Mango Walk

shapes of desire vanish when any speak
who know the meaning of the empty place
where others keep the secrets of the face
but no one wants to either work or seek
the answers that will still defy critique
so much depends on keeping up the pace
and what desires we reject or embrace
that it is easy just to call us weak
the symbol's more than just another rag
no music means so much nor any word
is clearer than the one that's uttered now
we keep the better secrets in the bag
and do not speak of all that we have heard
the heart is silent that much we allow

there shall be time for every human thought
hope rises when we master each desire
not as a matter of style or attire
but in the basic forms of is and ought
emergencies that make each one distraught
are not defeated by vague denier
no wise man knows when comes ceasefire
but everyone knows what the other's wrought
shallow or deep we have not mapped these seas
but know that each comes to a different shore
where on the beach will crash the selfsame waves
as on this side all who take their ease
know when to pause and when to ask for more
and wait to chant the message in old staves

loud sounds that signal just another fire
upon the hill to turn red deepest night
you can't be sure just what was set alight
nor with what villains did the drought conspire
there's never time to think nor to enquire
you have to get out there and join the fight
and if you get a chance the record write
yet heart is taken by another shire
all you can remember's hateful red
on slopes below and moving with great speed
such matters seem to come through very clear
the symbols that you oh so lightly read
acts carried out from urgency of need
and no thought of the turning of the sphere

all moving forward also may retreat
a thousand years do not teach us a lot
and so much has already been forgot
no matter efforts taken to repeat
truths half-forgotten in the cold or heat
the journey's never taken at the trot
but we will make it sober one or sot
for all are marching to the selfsame beat
a time to pause and then to take account
of what's been learned and what is left to know
but then to march out to that very drum
we never learn the whole past to surmount
yet have a sense of where we need to go
and what at bottom is the proper sum

a bit of clarity comes not amiss
all forms of choice will have their daily run
but who most matters (beneath winter sun)
we do not speak of nothing is like this
in the unreal but hoped-for realms of bliss
some fool will say or threaten with a gun
each person who declares the myth is done
in the real world we seal things with a kiss
at midnight we will find we're not deranged
when we see only night and the deep scars
of memory are given proper due
we do not find the world suddenly changed
but still as far as ever from the stars
and waiting just as long for morning's blue

i know the sights and sounds of winter rain
the gloom means less at ending of hard drought
this day is one when all the silent shout
that they have overcome the dark and pain
the water washes out the human stain
there are some rules that none would dare to flout
for fear that pretty soon they'd be shut out
and left bedraggled on the empty plain
we praise the sun returning in its might
we praise the rain praise every single shower
and do not wait to wonder at the door
to all our chances through it day and night
come messengers and signs of every power
and we too soon know all about the score