not only wilberforce

each step to freedom requires a long fight
power concedes nothing without force
things don't move in a predestined course
it takes an effort to shove back the night
strength is required to combat great might
justice must be demanded from the source
no need to fear appearing crude or coarse
they are called rude who ask for what is right
told that they suffered from a primal curse
they didn't falter though the road was long
struggle they embarked on countless wars
what was bad they kept from being worse
against all power they raised freedom's song
their eyes were focused upward on the stars

the masque of humanity

seeking illuminations of this weary age
not on the streets but in the human heart
we read the message and we turn the page

no reason now to burn with hotter rage
at those who made our past a thing apart
seeking illuminations of this weary age

it was no wonder-worker nor no mage
who bought and sold our fathers in the mart
we read the message and we turn the page

all our experience has not made us sage
we have not moved six inches from the start
seeking illuminations of this weary age

we've trapped ourselves within a tiny cage
and yet we've hope this horror to depart
we read the message and we turn the page

each of us takes our turn on the great stage
we forge our lives into a kind of art
seeking illuminations of this weary age
we read the message and we turn the page

due recollection

it's good to have this monthly conversation
to speak across the waters without fear
allow the words exposure loud and clear
be honest sensible avoid tergiversation
truth and love combine in admiration
this is the proper happy time of year
the messengers that all our signals bear
are filled right now with joyous animation
let each of our attentions thus be given
to those who gave us life and taught
our human senses to take understanding
from all of life no need ever to be driven
out to distraction and then to be caught
by those whose bent is ever so demanding

Macbeth

Murders, witches, ghosts, and all that shit
over five acts, we recollect the lot;
remembering stray lines and burnished wit
we keep in mind the threads of the hard plot.
It's not the kind of thing that we'd forget,
this play that actors fear, but must produce
since audiences love it for the strong purge
of all our senses; still it will seduce
even those most fearful, for all have the urge
to take their turn upon that tragic stage
and show the limits of ambition. There's hope
in all of us that when we turn the page,
we'll find another Scot, one who will cope
when all is said and done, with lord and wife,
and bring our fears to such huge, vivid life.

the oddest ring

i'm not sure if it's real or some kind of illusion
the phone rang clearly but no one was there
i spoke but got no answer from dead air
i shut the phone and sat in much confusion
this day i know there should be a profusion
of spoken messages voices of love and care
our deepest worries spoken honesty of fear
giving to all our senses its dark infusion
instead there's silence i'm at a loss to speak
to one who's not there for there's no reply
when i call back it isn't that i'm worried
but on this afternoon i'm tired and weak
in spite of all the light that falls from sky
but still i know some things cannot be hurried

no prevarication

what spaces left for those who did not rise
when called to action but chose then to bide
waiting for some sign like a change in tide
uncertain whether to commend or to despise
claiming great aversion to long goodbyes
they could be neither merciful nor snide
but chose to sit while others risked to ride
what kind of ending sat upon their eyes
if there's a place where those who pause
for far too long and cannot find their way
may be appraised and given proper measure
might we by invocation of superior laws
demand that they be stripped upon the day
then denied access to the greatest treasure

attending to the record

when told the tale of what is now long past
what recollections and what feelings rise
the field's enormous and the map is vast

what was done then has now been surpassed
by those who do not need the least disguise
when told the tale of what is now long past

it might have been one who had been aghast
at all that cautious thinking could devise
the field's enormous and the map is vast

the sail that's hung upon the tallest mast
takes up the wind or that's the best surmise
when told the tale of what is now long past

upon great waters desires were outcast
all backs were turned to loud despairing cries
the field's enormous and the map is vast

never be certain this fight will be the last
life will entice us with its subtlest lies
when told the tale of what is now long past
the field's enormous and the map is vast

What's beamed up

We find out pretty early that the tech
sustains us but provides no moral core;
the journey is not one we've done before,
to reach the stars will take us a long trek.
We're not to be summoned, not at the beck
of any caller; our mission needs much more
than mere devotion, but we do not get sore;
the captain sits and ponders on the deck.
Below the engineer thinks squares and cubes,
gets everything the engines give and yet
can coax more from them, that's the noble thing.
He clambers with agility through narrow tubes,
does not despair though others get upset,
and finds more lift than can be got by wing.