I’m an emotional ectoplasm.
A life with a varied range of feelings.
If those not there, simply be a chasm.
No care at all in all of my dealings.

A murder, and after, without remorse.
War conducted whatever the damage;
with many child victims involved, of course.
Lives short because so much around, savage.

Also if devoid, love would not matter.
A physical act without the passion.
Love and leave. No consequence would matter.
Lost love not cause of dissatisfaction.

But I do connect to the world I’m in.
And to people. My feelings mattering.


Failures, they are like blots on the landscape.
Can’t escape, they were in place, they happened.
Later on, realise made the mistake.
Constructs inaccurately imagined.

Omissions and lost opportunities,
too, may be thought of with disillusion.
Look back and think ‘a lot of lunacy’.
Maybe muddled, addled, much confusion.

But as an excuse, not sustainable.
Choices made that thought were reasonable.
Sensible. Good outcome attainable.
That could fail, almost unbelievable.

Perspective blighted by imperfection.
Hope and dreams go with a doomed dimension.


I will return as a ghostly presence.
Demented in my not yet extinct state.
A sort of mist vapour, in essence.
Too weakly constructed to contemplate.

A memory of me will bring me forth.
Be the means to recall my existence.
But I will find that I have no recourse
to the strength needed to show persistence.

I am little more than a walking cloud.
Incapable of being physical.
Even to warn, I cannot speak out loud.
Just, as mix with the air, am integral.

Maybe a tear or two can best explain,
my feeling, as I kiss your face with rain.


I wanted nothing and I got nothing.
Compromise got me exactly nothing.
Goodness knows what it was I was thinking.
I think now, whatever good did that bring?

For what it was I wanted, got nowhere.
Sought to come to terms with, but got nowhere.
The wishes I had, simply did not share.
Ended with an outcome that was unfair.

Lesson from this, seriously think twice,
before give way, attempting to be nice.
Distrust what said will do, is my advice.
Unless the deal’s nailed down, don’t compromise.

Instead of leaving the scene, somewhat prized,
felt what I’d worked for, had been compromised.


Wonderful I got so near to success.
Within hailing distance of the taxi.
Bit more luck and I would have gained access
Got that close. This isn’t a fantasy.

Could say that I reached an outer chamber.
I made it as far as the waiting room.
To those who went on, was not a stranger.
Had not that much more to go, I assume.

When I think of it like this, amazing
someone ordinary, and strange, like me –
time past, you understanding, I’m appraising –
should get to success’s proximity.

It’s almost a success in its own right.
To think, a little bit more, and I might.


I will do, if it’s all the same to you.
I will partake, privately, with pleasure.
I am grateful it is available.
To get it, otherwise, an endeavour.

Thank you for your tolerance over this,
and not seeing it as a transgression.
No arguments. Instead, live and let live.
Is only a minor indiscretion.

There are difficulties to be assuaged.
That includes pain, which I wish to forget.
Past nastiness which still leaves me enraged.
Demands made of me, which others expect.

Do not know if it is the same for you,
but will do, if it’s all the same to you.


£52. 50, the cheque was for.
Present from my mum, after all these years.
Very much a surprise, that is for sure,
as she’s been dead for over 20 years.

The cheque sent to me by Royal London.
In brackets CIS, then Limited.
Co-operative Insurance, the one.
‘Hospital savings’, mum contributed.

Before the NHS, that HSA.
Collected at the door regularly.
Stopped, the agent, for more than a decade,
but policy live indefinitely.

So, the payment made was this endowment.
Thank you mum for this precious gift you sent.


Everybody knows. Nobody knows,
the reality of who I have been.
Who I was, on record, publicly shows.
Even that, though, a little deceiving.

Let’s be clear about who I really was.
Put some clarity on my confusion.
My own name back then, at least, I’m sure of.
My own self, I think, not an illusion.

Even if not know what I was doing,
can’t abrogate responsibility.
I had too many bad things accruing.
To blame? Or victim? Or futility?

Was, I should explain, highs before the lows.
But, not knowing, everybody knows.


It is darker than it has ever been.
From where I came from, the joy’s been murdered.
The colouration from there resembling
a stain, into current weave embroidered.

There is nothing of it I could treasure.
Yet, the ill-treatment continues to burn.
Left on record, about me, forever,
the injustice imposed that never turned.

I had no remedy. I have none now,
other than accepting there is other.
Hoped that, through that, I would somehow prevail,
but returns like an abusive lover.

When remember the trauma; the beating,
darkness in that malevolent greeting.


Is it time to move on? Surely, it is!
Not be in a phase of life, as if stuck.
For all this time, accorded with beliefs,
but, perhaps, should conclude that it’s enough.

It has been fruitful, and I am grateful.
No other way so much could have been done.
And must say, was not inevitable
without placing myself in that spectrum.

But maybe should accept it’s had its day.
My creativity be reassigned.
Bring other talents I have into play.
To work on something new, retrain my mind.

It is not too late. It seems about right
to move to the next phase, to seek delight.

Poems Deathly
Two Concluding Poems