Matthew’s at the window
hope leaking from his eyes
he listens for your car exhaust
as another passes by.
What time is it? What time he say?
Mum; he’s climbing up the walls!
lower your expectations love
he might not come at all.
Last week it snowed in Plymouth,
my friends Dad walked to site
12 miles there, 12 miles back
returning late at night.
That’s what heroes are made of
promises kept, not frayed
someone who loves his children through
the ordinary days.
It’s easier now we’re older
you’ve started to get in touch
spouting gimcracks of wisdom
pretending to give a ****.
But I see the holes you made
the look in Mothers eyes
the times she had to bare her teeth
to make sure we survived.
So, let’s just call you Simon
because a real Dad, you know
wouldn’t leave his gorgeous boy
waiting at the window

A pelican shares a tale
of the warbler’s latest slide
claims the last time it saw love
was in freedoms taffy tides

If this is all I wanted
I’m a hoggish hurricane
swallowing oceans, stars, your hopes
to continue feeding dreams

The breeze is fully baked and wild,
as Poseidon offers her hand
and whisks us over surf and strips
and maybe back to land

In the back, there’s a buckled atlas
where scribbles plot out plans
outside, honeyed dunes shoulder
the burdened placed by man

A pelican shares a tale
of the warbler’s latest slide
claims the last time it saw love
was in freedoms taffy tides

But if seconds count, we made the boat
with at least five something to spare
and as we wave to strangers lost
a tonic boom cups my ear

‘It’s hot as the stinkin’ mud!’ she hollers
as Helios doubles down
isn’t it just, but this is a must
for those from out of town

And as our ferry kisses Carolina
I sense I’m lost and free
so, if you find this in a bottle
please, don’t look for me

I've not forgotten how
We loved out loud,
The taste of cider sunsets
On the cold English ground

Just butterflies shudder these lilac skies
as our little black books flutter
for a beauty that can forge through utter
cynical views of me and you
and break through wall to burst through

Is it the chase, we all aspire
Paris night, in evening attire

She bottles it up and sells it for gold
a magical ride, for the young and old
and when I remember, I smile to myself
of a chance once taken, not left on a shelf

Until the stars fall
or innocence sets in my eyes
I continue to waltz
In search of butterflies

When she rolls her eyes
the whole world moves
You know what I mean!
but I rarely do
She hunts my quiet side
in seesaw black
with a glass of Crémant
and a shotgun mouth
She only takes back
the arrows that miss
I long for a purr
but accept a hiss