Have You?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have you thought of what you’re gonna do

When they’re near to drive you mad,

Will you kiss the air when no one’s there,

Embracing shadows of the past,

Or tango solo to the radio,

Wondering, what the fuck’s it for,

High on fumes of platitudes, of bullshit and the lies,

Awareness setting in too late, you’re too far gone to care,

No reflection in the mirror, only silence when you speak,

But for whisperings of those devils, the ones you thought you beat,

Or will you reminisce of taste and touch, of kisses in the dark,

Her hand guiding yours that night,

As the stars looked down and watched,

And made their bets on who’d come first,

As your hand guided hers.

 

 

 

 

 

So far From Barren Hopes They Lay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So far from barren hopes they lay

They silent spent the break of day,

When from their dreams they started up

And drank their last from one shared cup.

Then, as one, they rose, with hollow eyes,

To don their arms ‘neath scarlet skies,

Red with bloody disillusionment,

The deaths of Reason, Art; Enlightenment.

They gathered round in sad conclave,

In secret grove by secret grave,

Where Justice lay in righteous earth,

Wrapped in memories of her worth.

And swore an oath with up-raised fists,

As vows rang out through gloomy mists,

To search each land and distant sea,

And slay the Hydra, Tyranny.

But doomed they were to search in vain,

With broken heart and endless pain,

For, in them, it was, the monster slept,

And, as they left, the heavens wept.

 

To Live Through Life As Does This Tree

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To live through life as does this tree

Would succour, sooth and comfort me,

To feel the earth as does its roots,

And breathe the sky through greening shoots,

Or feel the rain with upheld leaves,

Trembling, as a night dream weaves

Strange fancies in the birds that sleep,

Or, softly wakened, sadly weep,

Aware, alone, and lost,

Burdened by new solitudes and, expectancy of frost;

But there comes man with axe and fire,

His death machine and funeral pyre,

Mortal foe to all that grows and lives,

Who, exultant, takes, but never gives.

 

 

 

 

The Old Man Raved

 

 

 

 

 

 

The old man raved the more he drank,

And the more he drank he raved,

Of such strange conceived and unheard things,

It made us almost mad,

But we knew that somewhere in his words

There lay the ring of truth,

And so we sat before him,

As he waved his glass around,

And told us of a land he’d found

While seeking shelter from the wars,

That seemed to him enchanted,

Or created in a dream,

Where people spoke with music,

And swords were shameful things,

Where philosophy was honoured,

And common folk were kings,

Where chains were made of flowers,

That bound eternal peace to love,

Where jails had not been thought of,

Nor devils, priests, or gods,

That wove a spell upon us so,

His dream became our own,

But when we asked where was this land,

In which direction did it lay,

He took his glass and drank it deep,

Then, in his raving way,

Declared he had to tell the world,

So left, but leaving, lost his way,

And spite his years of searching,

And growing old in Shangri-La,

He never found that path again,

So the dream began to fade,

But now old age had grabbed him,

Had seized him by the throat,

So remembered what they told him,

Of the universal Truth,

Expressed in Nature’s language,

That speaks within us all,

But few of us can hear it,

As we wander on our way,

At which his raving ended,

And slowly quiet he became,

And as he took another drink,

We wondered at his tale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cape Cod In ’93

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We walked along the sea swept sands,

And so breathed the air from far-off lands,

We felt the world was in our hands,

For we were young and full of pride.

 

The world was then to us a place

Where shone the eyes of Nature’s face,

Where making love was natural grace,

And no one had yet died.

 

We walked the dunes and watched a whale

That rolled dark back and belly pale,

Then smashed the waves, with fluking tail,

Upon a flowing tide,

 

And watched white sails on waters deep,

That raced on past the lighthouse keep,

Happy in each plunge and leap,

Like dolphins side by side,

 

While scudding clouds past overhead

And pebbles glimmered gold and red,

As if they from the waters bled,

To lay there side by side,

 

Until we reached a beach-rose lane,

And as came down a gentle rain,

Did meet an old man with his cane,

Who stopped to step aside,

 

And next to him a lady stood,

A woman wise, as of the wood,

Who looked upon us as she could,

And for our future cried.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Revelations of the Night

mystic night, image

Beyond the wind, beyond the seas, beyond the dawn, they went,

by land and sail, by horse, by ship, the open sky their tent,

always east they journeyed on, this caravan of eight,

two by two, or four by four, towards their common fate,

through ocean storms, through desert winds,

through hunger’s grip, they passed,

and always had the same reply for those who sometimes asked,

the reasons for their travel, the meaning of their path,

to illuminate their ignorance or flee a tyrant’s wrath,

‘we’ve heard a tale of lands far-off where peace and justice reign,

it’s that we’ve searched for far and wide but fear we search in vain,

for all we’ve found is misery, leavened with despair,

and among the dispossessed are few who dare,

to see what’s right before their eyes,

or defy with angry questions the lies that swarm like flies,’

and so they passed, in times of old, hunter, farmer, engineer,

the weaver, and the poet, with songs of woe and cheer,

the doctor and the star-man, round the world they went,

learning all they ever could, how flowers made their scent,

until one day they found a place that filled their very need,

a land where people led themselves and all had time to read,

where wars were long forgotten, for they had the best defence,

walls of wisdom, moats of tears, and arms of common sense,

where making love was still an art, and art exposed their soul,

where learning, and not riches was the only worthy goal,

and so astonished were they, at all they witnessed there,

that soon they spoke of passage home for this they had to share,

but just before the dawn appeared, in gown of rosy sky,

they all awoke from deep in sleep, and began to wonder why,

the things they’d seen were nowhere round their dying fire’s light,

and wondered who would listen to revelations of the night.