There was a sadness I revered
But never possessed,
Because there was youth
And hope to spare,

But as youth ebbs,
And hope recedes,
I know that sadness for real,
And how sad true sadness feels.

"Temper your enthusiasm,"
She said,
"The extremes of your reactions;
You should have
A more conventional frame
On which to hang
Your unconventionality."
"Don't push people,"
She said,
"You make yourself vulnerable."

She told me not to rhapsodise,
That it would be difficult,
Impossible, perhaps,
For me to harness my dynamism.
The tone of my work,
She said,
Is often a little dubious.
She said
She thought
That there was something wrong.

That I'm hiding
Some sad
Dark secret from the world.
"Temper your enthusiasm,"
She said,
"The extremes of your reactions;
You should have
A more conventional frame
On which to hang
Your unconventionality."

the catholic nurse
all sensitive
caring noticing
everything
what can she think
of my hot/cold torment

always near blowing it
living in the fast lane
so friendly kind
the girls
dewy eyed
wanda abandoned me
bolton is in my hands

and yet my coldness
hurts
the more emotional
they stay
trying to find a reason
for my ice-like suspicion
fish eyes
coldly indifferent eyes
suspect everything that moves

socialising just to be loud
compensate for cold
lack of essential trust
warmth
i love them
despite myself
my desire to love
is unconscious and gigantesque

i never know
when i'm going to miss someone
strange coldness perplexing
i've got to work to get devotion
but once i get it
i really get people on my side
there are my people
who can survive
my shark-like coldness
and there are those
who want something
more personal
i can be very devoted to those
who can stay the course

my soul is aching
for an impartial love of people
i'm at war with myself.

My travels start
Right here
Deep in my mind
My travels take me just where
I please I don't have
To leave my warm room

My travels start
Sixteen sun
Beating down
Sinatra's crooning Jobim
And I'm just dreaming of my
Great romance to come

I don't need a little ticket
Tells me I can take the train
I don't even to risk it
There's no blistering sun
Or driving rain
And it's here that I remain

My travels end
With a sweet
And peaceful time
I've found such sense deep within
No more will I feel
The need to go travelling again.

my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me

dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting ****** in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar

cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).

In Hamburg I loved
A strange girl,
She put my whole being
In a whirl,

She spurned everybody
But me,
I made her happy,
In Hamburg.

But if she had
Spurned me,
I'd have looked her in the eye,
And run away,

And in my room,
I would have cried,
I might even have died,
In Hamburg.

Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,

In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I ain’t no London dude,
I'm just a carbon copy,
Doing some travelling,

Time travel, baby
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,

Seeing places that I knew in ’77,
When I was young
And in love with London town,
Please don’t ask me
Where those fleeting years have flown to,
They’ve just gone travelling,

Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,

In disguise as a young man in the city,
But the bright young life
No longer belongs to me,
I’m a visitor
From a distant generation
Doing some travelling,

Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me.

Auto-annihilation is stupid,
It breaks hearts.
And ruins lives,
I hate that I was ever self-destructive,
I rue the day I became entranced
By its shadowy charisma,

While alcohol spoiled my life:
Poor Jo-Jo was right
To warn her cherished daughter
Of its insidious malignancy.
I was one of the felicitous ones
In that it didn’t entirely destroy me,

But despite its lack of glamour,
In comparison to
other more romanticised intoxicants,
It’s among the most lethiferous of drugs
That stole from me
What remained of my gorgeous youth.

Kind faces smiling,
Nodding politely at words
They don’t seem to understand.
Show me pictures
Showing the richness of
A faraway distant land.
Multicoloured motor cars,
Brown apartments rising high
In Puerto Rican skies.

As a young man,
I was always obsessed
By melancholy.
I saw deep sadness,
The quality
That so tormented my heroes,
Such as Arthur Rimbaud,

And Montgomery Clift,
As glamorous and romantic,
But it’s not…
It’s not remotely romantic,
When you yourself are adrift,
And weighed down,
By a multitude of woes.

I feel at one with sweethearts
Through the years,
With the wartime lovers
Who went overseas,
All the shattered hearts,
All the rivers of tears,
I feel them all.

Verses of love,
Lovers who must part,
Portraits of love
Worn so very close to the heart,
All the lovers lost,
Loves that never even start,
I feel them all.

Yesterday for my birthday,
I started off
with a bottle of wine...
I took the train
into town...
I had half a bitter
at the Cafe de Piaf
in Waterloo...
I went to work
for a couple of hours or so;
I had a pint after work;
I went for an audition;
after the audition,
I had another pint
and a half;
I had another half,
before meeting my mates,
for my b'day celebrations;
we had a pint together;
we went into
the night club,
where we had champagne
(I had three glasses);
I had a further
glass of vino,
by which time,
I was so gone
that I drew an audience
of about thirty
by performing a solo
dancing spot
in the middle
of the disco floor...
We all piled off to the pub
after that,
where I had another drink
(I can't remember
what it was)...
I then made my way home,
took the bus from Surbiton,
but ended up
in the wilds of Surrey;
I took another bus home,
and watched some telly,
and had something to eat
before crashing out...
I really, really enjoyed
the eve, but today,
I've been walking around
like a zomb;
I've had only one drink today,
an early morning
restorative effort;
I spent the day working,
then I went to a bookshop,
where, like a monk,
I go for a day's
drying out session...
Drying out is really awful;
you jump at every shadow;
you feel dizzy,
you notice everything;
very often,
I don't follow through.

I'm a restless man
I am never
Still
I'm always spurred on
By some perverse
Will
The grass is never
Green
No peace here
To find
Some demon
Of motion's
At work within my
Mind
No bed is too soft
That I won't
Abandon
Its sweet calm
And comfort
For a softer
One
I'm a restless man
I am never
Still
I'm always spurred on
By some perverse will.

I seldom indulge in letter writing
Because I consider it
To be a cold and illusory
Means of communication.
I will only send someone a letter
If I'm certain it's going to serve
A definite functional purpose,
Such as that which I'm
Scrupulously concocting at present
Indisputably does.
It's not that I incline
Towards excessive premeditation;
Its rather that I have to subject
My thoughts and emotions
To quasi-military discipline,
As pandemonium is the sole alternative.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.
                                                              
Deliberation, in my case,
Is a means to an end,
But scarcely by any means,
An end in itself.
This letter possesses not one,
But two, designs.
On one hand, its aim is edification.
Besides that, I plan to include it
In the literary project upon which
I'm presently engaged,
With your permission of course.
Contrary to what you have suspected
In the past,
I never intend to trivialise intimacy
By distilling it into art.
On the contrary, I seek
To apotheosise the same.
                                                              
You see...I lack the necessary
Emotional vitality to do justice
To people and events
That are precious to me;
I am forced, therefore,
To at a later date call
On emotive reserves
Contained within my unconscious
In order to transform
The aforesaid into literary monuments.
You once said that my feelings
Had been interred under six feet
Of lifeless abstractions;
As true as this might be,
The abstractions in question
Come from without
Rather than within me:
                                                              
My youthful spontaneity
Many mistrustfully identified
With self-satisfied inconsiderateness
(A standard case of fallacious reasoning),
And I was consequently
The frequent victim
Of somewhat draconic cerebrations.
I tremble now
In the face of hyperconsciousness.
I've manufactured a mentality,
Riddled with deliberation,
Cankerous with irony;
Still, in its fragility,
Not to say, artificiality,
It can, with supreme facility,
Be wrenched aside to expose
The touch-paper tenderness within.
                                                              
With characteristic extremism,
I've taken ratiocination
To its very limits,
But I've acquainted myself with,
Nay, embraced my antagonist
Only in order to more effectively throttle him.
Being a survivor of the protracted passage
Through the morass of nihilism,
Found deep within
"the hell of my inner being,"
I am more than qualified to say this:
There is no way out
Of the prison of ceaseless sophistry.
There are many things I have left to say,
But I shall only have begun to exist in earnest
When these are far behind me,
In fact, so far as to be all but imperceptible.
                                                              
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.
Everything I ever dreaded being, I've become
Everything I ever desired to be, I've become.
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I long for the time
When I shall have compensated to my satisfaction.
I never desired intellectuality; it was ****** upon me.  
I'm the sum total of a lifetime's
Fears and fantasies,
Both wish-fulfillment
And dread-consummation incarnate.
I'm the compensatory man par excellence.

From morn to friendless night,
He tramps the streets,
Just in case he might
Come across her, he's a tragic sight,
But he doesn’t care,
Love gives him might,
He haunts the cafes and the discos
And the bars, so lovelorn.
                                                              
He knows that he won't find her,
But he's got to keep on trying,
It gives some meaning
To his life,
It gives some substance
To his time,
It is his motive, and his project,
And his plan, so lovelorn.
                                                              
He only met her once,
But it changed his life,
And it changed his type,
And it changed his mind,
And he threw it all up,
As if he'd gone insane,
And he took to the streets,
And another man was born.
                                                              
They say love comes but once
For some, but when it does,
It's like a mighty
Atom bomb inside,
A disease that seizes
A gentle soul,
And if it comes for you,
You'd better try to hide.
                                                              
From morn to friendless night,
He tramps the streets
Just in case he might
Come across her, he's a tragic sight,
But he doesn't care,
Love gives him might,
He haunts the cafes and the discos
And the bars, so lovelorn.

Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.

Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting ****** in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
                                                                    
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
                                                                    
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
                                                                    
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!

Come away with me
To toil upon the sea,
Come away and see
How sweet sea life can be,
I'll sing Bonnie Dundee
Off the coast of
Old Guernsey, you and me
As toilers of the sea, as toilers of the sea.
                                                                    
Help me put that wrecked
Romance away from me,
Help me understand
How it was lost at sea,
It wasn't destined to be,
She belonged to another not me,
What’ll be will be,
For toilers of the sea, for toilers of the sea.
                                                                    
I can stand it if you're
There with me,
For the solitary life at sea
Is enough to make you
Sea crazy,
With the whales
And gulls for company,
For toilers of the sea, for toilers of the sea.
                                                                    
We can ponder on
The ocean's mysteries,
I'll unveil a few of
My old sea stories,
You'll see how kind a tar can be,
I promise you'll be safe with me,
When we're out at sea
As toilers of the sea, as toilers of the sea.

my life story
is littered
with the ghosts
of golden
opportunities gone.

You told me that your name was Maria,
And that you came
From the Netherlands,
But you looked more like a Latina,
With flowing dark hair,
Perhaps a natural tan,

I was in love,
So much in love,
But I let love pass me by,
All through my life,
So much of my life,
I have let love pass me by.

You left me with a casual ‘I’ll see you’,
But I looked for you
All over London town,
It’s like that I was paralysed with fear,
I could have sworn
I saw you on the underground,

I was in love,
So much in love,
But I let love pass me by,
All through my life,
So much of my life,
I have let love pass me by.

Babe, where's your smile,
Don't be a melancholy child,
Can't you see
That the summer's come?
                                                                    
Stuck in your room
With your winter curtains drawn,
While the suburbs
Are all bathed in sun.
                                                                    
No more winter time lows,
Only joy now because
We can shake off the blues,
Love, there's no time to lose.
                                                                    
We can go for a cruise
Down the Thames
Or down the Ouse,
Or just snooze under summer's sun,
                                                                    
Find a village green,
Watch some cricket,
Take some tea, as you please,
Summer's made for fun.
                                                                    
Get some sweet summer air,
Feel the breeze in your hair,
Forget that sad old affair,
He's not worth all the tears.
                                                                    
Babe, where's your smile,
Don't be a melancholy child,
Can't you see
That the summer's come?

One day I'd like to go
In search of my past,
Of all the memories
Of my youth.
I cry for all my souvenirs,
And I dream of a future,

Where I can atone
For all the follies
Of my existence,
And where I might
Contemplate my past
In peace at long last.

If I fell in love with you,
I would like to
Make my dreams come true,
You could fulfill all yours too,
So come on, honey,
Just one look will do,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.
                                                                    
We could go all round the world,
Just like other
Moonstruck boys and girls,
So come on, honey, don't be scared,
We are only young once,
Say the word,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.
                                                                    
Bali, Frisco, Rio, or wherever
You may choose,
The world's our oyster, honey,
There'll be no more bad news,
We could leave tomorrow,
I tell you we can't lose,
We will soon be
Saying bye bye to those blues.
                                                                    
If I fell in love with you,
I would like to
Make my dreams come true,
You could fulfill all yours too,
So come on, honey,
Just one look will do,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.

South Pacific, Jiminy Cricket,
This world
I tried to gain access,
I tried to write
A book
That would capture
All my happiness,

Full of romance,
Life that was enhanced
By beauty and love,
Carousel and Disneyland,
Babycham deers
And romantic lands,
These patterns I wove.

West London in the sun
Last summer of the millennium,
We were in love
And having fun,
But fun wouldn’t last too long,
Love didn’t have too long to run.

You, a Dance kid
Of sweet nineteen,
Your record collection’s
Rock and Roll free,
Me, a relic
From a bygone scene,

We had nothing we could talk about,
All you ever did was shout,
About the DJs you’d seen,
In Ibiza and Berlin,
In the Babylons of Dance,
I didn’t stand a chance…

West London in the sun
Last summer of the millennium,
We were in love
And having fun,
But fun wouldn’t Last too long,
Love didn’t have too long to run.

There was a long vanished England
Of well-spoken presenters
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service, and Children’s Favourites,
Of coppers and tanners, and ten bob notes;
And jolly shopkeepers, and window cleaners.

I remember my cherished Wolf Cub pack,
How I loved those Wednesday evenings,
The games, the pomp and seriousness of the camps,
The different coloured scarves, sweaters and hair
During the mass meetings,
The solemnity of my enrolment,

Being helped up a tree by an older boy,
Baloo, or Kim, or someone,
To win my Athletics badge,
Winning my first star, my two year badge,
And my swimming badge
With its frog symbol, the kindness of the older boys.

Until recently, I had the impression
Of decaying
Along with the moral standards
Of contemporary Europe,
With London as the lieu
To which all Autoroutes lead.
                                                           ­         
In my room, I was surrounded
By debris
Of my existence,
Lacking the will even to clear
The carpet, whose colour,
Incidentally I came to forget.
                                                         ­           
I ceaselessly tampered with my hair,
Growing it long,
Having it cropped, hennaing it red,
Dyeing it blue-black, bleaching it near-white;
It fell out in bunches,
Desiccated and exhausted.
                                                      ­              
My face grew sallow and haggard,
With bloodshot, inflamed,
Glazed, blue-ringed orbs,
And bitten, bloated, ravaged lips.
My body lost its athletic aspect,
And became shapeless and emaciated.

She's precious as can be,
She means so much to me,
So much to me.
She spells generosity,
And she's always been
A friend in need.
Been so many years
Since that we
First met in our heyday,
So young and so free,
Sun-soaked days,
No tears, no cares,
Back in our heady heyday,
What I'm trying to say,
Is I think the world of she.

She's tender as can be,
Her kindness is for real,
So real for me,
She sends her warmth to me,
Like gentle poetry
That I can feel.
Been so many years
Since that we
First met in our heyday,
So young and so free,
Sun-soaked days,
No tears, no cares,
Back in our heady heyday,
What I'm trying to say,
Is I think the world of she.

And so the party...Zoë
Called me...I listened
To her problems;
References
To my innocent face.
Linda said:
"Sally seems elusive
But is in fact,
Accessible;
You're the opposite -
You give to everyone
But are incapable
Of giving in particular."

Madeleine was comparing me
To June Miller;
Descriptions by Nin:
"She does not dare
To be herself..."
Everything I'd always
Wanted to be, I now am.
"...She lives
On the reflections
Of herself in the eyes
Of others...
There is no June
To grasp and know."

I kept getting up to dance
Sally said: "I'm afraid;
You're inscrutable;
You're not just
Blasé
Are you?"
I spoke
Of the spells of calm,
And the hysterical
Reactions,
Psychic exhaustion,
Then anxious elation.

How I try to count my blessings,
They do little to ease my saudade,
Look to the past
For some consolation,
But the past remains resistant,
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

Twenty years to destroy an existence,
Is all it took,
To steal my contentment,
Look to the past for a glimmer of peace,
To the past for a little release.
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

On one level, I feel so blessed,
Cleave to life with all my strength,
There’s so much to be thankful about,
‘Til I sink back into deepest night,
O woe, where is hope?
I feel so old, and so alone…

Shooting star
With a quicksilver mind,
You deserve to go so far,
Can't someone stop you
Before you ruin your soul
With irreversible harm?
                                                                    
Drinking all day,  
Every single day,
Out of your head on *****,
Is this the life,  
Is this the way,
A gifted child should choose?
                                                                    
Your beautiful lethal life
My friend,
Has sent you around the bend,
Your foolish defiant
Decadent dance
Could soon be at an end.
                                                                    
But you don't care
Do you, shooting star?
As you drift in your blissful dream.

What was I thinking,
I let you go,
I wasn't drinking, still
I let you go,
Where was my head at to
Let you go,
I can't accept that I just
Let you go.
                                                                    
I wish I could make
Amends,
So we could at least
Be friends,
I have no real
Reason why,
I let you
Say goodbye.
                                                                    
Did I confuse you when
I let you go,
Such a fool to have
Let you go,
You were so precious, still
I let you go,
Worth more than jewels, still
I let you go.
                                                                    
I wish we could
Start again,
I'd be quite
A different man,
I've learned quite a lot
Since then,
I know how
To keep a friend.
                                                                    
We could meet up in the
Centre of town,
And I'd explain my motivations,
About how I came
To let you down,
And all those other
Explanations,
And crazy complications.
                                                                    
I'm not asking for
Romance,
Just give me half
A chance,
I’ve come to have
A good, kind heart,
So how about
A brand new start.
                                                                    
What was I thinking,
I let you go,
I wasn't drinking, still
I let you go,
Where was my head at to
Let you go,
I can't accept that I just
Let you go.

One summer’s eve in Spain,
I fled through an open window,
Butterflies aflight
In the very pit of me,
And I tramped the streets,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.

With my final matches,
I forged a heart
At that maiden’s doorstep;
I was like a thief,
On that torrid night,
My heart abrim
With so much love,
But a love now long gone.

And what of the maiden in azure?
O! What an inferno raged
Within my soul for her,
But that love
Never bloomed beyond a dream,
My heart abrim
With such a love,
But a love now long gone.

Soon, I’ll sleep again,
I will feel no pain,

For a little time,
Peace will be all mine.

My mind will seek
Freedom from the past,

I’ll be carefree,
Although it will not last.

Soon, I’ll sleep again,
I will feel no pain.

Love, you've left me once again,
Gone to catch an early plane,
Where you gonna fly this time,
In search of the perfect clime?

I am the one you leave behind,
Worried out of my tiny mind,
I was the one who saw you through,
I need your care and loving too.

Love, you've left the happy home,
You've pledged your solemn word you'll phone,
But I would rather you were here,
You've no conception of my fear.

Halfway across a crazy world,
Is no place for such an unknowing child,
If only you could see me cry,
Then maybe you'd stop to wonder why.

In every case, there is a sorrow
Attached to advancing age,
And the decline attendant upon it,
Decline physical, mental, emotional,
In every case, there is a sorrow.

But somehow, there is a special sorrow,
In the pathetic tears
Of an ageing man,
Looking back at the thousand plus follies
Of a stupidly misspent youth,

But somehow there is a special sorrow,
Attached to those who look back
With eyes filled with the tears
Of fathomless and torturous regret,
And of promise unfulfilled.

Yes, I regret
The scornful dissipation
Of my salad days
When I was strong,

Believe me,
They didn’t last too long,
Believe me,
They didn’t last too long.

Yes, I regret
All that I squandered
O’er the course
Of about fifteen years,

Believe me,
I’ve cried quite a sea of tears,
Believe me,
I’ve cried quite a sea of tears,

Yes, I regret
If I e’er acted cavalierly
Towards any who sought to love me
With a trusting heart,

Believe me,
I’m not so proud of my past,
Believe me,
I’m not so proud of my past.

Soon after I'd paid
My sixty
Or seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
Or bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, Purple
Or green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent ******...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly dancable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
Of short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
Of red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.

I was sad today;
Because you begged me
To think of your good points,
And I never told you any.

Rest assured there are many,
Very many, I would have liked
To have told you them
There and then.

I tell you so much about my past,
Quite a lot of which is conflictive,
As if several mes
Were struggling for supremacy.

Much of the time,
There was a pretty normal me;
Oh don't get me wrong,
I was always an attention-seeker,

But I really do genuinely struggle
To make sense,
I really do genuinely struggle
To make sense of me in the past.

I was in a ****** bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I’d done.
Darting furiously…
Through city streets,
Running, running,
For something I’d done.
My companion hailed,
And stopped a bus,
Its metal doors flew open,
For something I’d done.
Had to get to them,
Had to get through them,
Under furious pursuance,
For something I’d done.

To see you in the morning,
Be with you in the evening,
To see you here
At every time of day,
Such a simple prayer,
To see you at every time of day.
                                                                    
To hold you when you're laughing,
Console you when you're crying,
Take care of you
At every time of day,
Such a simple prayer
To see you at every time of day.
                                                                    
So tell me why you push me away,
When I've sworn to be
Forever true,
When I've pledged
My pure and simple heart to you?
How can you be so cruel?
                                                                    
To see you in the morning,
Be with you in the evening,
To see you here
At every time of day,
Such a simple prayer,
To see you at every time of day.

This place is always a little lonely
At the weekends...no noise and life;
I like solitude,
But not in places
Where's there's recently been
A lot of people.
Reclusiveness protects you
From nostalgia,
And you can be as nostalgic
In relation to what happened
Half an hour ago
As half a century ago, in fact more so.
                                                            
I went to the Xmas party.
I danced,
And generally lived it up.
I went to bed sad though.
Discos exacerbate
My sense of solitude.
My capacity for social warmth,
Excessive social dependence,
And romantic zeal,
Can be practically deranging;
It's no wonder I feel the need
To escape...
                                                       ­     
Escape from my own
Drastic social emotivity,
And devastating capacity
For loneliness.
I feel trapped here;
There's no
Outlet for my talents.
                                                        ­    
In such a state as this,
I could fall in love with anyone.
The night before last,
I went to the ball,
Couples filing out,  
I wanted to be half of every one,  
But I didn't want to lose * * *.  
I'll get over how I feel now,
And very soon.
Gradually I'll freeze again,
Even assuming an extra layer of snow.  
I have to get out of here.

It’s happening again,
Such unbearable pain,
And if my soul is crying
As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine…

I’ve let so many people down,
Lost so many beautiful opportunities
I feel so failed and forlorn,
But is that really such a tragedy?

Perhaps, rather,
It’s a positive thing,
Shouldn’t a true artist be suffering?
At least I’m feeling something…

It’s happening again,
Such unbearable pain,
And if my soul is crying
As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine…

He had no insight into the mysteries
Of the gilded sports
Of the British social elite,
By the time he arrived at his beloved college,
Long, long ago in a long-forgotten England,

And in later years, when he looked back at his beloved college,
He'd insist if he possessed a single quality
That might be termed noble
He owed it to his education,
And not least the four years he spent there,

And there’d be times when certain pieces
Of quintessentially English pastoral music
Still had the power to evoke his strange and sudden flight,
While seeming to him to bespeak a passion
For the Arcadian soul of England that verged on the ecstatic,

And others when he’d dream of a day
He might return to the scene of his flight as if in atonement,
And commune with the soul of his beloved England,
With a passion verging on the ecstatic,
And then put the memory to rest for all time,

For he absconded once...just the once it was...
To avoid being chastised for something foolish he did,
And he finished up wandering, forlornly wandering,
His boots freshly caked with the purest English soil,
Long, long ago in a forgotten field in England.

I love, not just those
I knew back then,
But those
Who were young
Back then,
But who've since
Come to grief, who,
Having soared so high,
Found the
Consequent descent
Too dreadful to bear,
With my youth itself,
Which was only
Yesterday,
No, even less time,
A mere moment ago,
How could
Such a short space
Of time
Cause such devastation?

I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
As life nears its final page,
The hardship that comes with age,
I simply can’t help but rage,

But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
In remembrance, suffuséd with pain
Of my lost angel.

I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
In promise that’s unfulfilled,
In youth that has been misspent,
In a life with so much regret,

But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
In remembrance, suffuséd with pain
Of my lost angel.

Angel, I remember you,
I’ve missed you for so long,
Angel, you belong
To memories,

Angel, when I think of you,
I hear sad romantic songs,
Songs that make me long
For yesterday.

I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
As life nears its final page,
The hardship that comes with age,
I simply can’t help but rage,

But somehow, there’s a special sorrow,
In tears cried for love long gone,
In remembrance, suffuséd with pain
Of my lost angel.

When he made
his first personal appearance
in the ***** alley
on someone else's rusty bike,
screaming along
in a cloud of dust,
it rendered us all
speechless and motionless.
But I was amazed
that despite his grey-faced surliness,
he was very affable with us...
the bully with a naive
and sentimental heart.
He was so happy
to hear that I liked his dad,
or that my mum liked him,
and he was welcome
to come to tea
with us at five twenty five...
Our adventures were spectacular:
chasing after other bikesters,
screaming at the top
of our lungs
into blocks of flats,
and then running
as our echoed waves of terror
blended with incoherent threats...
"I'll call the Police, I'll..."
Wicked cahoots.

Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined
By the rays
Of the sun,
While the dansette plays
Some romantic melody,
O how I love
The one
Who lives in my perfect love.

It's so strange,
The morning comes,
And there are tears in my eyes;
My dream has disappeared,
Lost in the wind of time;
She who looked at me
With such tenderness,
While the dansette played
Some romantic melody
O how I love the one
Who lives in my perfect love.

Memories leave me in peace,
O my past,
Where did you flee,
My golden youth,
All squandered,
All gone,
My thoughts torment me,
Precious faith, please
Comfort me,
For what is my life
Without you.

Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined
By the rays
Of the sun,
While the dansette plays
Some romantic melody,
O how I love
The one
Who lives in my perfect love.

I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver
As I boarded the bus
At Temple Meads,
And the friendly lady who told me
When we had arrived at the city centre.
I remember the little pub on King Street,
With its quiet maritime atmosphere.
                                                                  
I remember tramping
Along Park Street,
Whiteladies Road and Blackboy Hill,
My arms and hands aching from my bags,
To the little cottage where I had decided to stay
And relax between rehearsals,
Reading, writing, listening to music.
I remember my landlady, tall, timid and beautiful.

I was once in thrall to the infamous myth
Of the artiste souffrant,

But I’ve come ultimately to see it
As the cruelest of delusions.

But could it not be said
That it’s still among us,

That malefic notion
That the artist is a spirit set apart,

For some special purpose
Of which pain is an essential component?

O how
Ruefully I pine
For a long lost Espanya,
What I wouldn't give,
To be young again...
And happy as I was back then...

Maria, full of peace,
Do you remember
Francis Albert
Sing songs of Tom Jobim
That mournful afternoon...
Happy as you were back then...

O for
That wide-eyed
Impression of yours,
Paquita La de Murcia
Of your beloved Marilyn...
Happy as you were back then...

O how
Ruefully I pine
For a long lost
Espanya,
What I wouldn't give,
To be young again...
And happy as I was back then...