I came across the following sonnet by Joseph Treasure in the December 19, 1997, issue of The Times Literary Supplement. I have not been able to find any other poems by Joseph Treasure. Is the name perhaps a pseudonym? At any rate, the poem is a fine one. It has a bit of a Larkin atmosphere, I think.
Somewhere I was to go, where I could stand
Steadily on the earth and breathe the air.
And so I've bundled up my courage, and
Felt somewhere else the urge to be elsewhere.
Someone I was to meet who'd make things clear.
But though I've found comfort in company,
Answers I haven't found, and what I fear
Is having no-one left to ask but me.
Something I had to learn, but cannot guess
Now what it was. Yearly more baffling
I find this place, yearly more ill-defined
Truth and untruth, so nothing's done. Unless
This being baffled is itself the thing,
And minding just the habit of the mind.