all our words add up to quiet

all our words add up to quiet
not a thought we have of sound
light and shade here do abound
the wise man's eternal diet

sing aloud and each may listen
hour on hour of meaning froze
into place by knots and bows
while outside the grass will glisten

each reply will come uncertain
nothing's left to random chance
any fool can learn the dance
well before the final curtain

homecoming

we take such moments as we can
what is allowed we cannot tell
there is no central map or plan
the journey does not end in hell

nor is a heaven on the cards
for all the holy good and true
the distance is not miles nor yards
and what we find is never new

allow the words to have their time
we come we go and that is all
we tell the truth in prose or rhyme
we rise we falter and we fall

there is no sign beyond the last
we cannot bend our sight so far
we fade quite swiftly to the past
to those who come there is no bar

allow us but a moment's peace
to sing our songs and tell our tales
to stand upright behind the crease
and cry out at the falling bails

this world is neither round nor flat
but follows quite a crooked line
we have our seconds at the bat
and then we go while others dine

thus spake zarathustra

sweltering beneath the maples
there's not fleeing this great fire
we still don't lack basics and staples
but we're filled with heat and ire

rules were made and now are broken
hope was born and now has died
we have got only a token
but we know our leader lied

now we have to make the payment
when we have no ready cash
we have torn and smeared our raiment
waiting for the coming crash

all the birds of prey are waiting
for our great final fatal fall
all the while they are debating
if our taste will cloy and pall

messages sing down the wires
while the vermin sit and wait
proving that we all were liars
but that this was merely fate

each of us will tell a story
but we cannot make it nice
we have sought for greater glory
now we have to pay the price

at the last we will be tired
bowed and trembling in the heat
in our lies we have been mired
and soon justice we shall meet

Squamous, rugose was Hiawatha

Came to me a frightened spirit, came the spirit of Longfellow,
told me to indite this poem, as a message and a warning:

This is the forest primeval, the towering ravenous creatures
eager to eat hapless humans, haters of the Great Spirit
dwell here in immense numbers, with qualities squamous and rugose.
Dark is the night in the forest, filled with insidious chatter
of beings dark and malignant, hungry for human heartstrings;
long time now they have dwelled here, inside the limitless darkness.
But now they are ready to travel, seeking the blood of the lawful.

Now a voice came to Nokomis, as she readied for a journey,
readied for a troubled journey, full of ignorance and hatred;
said the voice unto Nokomis, do not mention Hiawatha
to the beings of the darkness, to the dark and evil beings.
Hiawatha has to fear them, for they hunger for his beauty,
for Hiawatha's male beauty, do the ugly monsters hunger.
Dread now came upon Nokomis, and she sought to flee the hunger,
flee the hunger of the Shoggoths, deep in rainy Minnesota.

But the Shoggoths were unwearied, on they came for Hiawatha.
Far the hero fled through forest, through the dark forest primeval
never resting from his travels, for a halt would bring his death-blow.
Still the Shoggoth came unwearied, and the evil being Cthulhu
sent his many emanations, through the lakes of that cold forest
seeking to trap Hiawatha, trap the man and eat his spirit.
At last tired Hiawatha, turned to face the coming evils,
faced them with his angry beauty, but his anger was for nothing.
Soon the Shoggoths made their dinner, soon Shub-Niggurath had feasted,
and the vilest demon, Cthulhu, for his lunch had Hiawatha.

all the ages melt in anguish

in the days when we were trying
with some hope to reach the skies
we knew that some folk were dying
all because they believed lies

now we hear the same old story
and we don't know what to do
there's no honour and less glory
in this stinking devil's brew

in the distance we see fires
with their ghastly reddish glow
but our leaders the great liars
tell us that we just don't know

what the actual situation
is out there in distant land
how we must defend the nation
with the tools we have at hand

in the distance we hear noises
that proclaim the coming storms
we're told that dissenting voices
only injure proper norms

at the last we'll learn the reason
that the conflagration's spread
we will all be charged with treason
for the thoughts inside each head

there's no better time to speak out
as the sun sets in the west
our dear leader is a weak lout
and he's failed at the great test

at the end of pilgrimage

at each corner of the crossing
stand tall statues of the keepers
stern they are and quite forbidding
but one seems to smile in secret
let the watcher pause a moment
and the hidden power will touch her
not for us the open comment
hearts are not scared of the darkness

still we want to run together
turn away from normal questions
earn the truth that we were promised
while the power around us falters
long departed secret master
tells us nothing we find useful
rather he seeks to mislead us
draw us deeper into sorrow

at the crossing of the river
we saw miracles not happen
thunder crashed high on the mountain
but down here was perfect weather
as we sit and drink our breakfast
others plot against our freedom
but the ones who claim to guard us
can't tell arses clear from elbows

so we have ourselves a problem
no one who has sense will answer
we've been told about a vision
vouchafed only to the wisest
but the folk who claim to know it
haven't got the sense of sparrows
we are stuck with nothing better
than the hope of life unfinished