Utopia For everywhere one may hear of ravenous dogs & wolves, and cruel meneaters, but it is not so easy to find states that are well and wisely governed.' - Thomas More (Utopia).

Waiting For Me There you were on the platform, waiting for me As your gaze met mine, doubts faded into history. It is wise to remember, that every cloud has a silver lining Now you're around I realise that's what I'm finding. Butterflies circle and yet it's natural We walk at ease each knowing, It's okay to be fallible. That's not to say we're beginning our love story Experience has garnered us veterans in this, our folly. Gathering courage as your hand takes mine Weaving through crowds, one room a a time. I wonder how you see me How am I portrayed? A friend? A lover? A discovery to be made. What happens this time? Now we lay together pondering, Into a light breeze beyond Where our minds are wandering. Heartbeat thundering silently, Touch as light as snow In this there is simple poetry At this moment, we know. A new chapter awaits, The two of us, intertwined Your smile reaches my lips, Taking a day, an hour at a time. There you are on the platform, waiting for me Your gaze meets mine, Here's to making history.

Faux French Bistro #life seems eerily simple, Sat here in this faux French bistro. Ping! 'Oh piss off' comes a sudden interjection, Cutting through tacky French ballads a misdirected dejection. 'PPI ads by text? The bloody cheek!' As he rattles on, prattles on. Something about mortgages? I regret to say I've failed to listen. As passers by continue on, Strolling, jogging, trudging along. As I write my musings I hear further muttering. Something about the theatre? I begin to listen a little closer - did he say hotel? This sounds suspiciously like a romantic get away. Or an impromptu run away? What of the children, My maternal, metaphorical umbilical asks? 'They're *fine*!' he retorts, almost snorts. He could've said 'never mind the kids - social services have a three strike policy.' 'Your mother will be *fine*' he adds, trying to sound less of a cad. He almost has me swayed, pictures of our chaotic household fade. Into scenes of fine wine and fine dining. Cheekily booking in with no baggage, bar a stray dummy. A smashed biscuit for Mummy. The blushes are spared. Rare moments like these are how my handbag came to look like this. Hand in hand, a stray kiss. The circle comes round and we're in this bistro. And to me, it's bliss.

Power Fight or flight? You'll never listen. I weep upon your sordid vision. Good intentions laid to rot, All the beauty you forgot. Why visit so many places, seeing all the happy faces. Knowing you will break them whole, like a bad mother breaks her foal. Is the taste so satisfactory? The lies you spread, matter of factly? When the wind blows does your conscience rock? How many doors and drawers do you lock? They can't right your wrongs, Stop the wagging of tongues. As you slip from your throne, You are, my dear, but another dead drone.

Babes In these moments my heart may swell. The hardest hour melts away, I turn to them as laughter peels like the church bell. In paradise two cherubs are missing. Their golden locks shine in sunlight, With rounded cheeks for kissing. A tiny glance from behind yonder tree, in such simple innocence there can be no malice, No spite or impurity. They see tiredness and waning patience. They see your ability to soldier on, feigning exuberance. And at the end of your tether, they see the tears behind their tired own. With a slight approach little starfish reach out and clamber upon your knee. My babes in arms - they came to me.