another way of being

a different way to go


sometimes our house is on fire

yet we think there is reversing in the lane

turn to find the pepperoni has burned

yet nothing is damaged

really


the goods are delivered

and the bird is safe

pool of fear,

the fright of interrogation,

guilt,

i hear.

from where comes the mourning,

late afternoon,

and evening….

went to town yesterday, saw the signs of another
world. stood in the bank some time, only one
assistant these days.


the sun colours the clouds with empathy.

as yet unfinished

as yet unwashed

four white dresses

most of it works now,
memory plays a part,


when we look
to the mountain.

we should look after things
better. i wrote a thing a while

back. it filled my head with
pictures.

so the falling days,
end today, winter waits,
and the songs, and words,
tunes are all to warm us,
and hold us safe

yes, sundays seem quiet . were like that when i was a kid. enjoy that yet i know some find it arduous.

like to hear you will have company in the garden again other than the cats.

when initially awake it was golden with sun yet now the softest cloud has covered.

Asda van is due today and i go to buy petrol early. except is diesel.

no more news really. except I saw a stoat thingy yesterday.

it was dark and even with

the emergency light could

not see

so texted the farmer and he

brought it up for me

he may make a sign noting

that his is the wrong shed

we listen to the rain early

with mixed feelings

there may not be gardening done today

there may be drawings

tidy beach
soft sand and honest stones
to be fortunate here

it is warm and i worry
about the ice melting

she said that hers were special, hairdressers’ scissors. we were never to cut paper with them, yet we did.

look….

tide comes up,

it will pool, deep and dark,

still, inviting.

deep waters to sooth pain,

that comes as the tide

now and then.

the idea left us dancing.
use what is already there,
make do and mend

while nothing is like usual no more

fires burning with evacuations

this global thing and the other things

now the days grow lighter, my head is

tied back on, and all seems well.

hesitate again

look down

regret my first sentence

now

maybe will say it some other time

now

as to companions
guess you are one
alongside the birds
and the others

concentration gone,
move now one
paragraph at a time.

fraction of the whole

blue sky thinking

here

see exhibitions

quiet slow and uneventful

& lasting impressions

a simple drawing out

no fuss

and sometimes late in the evening

think of it

leave the house

and return to the simple line drawing

see the softest looking clouds
wonder
if that is where that work came
from
and the joy of pink?


with gentle yellow

it is said that chris whitty looks serious always

so on checking find

this:-

uk government chief scientific adviser

sounds pretty serious that
as does covid

not much cause for tap dancing and merriment

there

it is said there are worries over the children’s vaccine for the disease is a viral virus

yet they agreed  the mmr injection

for the measles virus
the mumps virus
rubella virus

while

poliomyelitis is viral and difficult to spell

then diphtheria is a bacteria and rhymes

well

serious

paper covers history.

bent on layers

of time, pretending.

some days come like that
despite all the free talking
the fixing things

it happened in one moment
reflecting the rain
and that other thing

that catches unawares

so we said to the bear

is been ok a while
now back talking to you

these things happen

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road

up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

slight insertion of trees
with green
then the area comes more profound

the air cleaner

normal.

is what you are told

it is

until

you realise

it is

not

...

find pieces of jigsaw

everywhere here,

and they

don’t fit

together.

 

if i try

they make

the wrong picture

&
 
we walked on up near the copper mine , a darker place.                          got to thinking.
 
&
 
it comes as no suprise. often ill they die.                                   it is the way.     it is not sad.
 
&
we are sensed with  loss.                                                                  ­               that includes you.
 
he says that’s where the wind comes from,                                       to go most everywhere.
 
&
 
probably do not miss him.                       he was not around us much, well  not at all really.
he buggered off.   no inspiration then.                                                   yet.   he was my dad.
 
&
 
some day i will carry the bones inside.

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

from yesterday, the conversation and your enquiry


the remembrance is that it was mainly brown and beige when we moved in


distemper


cold and metal windows

condensation caused black

damp

plus steam from the kitchen


colour crept in gradually despite protestations


yet we shall not talk of it further

there are no photographs


we had no impetuous to record

yet it seems we remember

draw a jelly fish and what do you see?

with a question mark


write a little story and what do they read?


perhaps we need auto correction

and cleaner minds


i collect soap you know of varying kinds

and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care


biscuit tins are useful as the mice can’t get in

we fumble with finger nails to open them


a cleaner find

they say it may rain a little here tomorrow

with an icon of a cloud with drops

so i may go to blaenau

a while to stand on slate

to breathe

meanwhile awake from four am

upside down

with lunch at nine
etcetera

have a photo
of a bonnet

for you

we have built the wall at the wrong angle
as sometimes we are a failure

the rules were set by no one
and kept by others and sometimes

when the wall is wrong
fall into feeling that we are

so
so

with warmth and rain outside

again we sleep

the moon outside as company

i hear it has landed on mars

a letter to you became my blog

post

a comment from you became a

ritual

a whisper from you came

a good idea

to stop those dreams and headaches

the moon came bright with yet another name

folk alter their clocks yet it changes nothing really

don’t think you have control

and don’t think it matters

as it really doesn’t

.quote.

they think they are right just because there are more of them

the clouds waiting as you
say
there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff
becomes fact
a place one can recognise

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that, he said.   does this mean it is autumn now? it is such a pretty room.                                                                  ­                                         yellow.

is a curious thread that
hold us together
while apart

so far we have read the rules
in black and white
in print
meanwhile others translate them in different colours
i read your poetry in the rain

old story remembered  from the beach
that warm afternoon while all were playing

relaxing

the hunted tried not to sleep

there

for fear of being robbed or found

or is it the air changing?

mood settles, or is it the
time of year?

using the light spots,

neglecting the dark,

except the margins.

so we go

dear child moving

forward.

it is a messy affair
paint smudges and runs

eventually all comes clear
one having the final say

predictions come and go

when I was a kid
it was after the war
i know as they talked of it a lot

sometimes would hear a car coming
and would run to the gate to watch

it and the dust man’s lorry
one driving
two to run and carry
i think

not much traffic then
like now

on a solitary day i may climb
the graveyard wall
stand high and watch it here

like to see the bus , mansel davies

and especially the rock lorries
from up the quarries

helping on the sea defences

king canute

mention plagiarism

&

after research find it is

spelled so

to tell you it was just a friend
who did it often one way then

another

then they blocked me
nicely

permanently

so it goes

in a few words

james

well indeed, what a pretty picture except maybe the trilby hat.


i imagine them to be blue and green you know.


we went into town yesterday and wanted cake.

quite a kerfuffle at the hotel as i asked for the menu  to look at cake so we were sat in the luncheon area which of course was incorrect especially as they had no cake

not even a teabun

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

she asked about side effects and though
after reading the instructions felt there

were none
noted before

when suddenly came the surge of energy