For Michael Cooke at 50

The sun sees nothing as our planet turns
around its orb, but we know that we age,
that every sunreturn's another page
in a long record. Anyone who earns
an adult life eventually learns
not simply how to read but how to gauge
the difference between charlatan and sage
yet finds his heart with secret fires still burns.
Over the miles we've come with weary feet
to find our satisfactions in the task
that life has dealt us, and to find our voice
rising with pleasure as our friends we greet,
happy to grant, yet always glad to ask,
and knowing what we know we may rejoice.

drought

 

what trees remember is not any act
of humans underneath or close nearby
just the pale colour of the autumn sky
and whether any limbs by wind were wracked
it's been so long since ever thunder cracked
trees know the passing clouds are a bright lie
while creatures of the forest are not shy
knowing very soon they will be attacked
life faces changes that the trees must know
but they say nothing and they never would
speak out of turn avoiding any ruth
they're always here to watch the changing show
silent no matter whether bad or good
and in their silence always speaking truth

the task of education

words travel from me at the speed of light
pausing i have a moment just to stare
patterns change always at the edge of sight

i think about the words my students write
statements produced with very little care
words travel from me at the speed of light

upon young brains there has fallen a blight
they do not want to think nor to prepare
patterns change always at the edge of sight

i want their chances to be more than slight
speaking plain truth is something i must dare
words travel from me at the speed of light

it is the dullest thinking they're most bright
that angers me and makes me tug my hair
patterns change always at the edge of sight

still i must do those things i know are right
simply be honest and be always fair
words travel from me at the speed of light
patterns change always at the edge of sight

ignorance is strength

the gentlest touch awakens in the dark
those who must wait for the returning sign
myriads of soldiers wait right at the line
for the next signal the alarming spark
result of choices that are plain and stark
for reasons that our rulers claim divine
another light will surely one day shine
the sterile desert once more be a park
an easy victory won by single charge
and then our boys come home to a parade
with golden banners over them unfurled
on suchlike prospects they will long enlarge
while truth and honour into history fade
and greater darkness comes over the world

to tell a fable

across the night we hear a different sound
of more than life rejoicing in its prime
with echoes coming from a future ground

into the coming day most are now bound
each of us prisoners of hope and time
across the night we hear a different sound

true value's not in dollar nor in pound
the music here's not a drumbeat or chime
with echoes coming from a future ground

we wait for mountain to decay to mound
new creatures to rise up out of the slime
across the night we hear a different sound

so much remains the waiting to astound
we burn the rock to make the harsh quicklime
with echoes coming from a future ground

what others lost we know that we have found
and honest speech must never be a crime
across the night we hear a different sound
with echoes coming from a future ground