midwinter

no place to hide it seems from all this cold
just northern sun and wind without warm rain
to ease our judgment of the season’s gain
or loss of simple sense in what was told
by no firm purpose or strong will to hold
as true or wise while light makes all so plain
under the grey that is not quite a bane
to our disloyal hearts that are not bold
justice requires that we add up the tale
of many ages in a small black book
in which clear note shall constantly be kept
while eyes examine all the facts that fail
to measure up as beauty when we look
and heart acknowledge that the world has slept

what came

what came at the beginning was mistake
words uttered by a fool and said in haste
that altered nothing and were soon erased
the wisest turning swiftly to a flake
meanings unclear and symbols made opaque
by those whose urgencies had been debased
so early on now we think it bad taste
all that is left of truth a distant ache
only the wind recalls what might have passed
simple exposure to a world of joy
a door now closed forever to our thought
as into silences our hopes are cast
we watch as others the last goods destroy
and wish them happiness with what they’ve caught

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listening

this is the secret spoken into night

by children and old men so many times

watching as yellow moonbeam slowly climbs

along the wall and thinking chances slight

that in the morning matters will go right

each painful turn as distant town bell chimes

provides an early punishment for crimes

not yet committed now that is our plight

what we expect is some sort of return

to better understanding of our hearts

when the sun rises from the winter deep

with all the force with which a man might yearn

for kinder days and all our human arts

brought to effect these are the thoughts we keep

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mercenary

no need to mention all that has been told

those sighs that pass when so much has been said

to fill not time but worlds entire with dread

but this belongs they tell us to the old

not those who in those ranks have been enrolled

to fight hard battles for a little bread

not wondering what happens to the dead

nor why they take such risks for tawdry gold

now we must ask for mercy and receive

what gifts we can and hope for something more

while there is light right here where no dogs bark

as the earth turns while soft voices deceive

and not so gently we are shown the door

and told to take our guerdon in the dark

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areopagitica

 

words in daylight uttered without least dread

have not the echo of the chilly dark

when into emptiness we might embark

look up right now and see the bird is sped

that bore the message and now in its stead

we’re left to kindle one remaining spark

this morning when the trees are bare and stark

knowing so many words were left unsaid

some might expect a choice but if we feign

not to give in but to attempt the height

would laugh to see us fail to reach the stars

rather they’d say the clouds will promise rain

a storm is coming and behind it night

yet here we stand on the green hill of mars

those who give most

 

those who give most are those who feel most hurt

when life itself is turned into a jest

by those to whom no greeting is addressed

but who have some old anger to assert

you might not think there’s much that could divert

this river from its course but being pressed

we find that those who act do so with zest

and leave us panting sadly in the dirt

these are the signals that we did not see

sent to the ones who most wanted to learn

just how to fight and make a better home

without distinction of form or degree

some things it turns out we just have to earn

and it is easier to stay than roam

a lighter colour

a lighter colour might relieve the day
of tiny pains and errors in my thought
these factors that add up to make distraught
the sense of being in a tragic play
waiting to learn just what the critics say
just to find out if it was all for naught
those words and actions that in time were wrought
to earn another evening’s small pay
each role that’s taken makes a smaller dash
upon the surface of this narrow lake
on which we lay an old and sacred name
our purpose is defined for cold hard cash
not undertaken for some human ache
since nothing gains us points in a great game

story comes to bump

 

so much is hidden in the open tale

it seems a poor way to announce just how

the sweat that came to drip from each bent brow

was owed to those who had been paid to fail

not merely as a matter of travail

and sorrow in the teeth of storm and gale

but in achievement of a foolish vow

escaping from the past into the now

our only task it seems to raise the sail

our sole approach to wisdom’s a mistake

or so it seems when we are to advise

those who in urgent time to our words turn

expecting us to tell the real from fake

extract the truth from the great mass of lies

and leave the monsters in the mire to burn

no need to explain

 

so foolish words and actions will run deep

enough to make a stolid watcher cry

in honest pain at the uncaring sky

while to their lairs the hungry roaches creep

leaving behind mere messes in a heap

to irritate the nose and scar the eye

of any dumb enough to pass right by

this haunts the mind even when fast asleep

no one who knows the facts dares to insist

that you remain unmoved by the desire

expressed within the heart before each death

as the proud victim falls beneath the fist

to seem more worthy of the butcher’s hire

than those that simply feared to lose their breath

from the first echo

 

from the first echo of the shout of doom

there was a sense that time itself would lend

the means by which those who could best attend

would start by emptying each cluttered room

in the clear daylight no dull weight of gloom

would keep us back nor hold us from that end

which in our hearts we have to comprehend

the universe is not truly a womb

name what we suffer and it does not die

there are no magics here nor ever were

faith cannot work to save us from our fate

it always seems that we desire the lie

want one more moment simply to confer

upon ourselves the burden of deep hate