in the shrubbery

there's no time to celebrate folly
we just have to dust ourselves off
refurl that once-opened brolly
there's no time to celebrate folly

our folks want us jocund and jolly
ignoring each wet hacking cough
there's no time to celebrate folly
we just have to dust ourselves off

No wild centuries

when you awake and hear the birdies sing
it takes you back across the years and miles
your mind reopens old and dusty files
inside your head you see them on the wing
a different sort of life these woods must bring
on this hard mainland far from quiet isles
but still the watcher slowly nods and smiles
life calls on you to live always in spring
a spray of water soothes and cools the green
the air is still and so much can be heard
above white clouds move steady in the blue
you are the one who best knows what you've seen
there's meaning in the movement of the bird
and that you're certain won't change with the view

Roger, myself, and Jeremy at Roger's graduation

at the end of pilgrimage

at each corner of the crossing
stand tall statues of the keepers
stern they are and quite forbidding
but one seems to smile in secret
let the watcher pause a moment
and the hidden power will touch her
not for us the open comment
hearts are not scared of the darkness

still we want to run together
turn away from normal questions
earn the truth that we were promised
while the power around us falters
long departed secret master
tells us nothing we find useful
rather he seeks to mislead us
draw us deeper into sorrow

at the crossing of the river
we saw miracles not happen
thunder crashed high on the mountain
but down here was perfect weather
as we sit and drink our breakfast
others plot against our freedom
but the ones who claim to guard us
can't tell arses clear from elbows

so we have ourselves a problem
no one who has sense will answer
we've been told about a vision
vouchafed only to the wisest
but the folk who claim to know it
haven't got the sense of sparrows
we are stuck with nothing better
than the hope of life unfinished

optimism

there's never any need for worry
so we're told by those who rest
their minds are ever weak and blurry
there's never any need for worry

our lives are passed in a great hurry
each day we face another test
there's never any need for worry
so we're told by those who rest

above wild waters

had we some reason for fear or regret
our tears would flow to fill the very sea
still we have not won every race just yet

although we're not permitted to forget
our masters tell us that we'd now be free
had we some reason for fear or regret

our flawless records won't soon be upset
there's always been a call to let things be
still we have not won every race just yet

all of our senses tell us there's a threat
yet we'd succumb and bow and bend the knee
had we some reason for fear or regret

our common sense just will not let us fret
about how far we've fallen from the tree
still we have not won every race just yet

so we have got the sense to see what's set
before us may allow us soon to see
had we some reason for fear or regret
still we have not won every race just yet

a certain kind of magic

we'll always get the best return
life treats us all so very well
no power will our presence spurn
we'll always get the best return

our foes all hope that we will burn
each in our own peculiar hell
we'll always get the best return
life treats us all so very well

what we have got we didn't earn
but wealth has never had a smell
we'll do ourselves a better turn
what we have got we didn't earn

to comfort will we soon adjourn
what we now know we will not tell
what we have got we didn't earn
but wealth has never had a smell

you may look both bold and stern
but you'll soon fall under our spell
you anxious folk will never learn
you may look both bold and stern

you'll have no choice but now to turn
your earnestness we have to quell
you may look both bold and stern
but you'll soon fall under our spell

in the raw web

 there's never fiction in the light
the time for telling tales is dark
what we decide to read and mark
seems much more lofty in the night
and yet we see with normal sight
past the rough and peeling bark
into the place that's wholly stark
and manage to control our fright
a story can build years of fear
in any mind that's fresh and young
things always seem just out of place
when we have no choice but to hear
the bitterness of aging tongue
and see the anger in each face

ninetyseven degrees

torrid the day and slight the breeze
a shimmer seems to coat each leaf
i sit here dreamy at my ease
torrid the day and slight the breeze

i can't see through the line of trees
if i'm outside it's very brief
torrid the day and slight the breeze
a shimmer seems to coat each leaf