Willow Walk

down the islands

the shine of emerald from steady growth

hides from us the smiling face of hell

we have the sunshine and the shadow both

 

the odour of fresh roses and the smell

of rot and dung and none is truly hid

from those who want to look but none will tell

 

any large truths although if any did

there's none who'd care or have a thing to say

since honest folk have fallen from the grid

 

and cultivate their gardens for the day

that they have left before the storm appears

out of the sea and sweeps the waste away

 

making things clean for one or two brief years

until the forest can return to place

and under branches we see the old fears

 

laughing and dancing and seeking embrace

of their old kingdom and their ancient arts

while on the hill some old fool says disgrace

 

and others tell false stories of their parts

in different dramas on this very scene

and in the process corrupt many hearts

 

twisting and turning away from the mean

those who had come out of the chill of night

and taken joy in the clear morning green

 

knaves leave their streaks wherever there is light

back to the sea

the ocean is a being with grey teeth

what it has eaten everyone must learn

we see the smile and know what hides beneath

 

each of us has to take a painful turn

upon the oars in honour of old grief

yet in that setting finding what we earn

 

is less than we deserve and that so brief

a pain may serve as well the mark to sear

into each skin before we find relief

 

from chore and duty and learn to adhere

not only to the plain but to the hard

since nothing of our world could be more dear

 

than the one place we claim to be our yard

a coral finger a turtle of stone

with horrid memories it has been marred

 

and yet it is the only place we own

where rage and hatred turn into desire

and light exposes every broken bone

 

to show each hero that he is a liar

when he has promised an ending to night

since even truth must perish in the fire

 

for in these islands nothing comes out right

except the jokes and bullets from each gun

we get the heat and never find the light

 

but still they call us children of the sun

calculated puzzle

so in the night we watch as hatred breeds
no one says what they want the most to say
or counts the number of the evil seeds

that will produce a flower in coming day
not much is thought of but the urgent shout
that calls on each to get out of the way

requires that we put aside every doubt
and leave behind all hope of swift return
since this is power we cannot dare to flout

and we do not have any chance to earn
the thanks of those we guard or those we keep
from seeing how the world must rage and burn

in all its ecstacy of empty sleep
there's no place now for any to escape
we are sunk now and gone in far too deep

our minds and bodies too far out of shape
for any effort to redeem the past
we started human and are below ape

began the first and now are very last
driven by what we thought was divine fire
we could not be sustained against the blast

of just an ordinary mundane desire
to leave behind the painful human plight
where it belongs down in the muck and mire

and for a little while live in the light

one little dance

we learn the limits of all modes of strife
our hearts are set within one final zone
there is one thing that's valued more than life

the pain we feel cuts right down to the bone
and this is not what we are meant to find
the normal heart is simply turned to stone

each king of men finds that he is still blind
to what the normal soul desires and needs
while there's no limit to the human mind

there are clear boundaries to human deeds
and we've not yet the singular clear eye
that will see through the nonsense of the creeds

and penetrate the most well-varnished lie
to find the diamond hidden in the coal
that can't be covered though we might apply

the greatest effort and the most control
to keep our secret to the furthest end
but there's no hiding place no deepest hole

from that hard vision nowhere we can send
our cherished hearts this is the oldest tale
that any know and no one could pretend

that we have any older we can't fail
to tell our story in the open square
it is as classic as a bill of sale

these are not matters for the common air
but must be passed from hand to weary hand
until we at last come to those who dare

resist the pressure of the heavy band
and teach us how to take our place and dance
on the far shore on the clean golden sand

you say that there is only some small chance
that things will come out good and clear and right
and matters will be as in old romance

that may be so but we hope for the light

out of the dark wood

what in the dark flies flutters and goes out
beyond those trees and so far beyond the river
there is a message left a sign a shout

your heart is what we send what you deliver
is something more that you desire we leave
beyond the simple shard and sharp small sliver

that pierces what we guard and makes us grieve
for what we could not hold and what we left
as blood and water flow out through the sieve

those are the ones who know they are bereft
before we see the flags dip and the pain
of those who fail in their part of the heft

so long have we been waiting for the rain
but no king comes and we cannot now heal
honour and pride both go against the grain

your only task is to adore and kneel
as all the dancers run away and hide
before the sight of all that shiny steel

there is no room for dignity or pride
so much we lost when we gave up our grip
around us now the vicious kindred ride

who do not care for any sound of lip
but want us simply swiftly to obey
their heavy and maleficent proud whip

we call that just another working day
and let the glass crack into many shards
these are the things that get into the way

there is a way but none that the god guards
that each one knows and no one hostile bars
each self considers what justice regards

and in the silence looks up at the stars