sunday morning buckhead

 

against clear azure these fresh happy towers
announce a city rising from the green
in autumn when the air is pretty clean
and there is leisure for some shining hours
before the monster once again devours
all that we take to become and to mean
and chews us up and sends us from the scene
having exhausted all our working powers
wealth is concrete and also wood and brick
the cars all gleam in the atlanta sun
and nature is divided by straight lines
we cannot learn just how to pull this trick
but wonder at just what has been begun
to put in shadow all these leafy pines

a lesser light

some clarity is more than we desire
the weight of sky bears down on every head
we end in water or we end in fire

to what high regions might we not aspire
were it not for our constant sense of dread
some clarity is more than we desire

the one who falsifies is not the liar
what truly matters sinks faster than lead
we end in water or we end in fire

the race continues right down to the wire
we cannot ever tell just who's ahead
some clarity is more than we desire

could we from this long contest now retire
others would rush to pull the heavy sled
we end in water or we end in fire

the virtues all end up on a bonfire
nothing could ever matter more than bread
some clarity is more than we desire
we end in water or we end in fire
 

all that is true

what beings shuffle up from unknown deeps
to ruin worlds from anger or from hope
we cannot see them in the telescope
but hear them chewing hungry on raw neaps
what is not sold at once the monster keeps
in its dank cavern high on mountain slope
or else ties up in a coil of coarse rope
to moulder patiently while the god sleeps
a noise not heard by any now alive
will serve to indicate the proper time
when the dread beings will at last arise
we fear that moment will too soon arrive
when all the world becomes a single crime
and fire awakens from inhuman eyes

retrieval

 

a later light reveals no horrid signs
fear to its old power is not yet restored
nor is the pain become its own reward

truth does not come defined in rigid lines
nor can fuzzy boundaries be ignored
a later light reveals no horrid signs

honour arrives to stiffen all our spines
our precious ox is not the one that's gored
nor can we justly claim to have been bored
a later light reveals no horrid signs

normal day of obligation

 

for what may suffice
we do not thank distant stars
our hands do the work

our minds will require
proper food in due season
for each of our tasks

in the longer nights
we wait for angry morning
and do our duty

the word is not flesh
but is moved by carnal need
for every substance

owl that patient waits
on the high branches for prey
gazes long at us