in the midst of work

light cheers and the promise of light
does more for hope even than money
a morning sharp clear and bright
the sunlight turning all to golden honey
these are good things on winter's edge
the the cat that patrols round the porch
the sparrows sitting on the windowledge
the sunshine brighter now than any torch
magnificence in this bright december
reflections shards of the triumphant sun
a glow that outshines far memory's ember
in promise that the battle may be won
hope may deceive but yet to her we cling
and these late birds still have a chance to sing

going beyond words

the absence of an answer does not daunt
bright eyes and empty mind go well together
memory we learn now will not haunt
those impervious to light or weather
beyond the moment there's nothing at all
no need to plan no need even to think
no need in such condition to recall
what brought us all together to the brink
of falling fast into an endless hell
of constant torment leading to disaster
no one to hear our last despairing yell
no one to gloat on learning that they're master
of all the things that lead us to remember
nothing remains not even one last ember

intimations of i know not what

endless love at the pace of a snail
the movement of the generations
endless purgatory of situations
available only on a minor scale
the contents of quite another tale
only avoiding those in proper stations
the masters of no new creations
we do not pause to give them hail
abandoned in a vivifying rush
nothing to do but sit and sit and wait
the element of nothing new or strange
interrupting speech with noble hush
the essence of it is not plain or straight
beyond our understanding is its range

listening to shostakovich

the music flows like dark full-bodied wine
ensnaring minds filled with another matter
attentions are focused all along the line

no assurance but i know the feeling's mine
solidity of presence will not shatter
the music flows like dark full-bodied wine

a different tone the moment must enshrine
above the heavy shoes no longer clatter
attentions are focused all along the line

on what better food than this can humans dine
we ask though it comes not on a platter
the music flows like dark full-bodied wine

the moment and the sound they now entwine
no need for sonorous speech or rapid patter
attentions are focused all along the line

exhaustion and hope uncertainly combine
this night at least our teeth will not chatter
the music flows like dark full-bodied wine
attentions are focused all along the line

Not the best of thoughts

The morning weighs like lead on tired backs,
we move through life in a perpetual fog,
it's time for our spirit to pay its season's tax.

It does not matter that the writing's lax
in grammar, with the syntax of a log,
the morning weighs like lead on tired backs.

That torturer, life, sets up her tools and racks
our bodies with each twisting of the cog;
it's time for our spirit to pay its season's tax

but not above the limit, or else it cracks
our enterprising power, like a dead dog,
the morning weighs like lead on tired backs.

This moment turns the best of us to hacks,
we've naught to give, we're far too gone to jog,
it's time for our spirit to pay its season's tax.

Obligation's our mistress, before us she stacks
our work, then gives the order 'now, jump frog!'
The morning weighs like lead on tired backs,
its time for our spirit to pay its season's tax.

under the sky

what's amazing is the colour of the sky
a blue so deep it seems to radiate
a kind of light that brings awe to the eye
immensity with naught to mediate
a glow so dwarfing should not have a name
a god itself so awesome is its power
a force so wild it makes us all seem tame
still there above the cloud and shower
when we observe it smooth and clear
above us all with hardly ever a mark
an energy that's greater than all fear
intensity enough to banish dark
the hue so bright it seems to make us cry
at the limits of nature for we want to fly