FIELDS OF WHEAT

by

Klaus J. Gerken

(1983)


I

Right or wrong the death knell sounds
For those who think to quit their rounds
Resign themselves to fate, and try
A paean to forgiveness, while
Their sins are common in their heads
(I sometimes think they're overfed)
But "sometimes" is not much to go on
When cruel the wind their corpse must blow on
And undertakers stand around
Like vultures at the kill abound
And hate like businessmen in heat
The smell of money is their meat
A common prostitute their game
Silver, gold, their claim to fame
It buys for them the rights to rule
The right to rule the mob no less
Than paradise on earth is blessed
With the assumption "God's a fool"
And they are not so finely dressed
As money guides their holiness
And those who worship are amazed
As tricks a fool could do - but dazed
They hail the crown and think it pure
And are sucked in like carp to lure
And laughter echoes through the halls
Of any fortress that appeals
A thinking breathing mass of flesh
A spirit with a thought that's fresh
And did not come from stale design
Copied from a certain sign
We thought was clever - but was not
Better let him have a shot
And drug him to submission's ease
Thus pimp and prim can better please
For after all it's life that's short
And life's no better than a sport
For instance take religion's half
Forget no mob and kill the calf
The blood must flow "God" to appease
Or else he plies all with disease
At least that's what the book reveals
Contravene it - there are no appeals
The clergy wants us to believe it
While they themselves do not receive it
They dine like fattened pigs upon
The convent, rosary, and on
And on and on - it frightens me
The ages never have been free
From avarice and hate and pain
And man's religion was the stain
Upon each perfect concept fraught
By dreamers who were fools, for naught
Who wished a better life for all
And came so close before the fall
Awareness is the masterstroke
With which so few of us must cope
We set our sights beyond the norm
And place our hope behind a horn
That sounds retreat - o what a feat
They think themselves so very neat
Like apples falling from a tree
Ripe and red and rot - for free
Merchants cry - "It's profit lost"
Of course it is - but not the boss
Who rakes the politicians main
And feeds us lies and makes a gain -
I'm not impressed - in fact it's hard
To raise the edge of any card -
"They hold the ace - we cannot stay
They screw us further every day"
If such the case, no sympathy
Can ramble through obscurity
As such, I would not hold a curse
For any that can be much worse
The human animal (some call divine)
Is stuck in neutral most of the time
I guess the harder we presume
To get somewhere, we botch the tune
And favour blending with the crowds
That forms a much obscurer shroud
A perfect plastic safety net
For  all must need a blanket yet
To hide from true reality
(They cannot see themselves - but me)
And thus who would not enter there
Are ostracized, just to be fair
It is a running onward thing
It never ends - it is a ring
A circus ring, renews itself
And "moral" books put on the shelf
For all to see Mortality
At work - it's distinct ministry
Riding on a crest of love
Though not "ordinary" love
But so concocted by a glee
Of those who would reser-ved be
But not reserved enough to take
The faggots from the torture stake
Ready so to justify
Murder, rape and perfidy
And still they are not satisfied
They must in some way time abide
One mustn't think they have too many
A proper dose is much too heady
Time to think is always ripe
To build upon another tide
A raging rolling force of wind
To bridge the gap from sight to blind
Whate'er the case, the truth dispels
"If 'tis not in heaven, must be hell"
Supreme example is the form
Of bartering we call the norm
Engaged in gear we race the course
And cannot ever ride the horse
A fine example, self destructs
Defend an ancient aqueduct
Through history our hope has been
To live in peace - or to be seen
If one, it's not the other then
The guns are poised and so are men
Upon the border, on the shore
(The world is rotten to the core)
We talk of peace but arm ourselves
In case the other land rebels
That's nothing new - And someone said
"I'd really rather stay in bed"
And that's precisely how I feel
Without ado I'll end my reel
And go to sleep where I'll be free
From all this insecurity.

9-12-83 and 12-12-83


II

There's a river that rushes around the world
And down a hill devoid of end
The river is Time and it touches us all
Like the still of the night and the fright of its fall

Like children at play when they chastise the rules
To adults who emulate fine Christian fools
The rive runs freely from trickle to flood
From birth unto death, our river is blood

"It matters not any" - but matter it does
Creating a torrent were gain equals loss -
The rive of Life and the rive of Death
Where no one that stalks the stark static breath
Can ever be freed from the final duress
Of living forever or dying for less.

20 Dec 1983


III

The sunflower melts into the sky
At autumn's sunset radiantly
Across the fields of corn and time
As oceans that must set us free

Reflecting on the ancient hills
Which eased into position till
We intruders mankind came
And severed truth in God's own name

I cannot help but wonder though
Through history - as pleasure's fraught
With pain, and life and death
Resumes to where it ought

Without philosophy and thought
Without the concrete islands caught
Between the sacred bonds
And where the false absconds

How what has come to be survived
In man's clear overdrive
His suicidal bend...
The sunflower makes amends.

21-12-83


IV

The waste of the wild when the wind blows away
Through crowded conditions the concordant day
Where freedom delivers the frightful delay
Of Time's dismal ending with no space to pray

The sky's in a russet - its hues in a whirl
The wind hollows cavers from the skull of a squirrel
With darkness descending the doomsday has come
Now we have the crowning of where we've come from

No buildings but ashes - the living alone -
Death is the living and life is the stone - 
For those who will guide me I have no recourse
For finding a haven - no warmth and no source
Of anything ever -as has been, as was
The frightened will never remember the cause.

21-12-83


V

The white smoke billows from the hearth
Of fires kindled at the birth
Of Christ - It's Christmas eve
And far away the carols heave
A sigh that calms the winter air
So clear, so pure, so debonair
And crisp and cold, at play, such rest
With sacred silence it is blessed
Upon this eve divinely placed
For peace that is our comfort here
Before this blazing yuletide log
The tree, the candles and the food
Upon the table fine prepared
For all who would accept Christ's care.

21-12-83


VI

HORACE ODES I - 9

Socrates stands bedecked in snow
All white and wicked, barren, low
The trees defiled and streams aglow
With icy frost - come let's pile on
The wood upon the hearth and sun
Ourselves with four years' Sabine wine
And leave all else to other gods
To battle seas through length of time
As ancient ashes or the roods
Of cypress trees will quiver not
Much longer; count the gain that's bought
By fortune's sacred hand, but think
To tease the secret not, for that
It holds so tight within its grip
The future mold - so thus it e'er
With age might stain the bloom of youth -
Nor shun those parts where you might meet
With tender whispers, - when the night returns
The tryst, and laughter must betray
The girls, their nervousness while, loosed
Their ring or bracelet hidden in
Some part in play, invited none the less
By her, pretends she'll not give in.

16-05-83


Copyright (c) 1983/2002 Klaus J. Gerken