fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
do not remark each simple turn
nothing is here that we could gain
for all our effort might and main
the stone below us will not burn
it still rebukes us hard and stern
each one may read its message plain
it does not change for sun or rain
while we for quicker changes yearn
beyond this rock the branches sway
a simple breeze creates the dance
as formally the long limbs bow
these are the signs of middle day
the birds and flowers all advance
the coming bareness of each bough
this is the signal we'll see now
each course will join a common way
though children in the gardens prance
this and no more we can avow
all change we make bywork or play
our pleasant visions come by chance
they are what this life will allow
but there are other lights that come
and in their presence we are dumb

may day

May. 1st, 2007 02:42 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
flags we will wave and joy will be expressed
with all our energy we mark this day
all that we know and all that we could say
are gifts of nature that explain our zest
each step we take each ordeal every test
of our commitment to the proper way
all indicate the strength of hope we may
harbour within our hearts although we rest
now here the breeze gives us another start
we listen to the words and make them true
each of our minds contains the best reply
these are not matters for the common mart
we think of forces now brought into view
the reason we are given the purpose why
we must assert our truth above the lie
there's a firm obligation to do our honest part
we wait for the command we'll act on cue
freedom begins in the depths of the heart
the better world we want is always new
above the flags and cheers our hopes will fly
now here the signal comes to every thought
the hope which we release will not be caught
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
to welcome all the listeners and wish them every joy
there's nothing like the terminus to tell us of the war
amazing that we never seem to open the front door
on every side we see the meanings folk employ
to tell us what we're doing and to let the power annoy
the ones who cannot rise above the margin of the floor
name one and name another or we will lose the score
with access to the matters that we cannot now enjoy
so what the starter gives us when we do not see the way
will let us make our fortunes or else will let us thrive
in whatever little corner we choose to make our home
we've not been given orders nor the seating of the play
instead we must be grateful our friends are still alive
but stay condemned to move and wonder why we roam
evidence one would think that we are no more than foam
our hopes remain but now our bodies must not stay
none will be observing when our aircraft arrive
the soil in which we planted will turn out to be clay
there cannot be a moment in which we don't revive
the hopes that we have read of in every sacred tome
so when we reach the mountain we won't be grey or sad
but thank our lucky stars for all the happiness we had
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
engaged in dance the winds rely
on our attention and our time
the sun has fallen far from prime
we cannot see the blue of sky
but still the branches are so spry
above our heads aircraft climb
not headed though to the sublime
all fits within the human eye
so now the night not calm arrives
we look towards another task
all that is seen announces fate
calmer these moments of our lives
accepting all we thought to ask
returning sun will not be late
the horseman stays within the gate
all bees are peaceful in their hives
our drink remains within the cask
what matter that the wasp now thrives
there is no ghost behind the mask
the road we see is never straight
so what we think that day is done
the job remains we cannot shun
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
you marvel that the answer comes with haste
the magic that we look for works too slow
around our bodies we see a faint glow
the power we wield is rarely to our taste
yet once expended cannot be replaced
when given choice we never want to go
but once in the river we cannot halt the flow
our fates and actions are ever interlaced
yet when the sortilege has come unstuck
we always want to blame some vagrant mage
and not our own misuse of guile or glamour
our energies could in no way run amuck
is what we say and set down on the page
hoping in that way to avoid the fatal hammer
yet when it comes we hesitate and stammer
we want to hide and yet can't move to duck
our fear turns once more into dumb rage
we blame the fates we blame our stupid luck
we wonder just what brought us to this stage
for swift reprieve we want in vain to clamour
yet when the time comes we must truth face
we still may summon some remaining grace
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
these are the eyes that have not seen
the ears that have not ever heard
the sounds of music nor any word
of all the billions that so far have been
these are the faces of a sombre mien
all of them identical in the huge herd
and here the hands imitating bird
that have not touched the living green
at all events we've not had much
to do with matters set so far apart
that messengers cross in the night
nor would we to our bosoms clutch
the serpent that would swiftly dart
kill and then flee far from sight
instead we venerate the bright
creatures that have fled the hutch
and which will rise up with a start
when with temerity we'll touch
these beings of the mind and heart
and bring them softly to the light
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
black dirt red clay we watch the cords stretch out
these are the signs of change or so we're told
the day is warm but that's not why we're bold
those boundaries of detail we shall not flout
up until now all that we thought was doubt
of anything being done till times turned old
no thought of change here expenditures of gold
might or might not have made the worker shout
no name or number given but still the signs
are clearly laid out we've not been deceived
a newer process has begun and at long last
we watch the markings and the taut blue lines
some message it is clear has been received
and emptiness is thrust far to the past
yet omens taken and the dice being cast
the earth no longer clings to the broad tines
the shape of things now passes the conceived
behind us wave the thin but earnest pines
we little know the changes they've perceived
seasons of drought or else the lightning blast
the rumble comes and goes this is the name
of what's long sought-for and the normal flame
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
Beyond the stars in deepest hard vacuum
all journeys end or so we have been told;
our job, however, requires us to be bold
so to the deepest spaces we'll presume
to go, not because there's no more room
on Earth for courage, but in spite of cold
equations that would moor or hold
us in one place. Space is not a tomb.
Other continua we know we'll find
where arbitrary powers still hold sway
who wish to subject us to greatest pain.
Still we move forward, with each mind
determined to keep our vessel on its way;
and even androids seek the human stain.
Now, Borg or zombie, it has been quite plain,
will seek to make us from our true path stray
and our desires assimilate and bind.
Yet, we believe that we must win the day,
our virtues keep, and greater wisdom gain,
knowing that vision comes even to the blind.
Captains are bold, and make us understand
that hope and justice are at our command.
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
shorn of all inelegance the spaces fill
with all the memories that we can bear
moving from cool to warm along the year
the light is sharp the trees are very still
walkers are quiet going down the hill
for once we name and master all our fear
duty we have and with that duty care
but what may happen must do so by will
not now the time for our tempers to fray
allow our sentiments their proper spaces
shaping the time's an overwhelming task
the mind into odd paths we will let stray
amazing each with such unexpected graces
the smiling visage under the hard mask
what matters here is that we have to ask
not for what we must but what we may
rejoice in while each finger interlaces
with the next hand the sun's glowing ray
brings out the colour in our winter faces
allows us joy in the most boring task
welcome to us is this amazing hour
when the small bud turns into brilliant flower
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
you see no other islands from these heights
no sails triangular against the looming sun
this is not the web that weak arachne spun
these are not the odorous levantine nights
what you can see are not the ancient sights
the shadow there is not suleiman's gun
the colours do not mean the tunny's run
no sphinx waits here to give us all the frights
that's clearly the case and yet what we desire
is that this sea give us those blessed signs
that indicate that their tale's truly well told
but we don't hear the sound of homer's lyre
those are not grapes that hang from the vines
while winter comes we cannot call it cold
the people here know well that they were sold
from a far land where rises new the fire
to labour in horrid fields and dank mines
not to the ranks of elysium do they aspire
a better place they see and other lines
they'd see the heroes as too rash and bold
yet they have a story well worth the telling
about far more than mere buying and selling
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
each step seems shorter and the time has come
to work things out to do all that we'll need done
in a short period now we almost wish the sun
would run its course with greater speed the sum
of all our desires is now before us and the drum
is beating ever faster as we wait now when we run
the race has greater purpose we can't shun
the consequence of thought that would be dumb
now days soon hours the way ahead is clear
there's nothing that we've missed or have forgot
and naught that should be taken as a strain
on all our efforts now this is the appointed year
the moment when the tab fits in the slot
and when what's irrelevant is minor pain

the answer comes that when we've made a gain
in the small battle where the greatest fear
is that we'll give it up that our own souls' rot
would make us abandon all for which we care
just at the moment when we've filled the pot
with all our hopes and sheltered from the rain
we take new steps and our tired spirits rouse
but we reject the fear we'll take this for our house

Profile

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
fledgist

March 2015

S M T W T F S
1234567
891011121314
15161718192021
22 232425262728
29 3031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags