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)

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)
 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)
 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)
 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)
 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)
 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)

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)
 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)
 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)
 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)

March 2015

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