no ones there
I try your phone
someones there; engaged
I try your phone
lonesomes there not you
I wait for you to return my call
read Dylan Thomas
I visualise his patterns
a vocal vocabulary of pain
I drift inside the writers world
poetry is always to be thus
The telephone rings
startled I try to gain a grip on the night
I hear your happiness
forever I can tell you of Rollo May
this poem lies on the cutting room floor, for the ones that made it into the pamphlet Yorkshire Love Poems & Other Desperate Stuff click her