narrative

there's no need for power and less for glory
the ordinary has to do double duty for all that
the world's not round still less can it be flat
the coat of arms we've got is blazoned flory
but that's a tale less honourable than gory
it should not be told us in manner less than pat
nor is it thus a matter for simple or idle chat
it's most important just how one tells the story
we've run as far as we can decently tell how
our bodies and our minds have been renewed
but what's to tell if we can't build a place
any hesitation must be resisted for here and now
the strength to overcome's not been imbued

the nature of the beast

time's not a tube through which we swiftly pass
squeezed towards death as soon as we're conceived
it's the right side or not of the old looking-glass

the winner of the race knows himself an ass
no sooner are we born than we're bereaved
time's not a tube through which we swiftly pass

it doesn't matter that all flesh has become grass
that grows so quickly but still we've been deceived
it's the right side or not of the the old looking-glass

the story of the ages the meeting of lad and lass
each time they saw it the ancestors all grieved
time's not a tube through which we swiftly pass

it doesn't matter that we've won all the brass
we'll have to give up every penny we received
it's the right side or not of the old looking-glass

in the end nothing matters not charm and not class
about that at least the unhappiest will be relieved
time's not a tube through which we swiftly pass
it's the right side or not of the old looking-glass

links on the chain

there's room here for some hope or so it seems
the thoughts and theories that are not betrayed
what comes and goes is vain desires and dreams
but here and there someone has learned a trade

moments of calm appraisal those won't fade
for though life passes on the measures still remain
through all of life there's no time to be afraid
we'll never free ourselves although we may strain

the moments of despair each shake the brain
not for us can there be the least good hope
out of each hour there's nothing more to drain
unless we desire to face the hangman's rope

but i've been told that not one of them can cope
with what for us would be the normal load
either swift suicide or the slow death from dope
that's what they can expect on the worst road

upon our heads we've seen blessings bestowed
but what's the use when what matters is power
we've never obtained the least that we were owed
but when faced with a threat we can but glower

each day each second we're in the normal stour
but how we got there that's what we don't know
each of us stands for what seems a long hour
yet at the end each of us still has to go

all's one in earnest the foul fiend and the beau
tied in one band made in the shape of men
we've got one boat and all of us must row
though few will hope to come to shore again

the tale's been told and though we say amen
the end's not close and may not yet be seen
the monster's been chained up in its dark den
and outside we await the new spring green

what we were once does not explain our mien
for we've been given form by our own hates
each of us is in our own eyes king or queen
and all of us are frightened by the fates

see see the mark

honking of grey geese above our street
spring is coming that's the message here
we see the grass is greening at our feet

each day the workers walk their weary beat
the pay they get's not a great mark of cheer
honking of grey geese above our street

wondering what happens when stars meet
the birds are gathering above each mere
we see the grass is greening at our feet

we note the colours changing still not fleet
but the new season's not yet in full gear
honking of grey geese above our street

we've got the cycle down it will repeat
just as it has but that's what we hold dear
we see the grass is greening at our feet

we shall the newest goddess rise to greet
we hope to speak the right words in her ear
honking of grey geese above our street
we see the grass is greening at our feet

through the green fuse

the names we give things tell an open tale
a shaping of the world to fit our hearts
creation of our lives from disparate parts
the final selling of what's not for sale
a new succession that we hope won't fail
the mingling and the making of our arts
it happens all at once and once it starts
will withstand almost any storm or gale
not for us here the manifold reports
of the artillery that defends all desire
but the fresh calm of spring's new green
the way to a man's heart is not by sports
but the awakening of the old banked fire
and a new balance or a better mean

counting time

naming each second
time will pass no faster here
but we will feel it

birds announcing spring
their flight shows a rapid grace
now moving northward

the flow of water
calming our wildest thinking
is a benison

the problem of learning

in time we'll find that what we thought was true
was not the whole truth but was certainly no lie
what appears whole and perfect to each eye
has flaws that can be seen with a different view
but that's an effort most would find undue
instead we praise our teachers if they're by
and when their gone we wonder exactly why
we bother learning when it's far safer to sue
not for this morning or for a sunny afternoon
but for the coming time when we will be at ease
the rules are being made and we'll not satisfy
our enemies by granting them a kind of boon
their complaints we'll disdain we won't even sneeze
and we will laugh as they go slouching by

tankas for a perfect day

magic in fresh air
wind soft on faces touching
each of us gently
marking each second with joy
winter ends for us right now

buds on the branches
happy signal of the change
remaking the year
reminder of the season
flowers soon will be coming

beyond each moment
life itself tells us nothing
appreciate it
divinely happy laughter
the colours of rejoicing

the people of the books

we praise the names of those who came before
each of them now a giant though in life quite small
from our perspective they loom very tall
we wonder how each fitted through a door
we think them rich in life though actually quite poor
none stumbled though each of them could fall
we see them all running though many couldn't crawl
we think they gave all but they could have done more
we take them from the books and don't see their feet
stuck deep in the mire of life and plodding steady
through what they were given no more no less
we wonder what we'd say if we could meet
we don't believe that we'd be either sure or ready
but we've the fear that we'd cause them distress