uncertain of our flame

name after name recorded on the wall
a sombre history of the long crime
against us all now fading into time
made by those giants who to us seem small
through urgent years when little could appal
our fervent thoughts when worlds were at their prime
(so we believed) yet we feared the dark slime
that seemed to lurk awaiting our long fall
now it’s the turn of those who would proclaim
a better day and shout it very loud
so even the ancestors could rejoice
but we who are uncertain of our flame
no longer urgent and no more as proud
are not so eager to exalt our voice

hot august day

there are deep echoes across the dry wall

so sky seems brassy and bereft of cloud

while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

 

to stony death where no one will recall

how once you were so youthful and so proud

there are deep echoes across the dry wall

 

where the old vultures circle seeing all

the land below them forested or ploughed

while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

 

from narrow path your heart now seems so small

and fate so large the silence seems so loud

there are deep echoes across the dry wall

 

the distant birds across the sky now scrawl

in ragged letters on the small puffy cloud

while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

 

into forever certain none will bawl

the earth itself will be your only shroud

there are deep echoes across the dry wall

while goat is nimble and tempts you to fall

this is indeed a great war

so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
their echo forms our terrible surround
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

it isn’t that we just ran out of room
for good intentions our shots will redound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

from shore to shore and the explosives’ bloom
accompanied by their pervading sound
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

though skies are sunny we are cast in gloom
parents and children thrown into the mound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom

perhaps in time some scholar will exhume
the reason why we all now lie in ground
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

and every hope has fallen down to doom
while goodness trust and honesty are bound
so all we hear today is cannons’ boom
for this whole century the world’s a tomb

answering the tyrant

the thing’s the same once you’ve told the story

putting the planet into normal mode

you’ve won power but never truly glory

 

you know it all is just transitory

each of us goes a short way on the road

the thing’s the same once you’ve told the story

 

whether the ending’s peaceful or gory

each must arrive at the one sole abode

you’ve won power but never truly glory

 

of no import whether whig or tory

for you the process is in no way slowed

the thing’s the same once you’ve told the story

 

only message here’s memento mori

the human network down to one last node

you’ve won power but never truly glory

 

answer now in words that are not hoary

explaining how you cracked the final code

the things the same once you’ve told the story

you’ve won power but never truly glory

the music of new light

we strain to hear the music of new light

within each heart to tell the truth of strain

as we rebuild the castle once again

on land of hope with chances maybe  slight

indifferent between horror and delight

in a swift race to beat the winter rain

and certain that the walls won’t keep out pain

but may succeed at shelter from the night

our hope is simple out there in the cold

no one survives so if we can defend

against the dark some little may endure

to do all this we must stay sharp and bold

from the harsh start right to the tawdry end

for the one golden gift we can secure

fallen angles

where fallen angles now define true space

in steady motion of my dull dead blood

the quantity of which threatens to flood

 

beyond proper confine without such grace

as is expected in these times of mud

where fallen angles now define true space

 

our acts come under limits we can trace

out of the silence through each heavy thud

of closing vision as hope turns to dud

where fallen angles now define true space

 

autumnal passage

in mild november every tree seems red

these maples blazing with unhidden fires

in briefest glory as the day expires

while winter is to come with heavy tread

but not just yet and while clouds overhead

cluster like doom the birds sit on the wires

and do not worry the winds may be liars

while changing seasons don’t occasion dread

meanwhile we wonder at the changing scene

at who will be our neighbours and how plain

the day shall be with no leaves on the lawn

but nothing matters while the grass is green

and we have shelter from the chilling rain

with guarantee of sleep until the dawn