In-volatile

These convoluted words

What of them

I could not say it otherwise

Could I

What is it anyway

Thats had me

Led me to write

For all of these years

Where is the fear

Or the joy to kill

What's the story

Left unemployed 

For none to thrill

In that unsettled mind

Four square walls

Neat but thin 

Of the kind we swore

They'd never catch us in

Two solid doors

To the rill & pond

Double glazed windows

That settled still

The wind and voices song

Runaway, as one might

Though you can’t run free

Things don't change

One day of that you’ll see

Yet to have had the chance

To have pined for love

To have racked ones soul

Those times apart

You'd have to say

That as a start

It's the gift of life

This gift called love

Love that's found

Love that's lost

Love on the rebound

After love that died of frost

Love that calls

Most nights and days

Love in dreams

On overnight stays

Love my means

To stay untrue

Unsure what's me

Less certain what's you

But isn't it the same the whole world through

Less of anguish

More of desire 

More to be happy

Less to tire

To ramble off

As often as to ramble on

To hold our hands

And sing our songs

Ups and down

On dull or

Desolate days

Turn the tide

Stay on together

Don't go on those

Without point

Separate ways

This poem is from the collection 

Reserve Place

Springs steps stand inflexibly

Yet again the leaving feeling

It is what's in the seam of me

Tender times touch insensitivity

In my mind I'm still seeking out

What to do with endless dreams

This poem is from the collection 

Landlocked

All in all I have the Gaul

To explore far beyond the sea

Standing tall with etch and ball 

I'm finding out who is, yours truly me

With Withnail I stood, but failed to see 

One afternoon beside the amber Dee

There to stand our coats in hand

We had downsized, minimally

This poem is from the collection 

Desire for Song

I want to sing

I wanna bit of a thing

With the boy stood next to me

I see despise

Clear in his eyes

I want that entered deep in me

Side by side in dreams

Yet he's the one who's free

Side by side it seems

Yet he's the one with the cherry tree

I want to sing

Hey you pretty thing

Take some time with me

I see lost cries

Near in his eyes

I want that entered deep in me

Side by side in dreams

Yet he's the one who's free

Side by side it seems

Yet he's the one with the cherry tree

This poem is from the collection 

Don’t wake me next time

Starbursts; millions and zillions of stars bursting out in cascades just as in a firework fountain. Reds at first, a continuous vast outpouring of tiny specs of the cosmos huddled together as if lava flooding from a volcano. Reds that slowly turned to purples, to blues, to whites, all as starbursts; starbursts with endless unlimited energy, starbursts that fired and flared before their gradual replacement with more distinctive patterns; definable shapes, hoops and ovals, ellipses and paisleys, swirls and loops with translucent and fluorescent membranes, as if of the jellyfish on the seashore.

Gone, in that split second of the eyes opening and the eyes closing; gone again, the images turn to nought but grey and black, the excitement is gone, the hope of image capture is gone, the belief in disbelief is gone; all left are my words, that may or may not describe those few moments of unbridled wonder and meditation, that entire starburst of once in a lifetime.

This poem is from the collection