man o’war hill

we chose at last the path out of deep night

through tangled vines and withes into clean air

nothing we gained came to us just by right

 

what we’d been told was that the facts would bite

each normal mind and send us to despair

we chose at last the path out of deep night

 

not with relief but knowing that a fight

would have to come and that no one would care

nothing we gained came to us just by right

 

instead we seemed the victims of some spite

from distant past inheritors of fear

we chose at last the path out of deep night

 

although each thought that hope was truly slight

the only thing we had to do was dare

nothing we gained came to us just by right

 

we were the folk throughout bereft of light

who never thought the process could be fair

we chose at last the path out of deep night

nothing we gained came to us just by right

love ties its hopes

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

the furthest outlier of a merry isle

where there’s no foe except the hateful clock

 

your modesty inclines you to take stock

in all those things that we would not revile

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

 

impervious to any mortal shock

we hope to land and stay for quite a while

where there’s no foe except the hateful clock

 

our ship is not for any normal dock

we’ve gone way past the ordinary style

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

 

rejects enclosure will break every lock

and has more power still than any bile

where there’s no foe except the hateful clock

 

though you despise and though you still may mock

our sacred purpose you cannot defile

love ties its hopes to what it thinks a rock

where there’s no foe except the hateful clock

autumn vintage

there’s nothing noble in this kind of rot

we weather storms but reach no harbour sure

our choice is clear pay up or lose the plot

 

some day there is an answer this time not

no other means our safety to ensure

there’s nothing noble in this kind of rot

 

we tell ourselves there is but we forgot

how much of nonsense we have to endure

our choice is clear pay up or lose the plot

 

like children here with noses full of snot

we cannot breathe and cannot find the cure

there’s nothing noble in this kind of rot

 

so we must leave but first undo the knot

that binds with certainty both raw and pure

our choice is clear pay up and lose the plot

 

leaving behind enough to fill the slot

in hope that reason will some day mature

there’s nothing noble in this kind of rot

our choice is clear pay up and lose the plot

devouring bird

now goldfinch angles to destroy a bloom

to work its hatred out upon a flower

a pretty bird but yet an angry doom

 

there has to be a reason we assume

and yet it seems to shred not to devour

now goldfinch angles to destroy a bloom

 

in the clear light on a day lacking gloom

no sign of cloud that would presage a shower

a pretty bird but yet an angry doom

 

for solemn purpose that seems to consume

hardworking bird harmless petals to scour

now goldfinch angles to destroy a bloom

 

as we peer curious from our quiet room

at the odd wonder of this summer hour

a pretty bird but yet an angry doom

 

to turn a garden spot into a tomb

a kind of solemn message of its power

now goldfinch angles to destroy a bloom

a pretty bird but yet an angry doom

villanelle for emancipation day

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

for bitter striving on the mountainside

don’t count hard labour now as any pain

since now there is good reason to hold strain

while men on horseback dare not shout nor chide

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

whose feet are moving uphill from the plain

towards the places where they used to hide

don’t count hard labour now as any pain

when it’s all yours when none of it’s in vain

as hopes are reached and none of them denied

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

have seas to cross and great dreams to attain

their inner voices have made them decide

don’t count hard labour now as any pain

they will not fall back to bondage again

but face the world with proper joy and pride

free folk who turn their backs on the sweet cane

don’t count hard labour now as any pain