not ever woken

at vision's edge deformity of light
a slip into the stories of the past
another kind of magic and of sight
at vision's edge deformity of light

i keep my head for that's what seems most right
the fatal die was ages ago cast
at vision's edge deformity of light
a slip into the stories of the past

an exhibition

i know the subjects every one are dead
so is the painter and i was not yet born
to know how they saw evening and dawn
i take the image as more than just read
still life from these faces has not yet fled
we look and know that we could never scorn
their power and beauty has not been shorn
from what we see and that is all i've said
to make things clear we need much better laws
to let us know the worth of those who show
us how best to understand what is seen
by those of us who cannot bear to pause
to see just what we could attempt to know
the painting unlike memory stays green

here is the rose dance here

echoes of wisdom in what we are shown
tired radicals next to the scum they hate
both ends are told us of the human fate

on hungry winds all images are blown
our understanding always comes too late
echoes of wisdom in what we are shown

into a floating world we have been thrown
too much has been recorded on the slate
only the fatuous seek to preach or prate
echoes of wisdom in what we are shown

manifestations

another word another kind of name
into the pot they go and we divide
what's won is what gets us out of the game

all vision comes down to the proper frame
we have to learn and cannot simply chide
another word another kind of name

the dancers stop when they become quite lame
and cannot long continue on the ride
what's won is what gets us out of the game

each moment comes another kind of flame
it's kept on going out of urgent pride
another word another kind of name

no fear will ever freeze us nor no shame
we have no reason to pause or to hide
what's won is what gets us out of the game

the wild will always yield unto the tame
that's the great secret we all keep inside
another word another kind of name
what's won is what gets us out of the game

frogs and cicadas

last fading light and on the chorus comes
we pause to listen and for once to smile
these here are nature's tiny pipes and drums
last fading light and on the chorus comes

with urgent life the remnant woodland hums
but honest nature's going out of style
last fading light and on the chorus comes
we pause to listen and for once to smile

a simple path to paradise

a little thought and we would have to laugh
words come and go and never can express
just how to shake the wheat out of the chaff

our hope this season is just to address
the proper source of all our fear and pain
and cease to pay it the demanded cess

throughout this summer we have wanted rain
it has not come and we watch flowers die
the rules are all against us that is plain

no benison has fallen from the sky
but still we hope and still we have to smile
our future's never founded on a lie

there's no gate here no accursed slap or stile
just a plain road lacking a fingerpost
but still we can trudge on another mile

it's a long journey till we reach the coast
we have been there and set foot in the sea
but that is not a reason for our boast

all of our happiness is out and free
we have seen pain and we bear the scars
of our long struggle just to live and be

still we're rewarded by the summer stars