it rained last night

the watching raven perches on the windowsill
that half-built house a sort of wooden cave
my mother's voice on the telephone is grave
she speaks of growing old and of the ill
health of a sister who has lost the will
to carry onwards what of life she can save
a wreck of memory she never could behave
in simple ways and now her mind falls still
my mother's words contain good sense and cheer
the message a quite simple one she's fine
and i should not be worried soon she'll move
much nearer to her sisters there'll be care
for years to come there's static on the line
but one thing's clear for now she's in the groove

on the edge of magic

a radiance that we won't soon see
as green of leaf hides grey of tree
mind still ensnared in shade of night
hears voice in distance proclaiming spite
name one of these and it will fade
we're told just how the game is played
in the right place we'll set the lamp
and look outside at humid damp
there's never any chance for rest
yet we must make a jape or jest
a sort of thing that once possessed
would give us hope for some reward
still should we the true day accord
to grant our vision what was known
the kind of chance that one alone
would take but once you're in the swing
there's not a hope that this one thing
would let you torment your own heart
much sooner you'd your own self cart
to some old place where calm remained
the sort of thing you'd call unstained
unwithered and still fresh and new
under bare feet you'd feel the dew
yet morning passes and soon comes
the moment when day turns to crumbs
the stars return with clouds of night
obscurity shall mask the blight
now what possessed you to take heed
of ancient fain and fallen creed
now in the time that still remains
we want the fruit of your young brains
name all the things that may surpass
the sight of dew fresh on the grass
and you will find you still can't stand
on what is at last your own land

the right perspective

at bottom there's but a single rock
foundation of a hope a simple home
we look above but see only the gloam
a star appearing now would be a shock
pause just a second for us to take stock
establish margins of both earth and foam
but don't allow a single one to roam
the answer is the limit or the block
never before or since the loudest storm
calm spreads around in the translucent hour
grey pillars hold up a thin roof of green
there's something here of sense or good form
but not enough to speak of force or power
what we accept is not what we have seen

echoes in time

almost in tune i watch the branches dance
the music fills my head in my mind's eye
the well-known stage is so simple to espy
reality is the wayward child of chance
richness of sound invites us to advance
in a quick blink i note a bird pass by
we have good reason to watch it fly
the truest rhythm creates the best trance
what we do or say makes the best bet
not random possibility but golden shape
of light in forest and of sound in space
the applause announces that a purpose set
by the old heart is not one we may escape
our love of art's not written on the face

some things must dance

so to measure motions of light in air
observing the green in and under trees
the sudden impact of the warming breeze
an afternoon that's turned from cool to fair
i sit back thoughtful too comfy in my chair
to simply note the thing another sees
whatever happens that one time to please
ending all harshness in my thought and care
those meanings that we give at every turn
the light that's caught within a simple frame
waves passing by almost outside our sight
for these things like an exile i must yearn
to reach out and give each breath a name
before the coming of another night

the quiet answer

the hopeful quality of light
expanding through the visual frame
the things that enter in my sight
i give them each a proper name

not mine nor yours the proper right
to require that things stay the same
we're caught in an ignoble plight
but do not know if it's a game

a proper choice will not affright
the keepers of our truest flame
we life and hope for the delight
and shun the bringers of the shame

too soon will come another night
the raging heart we cannot tame
so we proclaim with all our might
the imperfections of acclaim