no matter what

we crave the honesty of simple light
eyes are unfocused and our minds asleep
day fades insensibly into dull night

what's seen we note with other than plain sight
the stream is shallow but the well is deep
we crave the honesty of simple light

a bird's glimpsed blue and scarlet in mid-flight
from earth to heaven's but a single leap
day fades insensibly into dull night

what was made wrong will soon be set aright
through the slow work we will with hope now creep
we crave the honesty of simple light

the chance of suffering is never so slight
as that of finding what we cannot keep
day fades insensibly into dull night

the day will end although the noon is bright
what's sown by us others will one day reap
we crave the honesty of simple light
day fades insensibly into dull night

watching the mercury

you are not watching but it still must rise
outside folk are prostrated by the heat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

the hungry bird from shade to shade still flies
into the woody shadows we retreat
you are not watching but it still must rise

we cannot hear the angry and dark cries
of creatures that are forced to walk the beat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

perhaps around there lurk some patient spies
feeling the pain from their ant-bitten feet
you are not watching but it still must rise

what happens each day cannot us surprise
we're long inured to hurt and to defeat
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

dread visions rise to haunt our minds and eyes
with hope and happiness we shall not meet
you are not watching but it still must rise
rain will not fall from the brass-hearted skies

there's no relief

from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit
seeking the nectar to sustain its flight
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

there's no place now that is not hotly lit
by a harsh searing hateful sort of light
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit

you seek in vain to find the place where split
the rock and water gushes into sight
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

up on the branch a cawing crow may sit
its voice announcing both envy and spite
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit

you think that i just do not have the grit
to sit down on my arse and simply write
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

the fact is this you're simply full of shit
you have no purpose and your mind's not bright
from flower to flower the hummingbird will flit
while i can't find the truest vein of wit

the statesman

a single word will halt the swiftest deed
silence assents but silence always lies
not one of you but fails to come at need

we find the hero but a broken reed
when asked for labour or for quick supplies
a single word will halt the swiftest deed

there's never haste nor is there ever speed
the hero every barrier magnifies
not one of you but fails to come at need

we are required to subscribe to your creed
and kept quite faithful by your many spies
a single word will halt the swiftest deed

you will not come although we fall and bleed
blaming foul weather under clearest skies
not one of you but fails to come at need

your only virtue is a sort of greed
for all the things that decent folk despise
a single word will halt the swiftest deed
not one of you but fails to come at need

thus spake zarathustra

sweltering beneath the maples
there's not fleeing this great fire
we still don't lack basics and staples
but we're filled with heat and ire

rules were made and now are broken
hope was born and now has died
we have got only a token
but we know our leader lied

now we have to make the payment
when we have no ready cash
we have torn and smeared our raiment
waiting for the coming crash

all the birds of prey are waiting
for our great final fatal fall
all the while they are debating
if our taste will cloy and pall

messages sing down the wires
while the vermin sit and wait
proving that we all were liars
but that this was merely fate

each of us will tell a story
but we cannot make it nice
we have sought for greater glory
now we have to pay the price

at the last we will be tired
bowed and trembling in the heat
in our lies we have been mired
and soon justice we shall meet

extraterrestrial

seeing mount fuji
means nothing to a martian
still do we praise it

eros and dust

What warms the body still may freeze the soul,
what soothes the ear may be rough to the hand,
we aren't surprised to find the real thing bland
for showy leaves may hide a flimsy bole.
The point, it seems, is not to praise the whole
mass of those things we've come to understand;
instead we seek to excite that hottest gland,
the one that rules us all from head to sole.
Not what you think, the one that will respond
to clean cut body or to pleasing form
of well-made muscles or of round behind.
The organ is the one we have least conned
but which, well-comprehended sets the norm
less of the body and much more of the mind.