No one feels more alone when feeling alone in another darkened hometown.*

He went and wandered,
kerb crawled and begged,
asked for four quid
then left when he got it, though
two pounds less than he wanted;
away, away, away, away, away,
away he’ll go again,
vagabond turned drifter,
God talking, kneel praying, church attending, Amen.

When the already sirens
start up, wind up,
swing around merrily in their
egg shell cups upon and above
the panda-car-cop,
he’ll wake to wander again
until the day his body flails
and gives in, drops to the floor
in a melodramatic stop.

For this forever New York,
with its high rise chimney tops
and siren's scare,
is no place to sleep without
a home to go home too.

TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

You don't know what you want
nor know what you'll become;
but in the years that'll drum on
you won't know what you'll have
before it's upped and gone.

Let palms and backs of hands
burn with pain, the wound of the twine.
Keep your kite from landing within the lambs,
break you back, but not your spine.

For your ambition is an anchor
in the deepest of seas;
it'll reel on down through the
breeze, past the knees,
collecting and acclimatising,
running towards your needs.

But only are they realised
when you're down on your luck
struggling to breathe.
No longer are you dynamic and living,
but a soul sat down
quietly remembering.

So keep your kite close
to your heart
and that anchor in the sea,
for no one knows what you'll become,
nor where you'll end up and leave.

Hello again love
Welcome back to my heart
You're so familiar
But you feel different this time
Like an old friend in a new time
A bit softer and warmer in feel
But met with harder and colder feelings
A little more giving and embracing
But met with eager thirst
And hungry greediness
I'm hesitant to accept you
If only because I hurt
And have been hurt
And will be hurt
But you want to change that this time
You're the same
But you're different
I think I love you better now

Anglophilia
An early passion
one cannot say
when or why
perhaps his father's admiration
or was it his mother's apprehension
for them

Leaves of sweet ruby tea
hot ginger pasties
glory of candle skinned  ladies
the warm eyes and cold hearts
what lovely cats you have

Avon flows, its quiet cenote waters
surrounding the poetical urns
Cheery children
noses against windows
those of shopkeepers
that smothered
Napoleon

Yes, Avon flows
the timely midnight trains
to a myriad country stations
all the many
noble selfish
ideals
Joy of bright roses
in a small garden below
where the Keats still play
Adam and Eve
and hear the City's pride
its mechanical soul  
sing its hollow lonely tune again
Oh, where did all the angels go?

sadness* is the tip of the iceberg
visible
while depression resides just below the surface
bobbing, in and out

but this body lingers far beneath
the tension
at the most jagged points
and I can't hold my breath very long
                                                                           ...I have asthma

in the cold night's air
you cannot cling to it for safety
your skin sticks, rips
your feet slip

you try to let go
floating in nothingness
infinite
body weak, lungs crystallized

submerged beneath the surge
I wonder to myself,

                                             ...if i could drain the ocean,
                                                           what volumes lost could raise me now?

and my only wish
is that the Titanic come crashing here
******* me down to the ocean's depths
in the wake

as she sinks

Photographs
Line the walls
Faces missing

My face missing
From all of your photographs

I didn't think it mattered
Until now

Smiling faces
The ones that replaced mine
Next to yours

I'm not in your past
I can see now that
I won't be in your future
You don't want me there

Maybe someday
We'll be in a photograph
Together