the morning chime

fearful and waking is no normal state

but leaden hours induce no better heat

than mental light and thoughts of long defeat

in bitter summer we’re past the first gate

deep into the dark country bearing freight

of so much history still incomplete

all of it human both truth and deceit

all to requirement but none of it fate

so measure that we find the true belief

is what we know and give to all our folk

upon their waking to the morning chime

of bells that have not known a moment’s grief

but ring the ending of inhuman yoke

and bid us all achieve a better time

the true republic

the true republic lies beneath the sea

a single bound will take you straightway there

it’s our first homeland where we were born free

 

look where the master will not let you see

far past the fictive kingdoms of the air

the true republic lies beneath the sea

 

no effort’s needed for each one to flee

just leave right now and be at ease from care

it’s our first homeland where we were born free

 

where we learnt justice at our mother’s knee

return’ so easy we just have to dare

the true republic lies beneath the sea

 

not far at all we note the mango tree

the purple bloom the old man on his chair

it’s our first homeland where we were born free

 

the place of order where we long to be

and it is simple to end the affair

the true republic lies beneath the sea

it’s our first homeland where we were born free

the seeking eye

the seeking eye that even seems to speak

of urgent matters at an early time

is the best weapon wielded by the weak

 

not in the option given to the meek

to keep heads lowered as the sweet bells chime

the seeking eye that even seems to speak

 

looks through a wall apparently unique

but hidden in its recesses and grime

is the best weapon wielded by the weak

 

a simple tool not modern nor antique

whose users have come under in their prime

the seeking eye that even seems to speak

 

and not been frighted they are past critique

able to know just where in the long climb

is the best weapon wielded by the weak

 

those who are able find they are to peek

in hidden places for the true sublime

the seeking eye that even seems to speak

is the best weapon wielded by the weak

a better kind of tale

a missionary aching to be done

with all the trappings of the muddy past

shed the sad history as a worm its cast

be new and happy in the springtime sun

we know who has this and there is not one

secure or guarded from the sullen blast

of deep-felt hatred striking at the last

signs of old story shouting out they’ve won

there are some means of easing the old ire

of turning rage back into wholesome ways

of decent living yet we watch each fail

as all our truths are cast into the fire

just so a new world can face different days

and there can be a better kind of tale

o povo é quem mais ordena

no one this day shall say they stood aloof

when the new rose first came into fresh flower

and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

 

we would have faced a certain harsh reproof

no long before but all changed in an hour

no one this day shall say they stood aloof

 

nor that the entire fabric warp and woof

had stayed the same new blossom in each bower

and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

 

for fear of learning just how great the goof

would harm the doer dread would them devour

no one this day shall say they stood aloof

 

the acts are real we see that there’s no spoof

of change or meaning the old world we scour

and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

 

today we saw the crowds from every roof

acclaim as honour took the seat of power

no one this day shall say they stood aloof

and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

for all some light

there are no answers but the simple fact

that we have asked will make some things more clear

even to those for whom the worlds appear

as cheap illusions or as the abstract

daubings of visions that might not attract

the subtler gaze here in this colder air

what we must ask is that the wise compare

the truths of things and then that they just act

not all who reach this place have learnt to look

at the right angles where they might discern

those matters not for ordinary sight

yet what we find in not so secret book

for those who have the time truly to learn

is that there is each day for all some light

forbear

in this stark universe no secrets left

for hawk-eyed seekers that’s what we must know

to keep our minds still centred on the flow

 

of bodies moving with uncertain heft

from truth to fact like water from the snow

in this stark universe no secrets left

 

so what we find is that some sort of theft

has changed the weight of matters it is so

uncertain now and we are trapped below

in this stark universe no secrets left

best means of good accord

resounding horns in deep glittering cave

not music now nor urgent call of hunt

a message that is both banal and blunt

containing nothing that we need or crave

yet full of meaning those who are so brave

may striking upward swiftly to confront

the enemy who blasts may hear them grunt

with sudden shock of nothing left to save

our hope is not in music nor in joy

of victory hard won by those who fought

without the expectation of reward

we seek instead the means to best employ

the tools of wisdom and the ways of thought

to bring about best means of good accord

the better life

those places that are marked on every map

we drew in childhood to ensure our play

had structure in the mind that they would stay

solidly longer than the infant pap

of other games would drift through every nap

shaping the dream out of imagined clay

to make a brightness greater than the day

when ordinary life was only crap

from word to vision the true path is clear

so that you take it with eyes truly cold

through the divisions of a world in strife

with all the forces that would shred and tear

your heart and spirit as you become old

reject them all and choose the better life

to win or lose in grace

all that we know has been subject to loss

of definition and of common sense

so we make of the remnant a pretense

and aim to sneak our last hard words across

the barrier between plain truth and dross

but find that we are caught up on that fence

lacking a guide and with no good defense

our coins have come up wrong side on the toss

no messengers will reach the happy place

where children think that justice is at home

to  give report now that is no regret

for those who stand to win or lose in grace

or find what’s hidden underneath the foam

the seat is ready and the board is set