beginning summer time

what makes the day new is the early dark
the quiet time before the morning's rush
the time when there is still a stellar hush
we move through what seems a shaded park
no cocks will crow here and no dogs bark
we're far ahead of the bustle and the crush
with shadows all seems rich and lush
the cruelty of time has hidden its old mark
we know this is illusion know that the veil
will vanish with the sunrise and the return
of obligation service and the ever bright
young people who are eager to make sail
to reach those places for which they yearn
and forget quickly the promise of the night

something truly great

what fills the head does not rejoice the heart
heart's satisfactions leave the mind as dead
each of us wishes we played only a bit part

the things that we imagine we can never chart
nor can we take agreement as just read
what fills the head does not rejoice the heart

our souls are bought and sold at the cheap mart
a pound of feathers balances all the lead
each of us wishes we played only a bit part

the thing that satisfies will cause no smart
in the small space between the done and said
what fills the head does not rejoice the heart

we find at the end what we found at the start
all our desire is caught twixt love and dread
each of us wishes we played only a bit part

the corpse of the slain they dump on cart
the alchemy of life turns flesh to bread
what fills the head does not rejoice the heart
each of us wishes we played only a bit part

another sun

with no fuss the stars come out each night
we don't think about it nor do we ever think
of what would happen if when on the brink
of evening we got a sudden sharp new light
it would be strange and it would not be right
but if the nightclouds were tinted deep pink
instead of what they are we still would drink
their water though we'd all quail at the sight
the strange we can endure and every hell
that we can manufacture we'll still contrive
though it be near impossible and though
we hope to hear the sweet dismissal bell
our efforts may still lead us to survive
in all those places that we would not go

across the street

red brick dark leaves blue sky
magnolia oppresses killing views
marking the boundaries not news
but their firm reality's a bloody lie
we do not spare a glance as we go by
at the harsh war among the hues
we have not asked trees to pay dues
but now we ask ourselves exactly why
the situation was allowed to hap
in which the trees did more than shade
and all the rules were set upon their head
we could do this or we could instead nap
allow the vision of these things to fade
and let the observation create dread

the measure of all things

naming the places does not give us power
we make illusionary claims to magic arts
some time we're promised a refreshing shower

we will not see the cornered beasts that cower
awaiting the last onslaught of our darts
naming the places does not give us power

on the low grass the buttercups in flower
proclaim a spring that grows inside our hearts
some time we're promised a refreshing shower

we want the rain to cleanse us and to scour
the dust that's covered us in fits and starts
naming the places does not give us power

we've no traitors to punish nor to devour
they are not men of any noble parts
some time we're promised a refreshing shower

all things will wait until the proper hour
we've made all due notations on the charts
naming the places does not give us power
some time we're promised a refreshing shower

a late evaluation

 

if there's time to sit and think upon the season
we'll know that there are better things to do
the sense of duty is the mind's deep treason
we want to stop but we must follow through
on the morning bell we've cast all our curses
impervious it has been to all such imprecation
we want to turn our anguish into fine verses
but that requires some urgent cerebration
we haven't had a chance to cross some palms
with all the silver needed for proper benison
and then we're forced to scrape and beg for alms
while our opponents feast on beef and venison
life strangles us and cancels all our verve and wit
we're left with sore backs and much more shit