There are times I wonder,
If the twisted imaginations,
I hold so dear,
Will one day be more than stories,
But then I realise,
They were real first,
But I banished them,
To live within fictional worlds,
Where they can do no more harm.

There is no moon tonight
just the cold stars
in the unfeeling sky
yet I cling on to dreams

the gypsy caravan
I stood & gazed at
as a child
in the City museum

is still there
painted, gilded
calling for the carefree road
& in my heart

long before I met you
lived my fascination for your mysterious people
enchanters,  fortune-tellers,
some say, child & horse thieves

portrayed thus
in my Mother's Russia
- the wild people of the endless road
the people & whose fiery songs I wanted to follow-

& now, in a far off world, bewitched
by you,
I find out that your dark eyes
are that of a gypsy - Romany

& it's like fate
like D. H Lawrence
' The ****** & the Gypsy'
so why, Northener, do you not love me

like your people, I am also a wanderer
a creature of the road
a castaway with no home
than the one my heart happened to find


if you or fate somehow cast this love spell
upon me
if this was meant to be, you should love me, Gypsy
only that would make sense

take me away
let us go a-wandering
across the land, moors & hills
beautiful boy, sweet poet

do you know I once tread the winter's
frost all the night's way to town
for you, hoping to seal
my love's fate

the dark sky
above me
doesn't know how to lament
lost love

the summer of it's heart
has passed,
drunk long away
in quiet pubs

there is only this poem
poorly written -
my heart bleeding
on my sleeve