morning in clarkston

me in the classroom
waiting for the first students
much time for thinking
beige walls all fully silent
rumble of cart is passing

outside still darkness
car lights passing signalling
workday approaches
beige walls all fully silent
rumble of cart is passing

waiting

inside the thunderclap purity of sound
a flash and then an overwhelming boom
my body shakes it shakes the very ground
the rain pours down and covers all with gloom
the bright red trees are dulled by the dark rain
their glorious moment moving to the past
beneath there's the low rumble of the train
the hour of duty comes around at last
i want to reach you across all this space
to feel your hand to know that you are there
that you are in the same secure place
regardless of the torment in the air
that's the moment the electric turn
the very rainfall seems to flash and burn

(no subject)

when we have smashed the image of the king
and put in place the symbols of the state
we listen while the joyous bells loud ring
in deepest thankfulness to democratic fate
the work's the same the ground is just as hard
but we are upright on our feet at last
we have free choice we are no longer barred
by those above us as back in the past
now we're the people not a sullen mob
our choices and our hopes the things that matter
to lead to organise is just another job
we have to get done without idle chatter
democracy's never silent that's the case
we say these things right to our leader's face

naught in excess

if we wrought better we would all be gods
but faced with all our problems we fall short
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

each of us working folk plain ordinary bods
is frightened by an easily caught thought
if we wrought better we would all be gods

our backs were fustigated once by rods
bearers of pain with no significance fraught
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

we build our castles while bearing our hods
we've got some method followed what was taught
if we wrought better we would all be gods

we break the ground rending it into clods
the moment of success we have not caught
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds

one more inquiring into each space prods
his yardstick measuring the things we've brought
if we wrought better we would all be gods
still we attempt uphill to beat the odds