marking more finals

there is so much here that is tired and trite
past the misspellings and the weird syntax
you come to thought that is weak and lax
vision that misses what is out in plain sight
clichés that have been polished almost bright
inanity stretching almost beyond the max
you want to prune the nonsense with an axe
but know that you will never have that right
to tell the truth though would be very bold
they turn on tears as if they had a tap
and thinking seems to them a waste of time
you wonder at just why you feel so old
at your great patience in the face of crap
and how they drive you to the thought of crime

at the right angle

there is no silence through the day
the sounds of work are very loud
those workers seem to form a crowd
we cannot hear what they say
the excavator breaks the clay
about the trees there is no shroud
the walls arise both brown and proud
the pipes are laid out on the way
inside the voices are still clear
not from this place nor yet so far
all things are different yet the same
there's not yet stillness in the air
it's far too bright to see a star
life at this hour is not a game

negation of the negation

at the quick moment one can't lie
all that we say must have some weight
the answer's hidden in the sky

each one that's born must one day die
only the unlucky may know the date
at the quick moment one can't lie

the bold as much as the very shy
know that they cannot avoid fate
the answer's hidden in the sky

one just cannot break down and cry
nor can one yet erase the slate
at the quick moment one can't lie

each will must shatter by and by
the loudest lion sleeps in the crate
the answer's hidden in the sky

you'll eat another slice of pie
there'll be no crumbs left on the plate
at the quick moment one can't lie
the answer's hidden in the sky

overabundance of finals

these many words that make so little sense
will tell you nothing but may well confuse
one wonders why young people seem so dense

at least most aren't just sitting on the fence
but their ideas are mostly old refuse
these many words that make so little sense

my mind is tired and my mood is intense
i've much to do and little time to lose
one wonders why young people seem so dense

to erudition they make small pretense
their papers are so dull they make me snooze
these many words that make so little sense

one might say something in their works' defence
if one has been long inured to abuse
one wonders why young people seem so dense

the task this afternoon seems so immense
wasted ink and paper must annoy the muse
these many words that make so little sense
one wonders why young people seem so dense

a smaller world

mule grazes on the hillside ignoring me
the pasture's wide enough for both of us
i've got a job to do and won't make a fuss
from the top of the hill i can descry the sea
i think of all the places to which i'd flee
but know i cannot for it was ever thus
the journeys are too long to make by bus
unlike the mule i think that i am free
yet with these chores and duties i must stay
the wisdom of this world i've got to learn
until that time i do as i'm required
there has to be a better surer way
to do much more than merely look and yearn
but at that time i was with all hope fired