To love you
so intensely
Such a strange love
demands no
understanding

To think of you
and speak of you
a state of mind
fundamental
for the living
Glory to those
who died seeking you
a State of my own mind,
our own mind

Queen of ideals
oh precious Freedom,
Love for you
so pure
it heals the soul
If I can dream
and navigate
the mighty river of Will
in this breezy peace,
I live

Come and sing to me  
of the countless sacrifices
for your sake supreme
make us see
how it was
you came to be
so beautiful,
above
the Sun and the Moon
to the simple man
who understands nothing
yet accepts their kiss invisible
on his rugged cheek,
and with a deep breath
draws inside
a taste of the light

Oh Freedom!
...
*Que de crimes on comet en ton nom

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?