infinity

again the clarity the deep harmonious blue
bigger than all the trees and houses here
we march down to the ending of the year
dominated by this mediterranean hue
i feel too tired this morning to pursue
the metaphor that's tugging at my ear
or to a single doctrine strictly to adhere
each dogma should this day receive its due
it's chill and clear the train is heading south
bearing its dreams and purposes elsewhere
and all that's going to come is preordained
the same words are uttered the same mouth
gives forth the message that we cannot bear
unless we face the morning unconstrained

brilliance in december

the light on the broom tells an attractive lie
it is not warm though everywhere is bright
above us there's a vibrant deep blue sky

the birds that flutter on the porch seem shy
they're pausing here to rest for further flight
the light on the broom tells an attractive lie

more beauty than this day none can supply
the cold's just trivial in this sharp light
above us there's a vibrant deep blue sky

the chirping birds are poised quite soon to fly
they've been quite patient all the long night
the light on the broom tells an attractive lie

though yesterday it rained the ground is dry
the naked tree seems enveloped in spite
above us there's a vibrant deep blue sky

no other signs of hope can we descry
yet the clear sunshine here has banished fright
the light on the broom tells an attractive lie
above us there's a vibrant deep blue sky

the need for patience

 

the colour and thickness of the georgia clay
an orange red that sometimes seems to glow
betokens things that we can't clearly show
and that seem odd in the sharp light of day
the softness which is much harder to display
betokens that one day something will grow
though right now it just makes it hard to go
though there are stones here to mark the way
no matter how we look the sky's the frame
of what's built here and shape just how we see
the structure of our dreams evolve in time
each week observing things are not the same
we think of things that we desire will be
and set our hopes down in this faltering rhyme

walking to the mailboxes

a gentle breeze that barely moves the leaves
afternoon sun that dapples the porch wall
who could guess on this day that the year grieves

pine needles piled up on the roof almost in sheaves
what set them there over the months of fall
a gentle breeze that barely moves the leaves

in this gloriousness of light one almost believes
that there's a power here that's far from small
who could guess on this day that the year grieves

one's tempted to say that the weather just deceives
what charms us now and keeps us here in thrall
a gentle breeze that barely moves the leaves

time and change we know that they're plain thieves
they'll leave us with nothing they will take all
who could guess on this day that the year grieves

the past looks on and catches our loose sleeves
we may smile now but latter we will bawl
a gentle breeze that barely moves the leaves
who could guess on this day that the year grieves

cantiga de amigo

o dearest one please walk today with me
down to the beach beside the risen sea
to sit a while and watch the surging waves

o dearest one do not deny me this
by the seashore a single long-sought kiss
as we sit here watching the surging waves

o dearest one let us go at once this day
down to the shore to watch the ocean play
and sit a while and watch the surging waves

o dearest one i bid you come with me this night
down to the shore in the bright moonlight
to sit a while and watch the surging waves

holding on to time

entranced the moment seems to last a while
no flash of light no avian passing by
can interrupt it give its truth the lie
this is a matter of more than merely style
the cars that pass by here in single file
are all dressed up to deceive the glancing eye
darkness broods here yet the city lights the sky
against this fact all normal minds resile
yet here we are in the encircling dark
not given much to know nor yet to see
a sign of passage would be welcome now
yet everything seems simplified and stark
as if not certain it was meant to be
and waiting for some divine being's vow

heraclitus was wrong

the way up is not the same as the way down
the view is different nothing seems the same
looked at from the reverse angle no blame
can light on you when you've won the crown
but all falls on you when you're just a clown
at the top no thought or sense of shame
at bottom not even the memory of fame
your self forgotten gone all your renown
the landmarks all are smashed no path is clear
a thousand backs now confront you with a bland
indifference worse than active disregard
yet once there was not a single thing to fear
all came with ease into your outstretched hand
life's barriers seemed neither difficult nor hard
nothing appeared too onerous to bear