew that each killing blow they struck was right

it does not matter that they rose to die
that every struggle lead only to death
they sought for liberty under the blue sky
and for that sacred thing gave their last breath

a century two hundred years go by
and others listen others hear the call
far different figures join them to defy
and stand with them before that final wall

there isn't much that we now here can say
about the long years of that angry fight
but every thing we hold precious today
is a grave answer to that desperate plight

time may do nothing but free folk can act
to spread their freedom to the ones in pain
can turn their hopes into a shining fact
can bring redemption with the morning rain

knowing that folk who fight and who demand
to have their voices and their anger heard
should have the power to move over the land
and have an equal and an honest word

and so it happened so came that great day
when every chain they shattered and they broke
the mighty dragon ceased to have its way
and freedom came at midnight's happy stroke

the river runs shining and dark to sea
it knows the tale and has no cause to mourn
the ones who work its banks know they are free
and how that freedom from great pain was torn


Jul. 7th, 2007 11:52 am
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
not before the day has broken
can we hope to see the fire
all we're given is a token
but we hearken to the lyre
let the day with all its splendour
show us all its wondrous sights
we will not our service render
we are freefolk and not knights

all the hours of our short sleeping
we have passed from dream to dream
in some laughing others weeping
and the end we find the gleam
shorn of any hope or valour
we are marching up the street
the noon passes with slight pallour
but our smiles no one will greet

so we have a time of testing
finding out just who we are
all are toiling none are resting
but we cannot see the star
at the ending of this tourney
there's no time to dance or frisk
all our focus is the journey
we don't think upon the risk


Jul. 3rd, 2007 01:06 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
all of this moment turns into an ache
there's nothing here to ease or to distract
no reason we can see for calm or tact
it's easy to wonder if life's a mistake

the city stands and has not yet been sacked
we aren't the ones who have to see it fall
there's nothing left to do but to stand tall
there's someone here who tells the lie from fact

you know that you just want to cry and bawl
there's nothing left for you to criticise
and still so much to hate and to despise
we will not answer when we hear you call

at any time there's hope to win the prize
but you and i are not the ones who'll gain
we still may love the sun and hate the rain
but cannot understand what fogs our eyes

there's nothing left that is not clear and plain
all time has come and gone and we are here
we cannot hold the entire world too dear
although we know it gives us only pain

we keep our hurtful feelings far too near
there's so much we can say and keep inside
the things that we just know we have to hide
will go with us until we reach the bier

we think of this and want to keep our pride
since we are just here to go on the ride
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
a silent moment's worth a million tales
we ask ourselves just how much we would pay
to get what comes for free on any day
the thing that we want is the thing that fails

let all our hearts be turned back to red clay
and we'd not know just how much we owe
nor yet how much there still remains to know
nor will we start upon the proper way

at the appointed hour we'll see the show
we'll not be too far forward nor far back
not one of us will think we'd have the knack
just when to smile and when with hope to glow

we arm ourselves and think about attack
but aren't the ones who'll stand on the front line
our feet won't be blown off by a mine
nore will we think of those who wail and lack

as far as we're concerned the whole world's fine
and we aren't going to face the harshest pain
our lives are predicated on the steadiest gain
and we have no reason now to weep or pine

and yet we fear the ones who cut in twain
the knotted cords that hold us safe in place
we worry that we still can lose the race
and wonder at the long delay of rain

our minds are set to research and to trace
just what the start was of all this broil
we don't expect to find a foe or foil
but want to see all of you praise our grace

on these rough waters we won't pour this oil
the calm must come from some far different source
we ride the storm as others ride a horse
and laugh when any thinks of it as toil

upon these waters we must take our course
the journey with great fear and terror rife
will lead us straight to horror and to strife
and we will meet them with our fullest force

for in the end the one with the sharp knife
will be the one who lives the fullest life

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

in the days when we were trying
with some hope to reach the skies
we knew that some folk were dying
all because they believed lies

now we hear the same old story
and we don't know what to do
there's no honour and less glory
in this stinking devil's brew

in the distance we see fires
with their ghastly reddish glow
but our leaders the great liars
tell us that we just don't know

what the actual situation
is out there in distant land
how we must defend the nation
with the tools we have at hand

in the distance we hear noises
that proclaim the coming storms
we're told that dissenting voices
only injure proper norms

at the last we'll learn the reason
that the conflagration's spread
we will all be charged with treason
for the thoughts inside each head

there's no better time to speak out
as the sun sets in the west
our dear leader is a weak lout
and he's failed at the great test

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

All religionists get petty
when they see the great Spaghetti,
even Benedict gets sweaty
which is good enough for me!

Only some old Baptist poodle
wouldn't recognise the noodle
which the smart Bobby did doodle,
still that's good enough for me!

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

life soaks into the ground with water
but we don't see it happen in the air
the reason is not one requiring care
an honest answer simply avoids slaughter

the anguish comes when we are most fair
a hundred reasons aren't enough for some
who knows the words has no need to hum
but each of us must have the gift of flair

not all of us can without effort strum
the correct chords to let our meaning flow
instead we'll bask in the musicians' glow
and smile when we can recognise the drum

a host of us might think or claim to know
the best way to announce our several needs
we want the fruits but did not sow the seeds
and so we call on you to lead the show

the ones who judge have no time for good deeds
enough that each of us can feel the pain
no answer comes to us in language plain
we flounder in our madness through the weeds


a kind of plan might form in the best mind
but that's no help to us in these sad days
we seek to hide from the suns cruel rays
but at the same time fear being left behind

the ones who do not kill us know our ways
the cruelest treatment is the softest touch
the rabbit's kept with pleasure in its hutch
and all unthinking dreams its owner plays

we seek to stay outside the monster's clutch
but life will drive us and we cannot stay
our hope is to avoid the standard way
and hope that our owners don't eat much

we claim that we are not much more than clay
but in each hearts there beats a higher claim
that we know more than's good for common shame
and feel a truth in the hot sun's sharp ray

and what in the end matters praise or blame
our minds are set on an unwavering course
we won't deny the basic truths of force
but in the end we'll think it all a game

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
let us give the players thanks
they've made noble seeming
and the singers in their ranks
in the lights are gleaming

we've sat here so many times
listening to their playing
strings and horns and drums and chimes
we know what they are saying

all the days we work to know
just where we are going
but these folk know how to show
and are proud in the showing

all our lives we've wanted song
to tell us our passions
now we learn that we were wrong
and are on short rations

let the ones who take our cash
know that we are grounded
we're not hasty and not rash
our fears are well-founded

now we watch the singers rise
in a single movement
their song reaches to the skies
needing no improvement

the bassoonist chants along
he should get a single rose
while we listen to the song
a lone cellist blows her nose

we've been taken from our place
by this magic playing
minds are whirling in deep space
while our heads are greying

let's be sure of what we do
all our thoughts are tending
to give us a single view
of how life is bending

now we come to shout our praise
the concert is over
but we'll know for all our days
fortune is a rover
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
a hero's fall seems greater than all others
turned from a warrior to a mere slave
laughed at when claiming that all are brothers
expected to work himself straight to the grave

in keeping silence there's dignity we're told
but we have not seen the causes of all pain
the blazing heat the depth of wintry cold
the burning sun the freezing of the rain

no one can tell just what the message said
it stays a secret even though he died
the words have faded just like all the dead
what makes a hero is just that he tried

when everyone declared it could not be
he made the very wheels of history turn
the river changed its course into the sea
the city that had fallen did not burn

when pillars fall we blame the moving earth
heat and great fire emerge from the hard ground
another kind of world has seen its birth
we're fortunate to hear a different sound

tired and beaten still he made things change
the crash of palaces was his last great gift
the noise and light his senses could derange
yet all that others built fell in the rift

we face the tyrant and we're all afraid
what we have learned is that all heroes fail
the ones who do the deed are not repaid
the cheque has long been stolen from the mail

yet still he struggled and perhaps he won
we do not see his torturers these days
and though he could not see the living sun
we know that he was shining it its rays

there is no monument to these events
those who remember have not much to say
but even as we count and recount cents
we're heartened by what happened on that day

freedom's the greatest thing when you're a thrall
but thralldom's not the easiest thing to leave
power and pride don't always have their fall
but that is what the downtrodden must believe

still when the hero comes and does his thing
we're awed for a brief moment before life
once more obliges us into the ring
and we are stuck in the same futile strife

a moment more and even the deaf and dumb
shall tell you of the good times that might come
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
the hopeful quality of light
expanding through the visual frame
the things that enter in my sight
i give them each a proper name

not mine nor yours the proper right
to require that things stay the same
we're caught in an ignoble plight
but do not know if it's a game

a proper choice will not affright
the keepers of our truest flame
we life and hope for the delight
and shun the bringers of the shame

too soon will come another night
the raging heart we cannot tame
so we proclaim with all our might
the imperfections of acclaim


fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

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