Spring Symphony


Dust grows to bone, and ashes into dust
Faintly the ashes stir on the agile hearth
The heart warmly trims itself and preens; prepares
To intercept another passing snipe
Really untamed, for taming's past a jape

When Portugal rejects the ultimatum
At last, the gorilla laughs; the laugh goes unanswered
For under the tinder box of tried ashes stirs
The unprepared remorseful penetration
That will unleash the last pale powers of cold

Prepare to halt amid the humid world
Where the ferns fall deeply on the lanes
Shuttered and damp; where deep in the afternoon
Nothing is more deliciously wrong than this

Utter the pale shade
Under the pale glade
Satisfied with more than all his worst
Reason, the sad guide
Laid remorselessly aside
Able to pinch a penny if he thirst

Monsoon, tropical pain
Eating the heart again
Underneath, the shadow of aces lost
Poison, the pale pain
Lurks in the throat again
Starts and reveals the shadow in the dust

Ultimately, clappers will retaliate
This sort of thing will be completely disallowed

Dust moves, people move, movement
Moves, moving out of ashes. Lust
If you dare, but do not trust
The untold miracle in the coach unseen
That passes by, the queen, the higher dream
While the coach glides by
The Queen
(Gentlemen, stand)
Ladies may sit, the seat permits
No more than one; disturb the sense
Paralyse the drainage, and repair
Back to the Old Kent Road.

When the martins return
And build. When the curlews come
And the lark sings in the air, I have observed
The air sits charmingly. The temple is haunted
By the Holy Ghost, a breath of air
As the door opens. Under the table
In the dark, three old men play cards

To get you.
To get you
To get you

Drunk. I said drunk. I said drunk



When the moon goes over
Gliding over
Over the darkness
Under the bay

Pale child pauses
Rough child reasons
Peas in a pod as the days crack and sway

All my enemies
All my roses
Sing, in my garden, of freedom and ease
All my people, born under a juniper
Sneeze and resemble
The birds in the trees.

When we are purchased
Then we are resembled
When people buy us, then we are proud
All our positions
Give way to inquisitions
And vainly, insanely, the same is allowed.

When it is over
Back in the oven
The sweets have turned sickly, the garden is soiled
And a cloud falls on the way we disallowed
And so we go on

Wonderful, wonderful
Wonderful preacher
Sing like a fish in a tank in the park
Until it is thoroughly, thoroughly dark.



Sing, sing, sing, the boys are marching
Dance, dance, dance until the day
Trim all the people down to sizes
3- 4 - 2 - 7 - 1 and away

"Too much cutting, too much trimming
And the end becomes unreasonable, unmeaning.."

But still we must continue, dispose
Of that last unforgettable rose
Sing, sing, sing, sing
Dance on your nose....



When the dead resemble the living
Too much formalin can be a disadvantage
When the warm pulse returns to the outer skin
The work of the taxidermist is disallowed
When under the pit
In which we hovered so long
Reason stirs, naked
Rises, and is strong

The trout are bursting out. Buttons
Break. Chains melt. Butter
Is made firm for tropical use
And the dinosaur re-emerges, newly painted
Like a toy rocking-horse in the park
Though less amusing in the dark
When the legs begin to move, and claws
Sink into the damp earth

The only season God never invented
Is open, and real, and appears
And underneath every hedge
People are buying buckets
Re-populate the ground. The stony places
Are re-filled, with new tenants
Who pay rent promptly, and well

Is a sure guide. Smell detects
Fire, life, decay, tracks
Of where moved......what?... the goose knows
You should know. You do not? Heaven knows
What are you doing under that bushel of yours?
The end is approaching, the time is coming when you
Must abandon the imperfections, must call it a day
If we have not siezed it now, we shall never
Shall never
Never. The end is approaching. This is the end.

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