a bay of air

pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing
birds dance with purpose through the morning sky
the day is hot they will not venture high

and we down here will never hear them sing
we're lucky that we glimpse them passing by
pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing

it's never time for one true happy fling
our backs will stay bent and our thoughts are wry
though tears are shed the soil still remains dry
pink blends with blue while on swift-moving wing

reaching for shadows

we measure truth in very simple ways
process is not one that truly matters
we ask for little in these weary days

the sun destroys us with life-giving rays
upon our heads each photon still batters
we measure truth in very simple ways

we long for seas lapping on sandy bays
and for a shape that soft moonlight flatters
we ask for little in these weary days

the heat and sunlight anyone might craze
listening for clash of empty platters
we measure truth in very simple ways

we can escape from any complex maze
hope remains behind in shreds and tatters
we ask for little in these weary days

we are just characters in tragic plays
each of us merely argues and patters
we measure truth in very simple ways
we ask for little in these weary days

october 1968

hills heavy green under a watery sky
a distant cock is crowing before noon
the air tells us that rain is coming soon
all seems so rich and fertile to the eye
colours explode while vultures soaring high
wait for the foolish animal to swoon
to find a meaning you must read the rune
the distant sea just makes you want to fly
we reach each place without a formal choice
the world itself seems no more than a toy
and mysteries reside within each tree
yet there are never reasons to rejoice
most tears will not be products of true joy
and nothing matters even when you're free

signifiers drift

write out some words and they will make all true
a moment's silence fills the hungry space
facts do not depend on your point of view

the one who loses always turns the screw
on hopeful winners of the human race
write out some words and they will make all true

another answer will not make things new
connections do not just create a place
facts do not depend on your point of view

all sorts of meats give flavour to the stew
we always seem to want to feed the face
write out some words and they will make all true

what moistens in the morning is not dew
each passing being wants to leave a trace
facts do not depend on your point of view

not one who listens ever thinks it through
we gain in pleasure but we lose in grace
write out some words and they will make all true
facts do not depend on your point of view

normal obligations

we know not what abides just what we see
the air is heavy and the day's too hot
we're almost ready to be stewed in pot

the sky is framed by the greenness of tree
in the far distance sounds an urgent shot
we know not what abides just what we see

too many hours until we we each are free
we find ourselves constantly on the spot
not sure if we are needed or if not
we know not what abides just what we see