waiting for the rain
far too long the autumn drought
bending under strain
you may smile or pout
the choice we have is plain
not to go far out
here is no true gain
we have gone so far past doubt
beyond reach of pain
pain refused is still
all that it purports to be
echoes down tunnels
whom we shall torment
their call for harshest revenge
echoes down tunnels
what hells we unleash
the ululation so loud
echoes down tunnels
in tune with the fire
every shout of the victims
echoes down tunnels
no tourist resort
the cry of our new hero
echoes down tunnels
what we claim to tell
about the freedom we bear
echoes down tunnels
each soul that we sell
its final despairing wail
echoes down tunnels
the sun is too bright
day after day time runs short
indian summer
we blame the clear light
deluding us into port
indian summer
not time yet to fight
settling matters out of court
indian summer
something is not right
but we do not know what sort
indian summer
our hope's not so slight
but it is what we have wrought
indian summer
wind blowing coldly
sky bluer than arctic ice
winter is coming
last blooms are brought in
fruit collected in basket
winter is coming
night falls so heavy
on the evergreen forest
winter is coming
frost we are promised
grass will crackle underfoot
winter is coming
sleep is our master
too short the night till waking
winter is coming
listen for music
from each rock and wall and tree
echoes of glory
you are a person
in your hands i place my heart
you'll keep it safely
we count each cold word
the leaves turn brown red and gold
autumnal blossoms
soon sun won't warm hearts
swiftly winter approaches
stark grasping branches
wind in the pine trees
promise of frigidity
waiting for new spring
summer terrifies
with flattening waves of heat
but winter's evil
we name each second
knowing how quickly they pass
time soon reaches end
on a day like this
we hope for yet more soft rain
autumnal fullness
branches sway in breeze
clounds mass thickly above us
we still need the rain
yellow in the green
and red maples have now turned
winter is coming
moment of clear light
branches moving gently now
waiting for rainfall
time for calm and rest
clarity in the pallor
never more than peace
allow a small time
for all the good things we love
to work their magic
no tears and no blame
familiar ways passing
new worlds being born
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
the distant skyline
proclaims this a human place
under autumn blue
southwards migrant birds
fly into better weather
all year is one spring
trees green with summer
all still stand boldly cheerful
in their defiance
soon their bare branches
will quail under bitter cold
in the stark winter
seeing drunken birds
staggering round the farmyard
you learn a lesson
fermented berries
signs of declining summer
tropic september
so great a distance
here in these other mountains
still you remember
beyond the shadow
unnumbered worlds for taking
but so little time
all institution
requires we measure duly
where each must belong
plato will tell us
that only philosophers
know truly to rule
aristotle warns
the common folk hate the rich
and vice versa
master meng knows that
the king must serve the people
or hang by his neck
ancient thinkers
understanding a story
missing the picture
no one now should speak
silence rules the icy stars
cloud moves below them
pilgrim or bandit
alone with his whirling thoughts
mirrors this night sky
i am no brute beast
nor a wise divinity
only lone human
here in long summer
wandering ever higher
towards better hope
drizzle falling grey
hint of true kindness of rain
autumn arriving
summer hanging on
but yellow leaves appearing
truly wistful time
taste of the season
fruit explodes in hungry mouths
ripest in memory
allow no second
batrachian now jumping
onto the driveway
this tiny being
how could it note my presence
facing its hunger
cool under the grass
its hexapod sustenance
waits all unknowing
Frogs and cicadas
in the pond behind my house,
the summer chorus.
late summer sunrise
silhouette of leafy trees
under pearly sky
Words never matter
say our politicians
since theirs are empty;
to nourish the heart
we need poems and stories
from each fresh spirit.
All revolutions
begin with clear honest words
challenging silence.
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