The Stew

Over the infancy

of what I hope

will be a piquant stew

I dwell on the

shape of things

how meekly

those who have

nothing to want

surrender

and how those who

have nothing to fear

feign empathy

almost convincingly

HomellS Pepil cAn Stay Here

my neighbour’s

seven year old

blu tacked this

up in their window

It’s been there for

the best part

of a year

seeing off window clean

after window clean

from the inside

A suburban gesture

made in the best

of faith by the

best of people

a child

I fetch bay

from the tree in my garden 

as I think about

the complacency

and complicity

of a middle class

who can conveniently

just about bear their

guilt

and now look...

Somewhere

between Trump

Global Warming

and Brexit

I’ve forgotten the splash

of red wine

By Ruodprecht - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25490318

Bracken Ward Hero

My father has returned

to shore,

from asea behind his eyes.

He lays his poems

out, the ones he found,

like fish of different size.

I read them then,

and they make me weep,

because they show

how far he’s been.

They’ll sustain us though,

and to him that’s all;

my old man rests...

serene.