airport

we find ourselves in a sort of urban hell
of factories and smokestacks and red lights
more smoky and sullen in the nights
we wonder what these people have to sell
the noise and shadows a dull story tell
meanwhile they're not announcing flights
you have to guess and you have no rights
it's almost as if there were a wicked spell
never in time and never in proper place
the signs contain no messages we need
the crowd sits sullenly and does not speak
this is another stage in the long rat race
none would move a muscle if you bleed
but swiftly would trample over the meek

no time for bleating

fractured factored shaped by water
not before its time turns ripe
father mother son and daughter
from their faces tears will wipe

now the broken time will cover
all the days that are to come
while the bird of prey will hover
all our voices are struck dumb

name the villain and he blusters
name the hero and he weeps
the bombs now explode in clusters
and the sword of justice sleeps

marginal and not for service
are the ones who will not fall
their appearance makes men nervous
yet they will not make the call

individual dysfunction
makes us wish for sacrifice
but the lesser day's conjunction
tells us there's a higher price

what the magic moment carries
is not what we can yet know
if one hurries the other tarries
for there is not far to go

now we make the moment quicker
but there is no one to see
the lights come on and the flicker
as it was so must it be

we've got the magic

all who hear this laugh with joy
the answer given must agree
we've got the magic girl and boy

what happens our peace to annoy
will not concern us by decree
all who hear this laugh with joy

the most remarkably deft ploy
will not evade the starting fee
we've got the magic girl and boy

nothing will our pleasures cloy
we'll all dance round the happy tree
all who hear this laugh with joy

no one can our desires destroy
we've made the final high degree
we've got the magic girl and boy

we will with our new burdens toy
we've got the power being free
all who hear this laugh with joy
we've got the magic girl and boy

Encrypted message

The abjurer will get nowhere quite fast,
each feels the tang as the evil gnat bites;
at noon the father (Abba) of the rites
will over the green Terra magic cast.
In the crag pent, the demon's free at last
but, free to irk and vex, it sets its sights
on getting us to flap in sync, for nights
and days -- bar one -- it has its rights.
Now, given that Cher's not the one who's pure
and at the onyx pendant will not balk,
we've got to navigate with astrolabe
until we've come to a landmark that's sure;
I realise that's subject to much common talk
but we'll defend the honour of honest Abe.

not the wine-dark sea

you see no other islands from these heights
no sails triangular against the looming sun
this is not the web that weak arachne spun
these are not the odorous levantine nights
what you can see are not the ancient sights
the shadow there is not suleiman's gun
the colours do not mean the tunny's run
no sphinx waits here to give us all the frights
that's clearly the case and yet what we desire
is that this sea give us those blessed signs
that indicate that their tale's truly well told
but we don't hear the sound of homer's lyre
those are not grapes that hang from the vines
while winter comes we cannot call it cold
the people here know well that they were sold
from a far land where rises new the fire
to labour in horrid fields and dank mines
not to the ranks of elysium do they aspire
a better place they see and other lines
they'd see the heroes as too rash and bold
yet they have a story well worth the telling
about far more than mere buying and selling

no serene recollection

morning comes from mountains sudden light
night turns into small shadows and expires
the brilliance of the sun quite dulls the fires
we see the hummingbirds and hawks take flight
now distant prospects are open to our sight
but we're distracted by the marks of tyres
deep in fresh mud now each one of us aspires
to leave these scenes which do not seem so bright
and now looking backward with much older eyes
forget the pains and sorrows remember better air
there's naught but memory left to us now
we want to gild it to call it our paradise
forget each long and painful farmhouse year
and every promise made and solemn vow

Gernsbackian sonnet

Rocketships, spacers, and time machines,
heroic men with rocklike and clean jaws,
men sworn to service to uphold the laws,
though tempted from their path by alien queens.
Scientific sorts, seeking the proper means
to travel across galaxies without pause,
and find out, in quick time, the proper cause
of all the varied universal scenes.
We think of men in myriad spaceport bars
telling the tales of planets far from view,
and alien beings with most human hearts.
Perhaps some girl will come, fresh in from Mars,
she'll bring fresh air, a sense of something new;
while into space another rocket darts.