nocturnal ambition

those who regard the darkness with much awe
see in each glow a sign of some design
mighty and pure both distant and benign
unlike themselves perfect and lacking flaw
within each mind the simple forms they draw
become the means intended to define
a greater universe wholly divine
in which the nightly cycle is the law
across the sky the small lights leave a mark
for memory to hold in firm recall
as symbol of some purely human wars
to pierce but not relieve the heavy dark
and hypnotise us on the mountain wall
as we reach out and cannot touch those stars

(no subject)

 bodies and trees are aching for the rain

as in the evening we note fading light

so much of living involves daily pain

and waiting for the outcome of each fight

to be recorded or to see the right

sense of desire intrude into the known

realm of division where each mortal groan

tells that the mortar truly met the pestle

and into powder we grind the soft stone

the gentleman at least is not a vessel

 

within each heart we hide a single grain

of honour that we hope will still burn bright

if ever we can truly ascertain

not just the force of ordinary might

but that when we ascend the greater height

an honest glow will rise from in the bone

the deepest fear at last be overthrown

and hatreds will find no room to nestle

but from our minds with fullest force be blown

the gentleman at least is not a vessel

 

time it turns out has been our greatest bane

a statement that no one would say is trite

it leaves us with a visible slow stain

that turns at last into the final night

we speak in whispers of that lasting plight

but not a one of us has cause to moan

each goes to the last end wholly alone

standing on a stark old bridge or trestle

with nothing left to pardon or atone

the gentleman at least is not a vessel

 

 

prince as you sit upon your golden throne

you have no reason to curse nor condone

nor any champion to fence or wrestle

a better crop you could never have grown

the gentleman at least is not a vessel