and yet you care

you wonder if they've heard a word you've said
the pressure is the greatest when you teach
and hope that somehow a ray of light will reach
the vacant confines of each well-coiffed head
they look on blankly your heart fills up with dread
you wonder what it's like down at the beach
or if what seems coherent thought and speech
has turned into complete nonsense instead
of inspiring thought and after thoughtful acts
producing visions of a joyous world
or getting them at the very least to think
they don't want concepts just separate facts
their minds remain tight folded and tight curled
around an empty core you want a drink

a slim thread

with time and hope behind us there's a chance
that as the tired red dragon slowly flies
back to his nesting ground from fields of france
there'll be an alert one below who spies
a single weakness and with focused eyes
will fire the bolt to bring the damned beast down
taking sure aim and to the worm's surprise
a single shot will liberate the town

some days we cannot hope soon to advance
against the surging tide of thrills and lies
the whole relation seems a sort of dance
but from deep cover the stolid watcher cries
the beast is coming do not now despise
the arts of camouflage your hopes to crown
bring down the horror that rules from the skies
a single shot will liberate the town

it's easy once the battle's done to prance
and claim the leadership with kinship's ties
but if you haven't taken the proper stance
your chance at kingship withers fast and dies
rather you've got the golden orb to prise
from those who full of anger talk you down
they do not guess they cannot yet surmise
a single shot will liberate the town

prince as you muster your eager allies
reflect your smile may yet turn to a frown
the ship of state may at one stroke capsize
a single shot will liberate the town

Esbozo de un soneto

Yo, cuando escribo, me situo en el templo
de las nueve diosas del monte de Apolón,
aúnque sé que ese deidad, siendo bribón,
no nos dará ningun tipo de buen ejemplo.
Estando en mi despacho, pienso, contemplo
lo que es poema, y lo que es sermón;
en mi mente reviso, considero la razón
al centro de la cosa, evaluo el contraejemplo.
Nunca esperé que escribir en castellano
me sería tan fácil y tan grato; a mi parecer
la combinación de rimas es aún mas rica
que en mi propia idioma, vienen a mi mano
con tanta rapidez, la grande y la chica,
mas como un juego que como modo de hacer.

there was the word

justice is the child of love and rage
the ferment of truth unanticipated
with magical elements is is baited
to capture critics at the proper stage
perjury doesn't provide a living wage
but with its own anger is well-freighted
to give to each the proper fated
key that unlocks each golden cage
where sortilege provides a single clue
to find the secret hidden in the maze
science must fall in worship at the feet
of magecraft must give it such due
as would the wielder of the razor craze
when clarity comes it is never fleet

Queering the pitch

I'll make some money "publishing" bad art,
capitalise on all that vanity and pride,
take simple folks and their cash for a ride,
and make believe I really give a fart
for all they say, pretend I have a heart
that's not as dead and wizened as my hide.
If I can do this and simultaneous deride
the carping critics I'll have done my part
to make the world a danker, nastier place
where vultures like myself can find weak prey
and curse the ones who try to make us go.
I'm a real expert, for if you seek to trace
my achievements all disappears into the grey
of winter, my job, indeed's, to snow.

only spectators

it doesn't matter who you are or what you wear
when you come to the testing day and hour
you've got to use the utmost of your power
and take the chances others would not dare
before you cry that you'd never want to care
for such a useless such a complete shower
of folk who wouldn't in the proper moment flower
and if there's triumph have no right to share
marginal people who in more stringent times
would not have permit even from far to gaze
at what was far beyond their humble glance
who should be made to suffer for their crimes
to stay on the fringes even on the best of days
and never be allowed the smallest chance

the unifying narrative

formed out of nothing thoughts move with grace
from flash to finish gleaming on the page
we can't map out each intervening stage
our minds contain within them infinite space
bound in such a tight shell held closely in place
by need to furnish with each clear image
its proper caption and though you earn no wage
each one's a certain winner in the human race
the stories that we tell come from somewhere
deep in the past distant in space and time
but closer than a touch upon the skin
each one contains a bit of hope or fear
originating in some slick primæval slime
and in their grip all people remain kin