first cup of coffee

not that you take your steps without a pause
for thought or changing bag from hand to hand
or caught in a thought or vision you just stand
perfectly still considering what the cause
might be or how the operation follows fixed laws
you're in a place where no applause is canned
and every singer hopes to beat the band
the rules are clear there is no secret clause
now when the music comes on in the dark
your feet move of themselves in the old dance
and years drop off for a moment of pure shock
that is the sign of transformation the clear mark
that says that nothing happens just by chance
yet when we're all done there is no solid rock

hating the morning

in the grey light when shadows merge with walls
comes now the shaper of the fullest days
emboldened now to take the longest ways
around the streets and by the market-stalls
not here or now the long and marbled halls
where troubadours on lutes sang their old lays
or places where the watcher shouted praise
of the returning lords such matter never palls
but here and now the weak and wintry light
uncovers nothing more than what it hides
and gives us each a sense of what we've lost
not here or now the shock of sudden sight
of what is coming soon and on what sides
each of us will fight and at what hidden cost

ignorant armies

the space appearing between is and ought
is where we live and where our lives unfold
we do not give this the least moment's thought

where once large armies massed and fought
there's nothing left but stones of a sheepfold
the space appearing between is and ought

the masterpiece the wise old farrier wrought
to show his skill and stave of growing old
we do not give this the least moment's thought

the gifts and sacrifices once were brought
to gods forgotten their shrines dead and cold
the space appearing between is and ought

then there were times that would-be hero sought
to find the chance to show that they were bold
we do not give this the least moment's thought

all in the end we know are trapped and caught
in history's net they all have bought and sold
the space appearing between is and ought
we do not give this the least moment's thought

cold stone

the fossil sponge that turns up in the rock
its creamy colour and its chalky feel
formed over long ages makes you reel
in horror at the thought or simple shock
at knowing that this piece of a stone block
was long passed over by some fish or eel
now high up a mountain turns the wheel
of time though for this being is no clock
the shapes of corals by the stone preserved
form a connection to a long-sought past
but give us nothing  onto which to hold
what fate had these entities deserved
to survive petrified till seen by me at last
and what the messages they could have told

no single step

when you've had time to on these things to reflect
don't rush to judgment others may be weak
but have some power do not your thoughts project
unless you've got a chance to obtain what you seek
without contempt either for soft or meek
you're not the only actor in this long play
nor yet the sole source and creator of critique
your feet may stumble long ere they find the way

you've not been paid nor will you soon collect
what is long due for your service this week
it would not be a good thing right now to interject
your message for you've gone far up the creek
and to speak now would demonstrate great pique
besides which they won't hear a word you say
you think your experience strange or unique
your feet may stumble long ere they find the way

there's no need here to accept or to reject
the thing that comes be it so smooth or sleek
it comes to us in gaudy form attractively bedecked
in robes much folded from which weapons peek
your choice is to be silent or else to shriek
in loudest proclamation of horror and dismay
announcing to the world your yellow streak
your feet may stumble long ere they find the way

prince your commander's received his pratique
they ship's made steam and must its anchor weigh
the course is set towards a port most chic
your feet may stumble long ere they find the way

on the street

if there's light we dare to dream of hope
in this harsh time for odours on the air
coming from flowers not from human fear
we understand the symbol or the trope
and so will not soft-pedal nor soft-soap
the message which is we just do not care
for your refusal we have learned to tear
the the gossamer that you mistake for rope
now with the sun we see the winter birds
in trees and gardens doing what they need
for their survival that now is a sign
clearer and more direct than simple words
the propaganda of the yearly deed
we cannot its sharp message more refine

mapmaking

when you've reached the top of the pass
pausing to rest you see that there is more
mountain ahead of you your feet are sore
but still you must advance your body's mass
onward down and up hill no simple class
prepares you  gets you to learn the score
you imagine yourself a flying seed a spore
passing by trees and shrubs falling to grass
in the mind's eye you see it as a map
of where you've been and where you'll be
the simplified version of a normal life
there's danger here you'll fall into the trap
of seeing only what you desire to see
and forgetting all the necessary strife

geography of the heart

the country has no name we know it begins
just beyond the map's edge in the space
between dream and vision where the grace
of unknown gods redeems from undone sins
this notwithstanding there are so few inns
upon the road to get there's a long race
the strain of it will show upon your face
but the cautious lose and who dares wins
that is the motto and that is the tale
of those who chose to travel to that goal
where answers come although nothing is asked
this is beyond the last bent safety-rail
the place where every part joins in the whole
and where the true appearance is unmasked