Team Colours

I almost bought the linen shirt

Because it reminds me of blue

A blue I can't quite remember

A blue I can't quite name

A blue of a different September 

At the start of a serious old game

This poem is from the collection 

Really John, Really Free

I am a compulsive escapee

A dedicated-slave, seeking

To seek out the free

Free place

Free time

Free to entirely be

I want to be really

Really John

Really free

Freedom found in the shopping mall

Freedom found in the café bar

Freedom found in the queue for bugger all

Freedom found in my motor car

Freedom of the silver stream

Freedom of the beachside dream

Freedom of the coffee and cream

Freedom to be really mean, really mean

Thanks to John Otway & Wild Willy Barratt

This poem is from the collection 

1966

Join me in my private pool
Clear water sparkles shades of blue
Cast aside your tip-tap stiletto shoes
Join me in my private pool

Join me in my private pool
Hockney's picture caught it true
Bring your love, so rare and new
Join me in my private pool

This poem is from the collection 

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