leather and prunella

 wind-twisted branches hide whole worlds of time
hidden from us by all the ways we fade
as in our grown-up lives we are arrayed
to deal with all the toils of pain and crime
what was once simple joyful all in prime
becomes a matter just of cash in trade
in deepest memory the meaning frayed
what had been once the magical sublime
now what we do demands a constant rule
measured by means that are no more than dust
and we rush onwards hoping for the best
each of us thinking that we're just a tool
giving the worthless wholly unearned trust
not knowing whether they will meet the test

functions of maps

 

the map recalls each step that once we took
the traveller who knows has often told
so many facts not written in the book

trees that year-round draw sustenance from brook
leaves that have not known the bite of cold
the map recalls each step that once we took

around the hill road turns in a sharp hook
the view is one that other folk consoled
so many facts not written in the book

the car that on the morning overtook
our stumbling feet that we in pain cajoled
the map recalls each step that once we took

harsh winds that seemed to penetrate each nook
and made us suddenly feel weak and old
so many facts not written in the book

race down the mountain and take one last look
as the bright sun distributes its first gold
the map recalls each step that once we took
so many facts not written in the book

the distance travelled

 

the distance travelled is never complete
we never reach the end because we find
that start and finish are somehow entwined
all understanding is a huge conceit
belief that we can tell just what is meet
that the most hard and cruel is truly kind
that those who wield the whip have been maligned
what seems most brilliant is just more deceit
the pause of years turns out to be just show
for those who keep a heart of honest gold
but all the rest pay a much higher price
to live within the ambit of that glow
wondering if they can their side uphold
by some superior means or fair device

certificate of appreciation

 

no matter what the fool will seem to win
there is no price that you would want to pay
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

around each head the world must seem to spin
no one has ever given thought to play
no matter what the fool will seem to win

what was important is now in the bin
from all that's done the mind's begun to stray
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

the calmest water's broken by a fin
fear has invaded our most secret bay
no matter what the fool will seem to win

the hero has to take it on the chin
and fall down dead without any delay
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

you face the future with a painful grin
someone has told you it's the proper way
no matter what the fool will seem to win
by all accounts things must end in chagrin

a further exploration

 

there is the world below us round and warm
each cloud each sea welcomes happy eye
we know the journey over and we sigh

so much to build and fit to human form
the ways of our approval to apply
there is the world below us round and warm

we bring the unknown safe into the norm
tame the uncertain under a new sky
make different nature to our will comply
there is the world below us round and warm

night watch

as eyes are fixed upon the falling star
nothing else marks the ending of the age
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

between the past and present there's no bar
just motion of the turning of the page
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star

a rapid tune that's played on the guitar
excites a sort of urgent cleansing rage
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

to save the moment leave the door ajar
to ease the entrance of the needed mage
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star

when it shall strike it will leave quite a scar
but that is nothing to the clowns on stage
it seems to commonplace and yet bizarre

that is the story as it's been so far
the one who's done the job has earned the wage
as eyes are fixed upon the falling star
it seems so commonplace and yet bizarre

snivel

hidden green pokes through the heavy grey
a sign of nothing more than winter holds
a share of grief within its chilly folds
there is no hope of peace during the day
even the silence has something to say
about the air thick with spores of moulds
the messenger of yet more chills and colds
and yet we venture these climes to essay
to sneeze and snivel is the human fate
reminder of our limits and our weak
bodies lest pride take us so very high
that we forget that we did not create
the bones that even now rattle and creak
and give our soaring hopes the constant lie

between the yesterdays

 

between the yesterdays there is no past
our history is turned into a sale
product and seller that's the only tale
there was just nothing and then came the blast
the stencil's cut and the die has been cast
we wrap the cloth up in a neat square bale
all roughness hidden by a gauzy veil
with a good presence fortune will be vast
we could state facts but that would be so dry
no one would care about making things true
the only thing that matters is the cash
so let the audience lap up every lie
bring on the meretricious into view
and turn the whole world into just more trash