worn out magic

 there are so many maxims we forget
our parents seek to teach us basic laws
but we pass through our childhoods with regret

our adult lives we do not want to set
into the concrete forms of final cause
there are so many maxims we forget

our duty is to hasten without let
towards the goal without a second's pause
but we pass through our childhoods with regret

beings of clay by many pains beset
our lives are patterned only by our flaws
there are so many maxims we forget

each sings a solo none join in duet
even the wisest teacher hems and haws
but we pass through our childhoods with regret

with all our credit we end up in debt
for life itself we pay for our applause
there are so many maxims we forget
but we pass through our childhoods with regret

not getting the blues

 

your meaning's hidden by the words you choose
a century may pass before we find
how close we came to not getting the blues

the sort of thing that we might call a ruse
is with the normal signal all entwined
your meaning's hidden by the words you choose

on some principle you'd act and then refuse
to show just when the forces were combined
how close we came to not getting the blues

it is my obligation to bemuse
those who believe that like your complex kind
your meaning's hidden by the words you choose

if you would pause a moment to peruse
these documents you would not call to mind
how close we came to not getting the blues

our case is one that you would not abuse
in broadest daylight we are left quite blind
your meaning's hidden by the words you choose
how close we came to not getting the blues

double bind

the names of gods are hidden from the folk
by priests who need to raise their voices high
to hide the weight that they wish to apply
and the great absence of what they evoke
we'd think it all some sort of painful joke
until we hear the worshippers all sigh
not knowing that they take part in a lie
not feeling either the whip or the yoke
the slave insists that she can feel no chain
all normal cycles are proclaimed as proof
of benign powers that by secret art
provide a blessing with the sun and rain
create the sky as their majestic roof
and know the secrets of the human heart

sophocles

the angriest god
fights justice against justice
with no victory

the river holds

 the river holds together all the shire
we dream of places far beyond the seas
but work to raise fresh crops from out the mire

there are so many things we might acquire
to let us rise to suitable degrees
the river holds together all the shire

we pay too much attention to attire
our needs are not to spend time at our ease
but work to raise fresh crops from out the mire

we rate the seller far below the buyer
the humble grasses far below the trees
the river holds together all the shire

those values matter to which we aspire
but we can't simply stand and shout decrees
but work to raise fresh crops out of the mire

having arisen we can go no higher
than to crawl forward slowly on our knees
the river holds together all the shire
but work to raise fresh crops from out the mire