Age of disenchantment

 

We scan the globe for one last hidden isle
where dwell the wizards and the ones who speak
not with a mouth but with a sort of beak,
near deadly ladies who sailors beguile;
inland we know there's a narrow defile
leads to a palace on high mountain-peak,
difficult traverse, not for the weak,
yet gods are there who when they see us smile.
There is a road we're now afraid to take
past villages where old chimneys still smoke,
into the country where wise dragons dwell.
We knew it once, that sure was no mistake,
nor any dream. But now we're under yoke,
and grown into a world that's more like hell.

unimaginable zero summer

 

an element of pity gives us will
to do our duty and to do it well
we have to listen to the morning bell
and then go climbing up the daily hill
the heavy bucket cannot slip or spill
if we misstep others will surely tell
we have short time and never a long spell
all that we need is modesty and skill
we tell the truth about what we have seen
and face the moron horde who cannot see
the things that are both obvious and plain
no matter what we know where we have been
under the last most magical green tree
beyond the realms of hatred and of pain

once young and foolish

 the double choice of which way on the road
a sort of abstract made by one who knows
that journeys all must come to the same end
a moment more and there's a better choice
what leads us home may be the route of pain
but sorrow cannot keep us from true love
in truth it's hard in this place to be lost
since every path comes in the end to sea
and over the blue waves is freedom's home
none speaks of this under the mango leaf
but heart turns kinder when the moon is bright
and things are clearer then than in daylight
youth ends too soon in face of normal grief
the life of duty will not let us roam
our only option's not to let things be
following rules has we will find a cost
hard fist is gentled by the leather glove
sight comes to us and all things become plain
we listen to the ones with pleasant voice
true vision shows that trails must twist and bend
we'll take the allamanda not the rose
echoes we find in this fantastic mode

one for the road

by ancient law the one who speaks must pay
not just his scot but every listener's drink
so that long speech concludes with happy clink

a word of caution speeds each on their way
much more is needed than a simple wink
by ancient law the one who speaks must pay

we choose to work when we should have to play
it takes no effort to achieve the brink
but on the cliff there is no pause to think
by ancient law the one who speaks must pay

movement in calm

 drizzle falling grey
hint of true kindness of rain
autumn arriving

summer hanging on
but yellow leaves appearing
truly wistful time

taste of the season
fruit explodes in hungry mouths
ripest in memory

a better map

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

choose well the realm where you will sink your heart
for after you will have no proper rest
the whole of life's just playing a small part
routine injustice removes any zest
we find that nature's got a sort of art
but what we see in dreams remains the best
the ones who rule us never give a fart
but simply lie and tell us it's a test

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

a child may move from myth onto the map
and find that truth requires a kind of lie
a world half glimpsed between the game and nap
a shape that's written on the empty sky
elves that tread quietly and dare to tap
your sleeping shoulder and stare in your eye
and then we grow up and the world's just crap
you work your arse off and you have to die

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

each day we sink far deeper in the hole
burnt in the sun and soaked by dreary rain
we get no closer to the hoped-for goal
and all our promise turns to gritty pain
explorers do not seek the distant pole
all life seems focused on some petty gain
work and commute grind down each weary soul
smiling requires that we must sweat and strain

we have fresh apples now and wine in flagons
but see no unicorns and spy no dragons

a tiny change what others call a blunder
would take us to a place where light is grand
where frolic all the creatures of great wonder
where perish all the tasks and duties bland
a world made out of lighting and thunder
where happy warriors may make a stand
break all the hellish bonds at once asunder
and show us all a better promised land

we have fresh apples still and wine in flagons
but dance with unicorns and sport with dragons