a little passage

a sudden banging sound against the glass
a bird mistakes it for the empty air
and so another little life must pass
a sudden banging sound against the glass

to say that this is normal would be crass
we interfere where other life would fare
a sudden banging sound against the glass
a bird mistakes it for the empty air

not yet a figment

what counts is that which we most need to find
the monster hidden behind chamber door
or else the rat cowering on cellar floor

orders are given and then left behind
we have a million thoughts to keep in store
what counts is that which we most need to find

at times we think that we are truly blind
each one forgets just who is keeping score
the anger seeps out of each human pore
what counts is that which we most need to find

freedom's a mere word

a taste of moral certainty or sense
would serve to make us think our world not fair
such knowledge reaches even the most dense
a taste of moral certainty or sense

we understand all this without pretense
justice and honour do not breathe this air
a taste of moral certainty or sense
would serve to make us think our world not fair

our bosses tell us that they really care
but then pass by without a second glance
the ones bent double by their pain and fair
our bosses tell us that they really care

we're told that only foolish folk would dare
to undermine the powers of elegance
our bosses tell us that they really care
but then pass by without a second glance

all life we're told did not reach here by chance
the status quo has force that is immense
if we don't bow then we cannot advance
all life we're told did not reach here by chance

we've got to follow in the same old dance
although the order has no true defence
all life we're told did not reach here by chance
the status quo has force that is immense

all boils down to sex

old gods are dragged onto analyst's couch
their foibles torn apart with little thought
the simplest matters are with meaning fraught
and strange beings onto mount ida slouch
winds are contained in a most tiny pouch
but what the writer meant must go for naught
the critic always claims the truth is caught
in weasel words that under windows crouch
rain's but a metaphor and not a fact
of farmer's lives that needs no extra gloss
for us to see just what the image means
every symbol's been by a botcher racked
we read and we can't even give a toss
at the sacred significance of beans

milestone

six hundred sonnets seems to me a lot
of words and rhymes in just under a year
if i hadn't seen the count i'd almost swear
the number was created by some sot
i stop here for a moment just to jot
down this poem then i must take the air
and do such things as fall under my care
to do my duty and to pay my scot
i started this for fun no better cause
to wake my muse and let her take command
of mind and hand for short expanse of time
i've knuckled under to her solemn laws
written some things i hope you understand
and done my best to stick to honest rhyme

orchestral arrangement

no distance so great
between frog and cricket song
july is ending