. some hedges are higher than others.               i wrote . a thing so private, so intense .



. simple , complex. no one will see it .                           note your achievements to date.



.hell no.                                                         i cannot think of it every day, nor have regrets.



.his life is different to yours.        i have discussed it fully, yet it will remain confidential.

. he is still alseep                                                                              and will remain so a while.





hers is the portrait, a girl. cracked window looks at clouds,                       the mountain.

ledge, dead moths stretched out in all their softness,                            stunned by light.



torn          curtains stir memories, indicate a private place to weave and mend a dream.



some hedges are higher.

sbm.

stand back to spite the craving, look on as from afar.   people, some write hymns & mantra others watch tv, not the news.               oh no not the news, the truth is too depressing, a bit near the mark.





i guess yours sleep in bed, loved and cherished.                                              others love and cherish , yet their families sleep in mud,                                                                                                   on streets.



the words came suddenly. an odd day, no gentle people to woo thee, day of stress,      and horror, you watch the news.                                                         a day of reality, the reckoning that nowhere is safe.



come in dreams, the shape of your face remaining. there is a line now,        dreams and aspirations.   words and degradations.                                                                                   lines deepen, water etched.







the rain falls round our houses.







how small.

how white

the child,

skin rinsed

with tears.

salt in the wind.

©sbm

it could have been simple, days of sewing crosses.  red.   eight thirty  till five.



it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning

wasting time with wires and connections. some leads led to                 nothing.



some things are not as planned, so rather than be defeated, deal with gusto and

enthusiasm. clean the dust of ages.



then sew on regardless of what is to come. stitch into overtime.         complete



the task.





sbm.

Waves speak
to the shore
in rippled verse
scattered shell
strands of kelp

in the sand
each visitor
inscribes a story
sandpiper, wigeon, crow
raccoon, otter, coyote

I read each one
as I write my own

winter bare her soul.

medieval trees reach up

for solstice and better days.



sing in silence and simplicity.



sing for those in  remembrance .



dark winter bares the soul, those

that believe. sing in silence.



one voice breaks.

dark winter.



sbm

Some things are simply understood
Without the need for spoken word
Others better said out loud
So they may be heard

Some thoughts are better unexposed
So not to harm the atmosphere
Others need to fly and soar
To land on lover's waiting ear

Hold the tongue, bite the lip
Let not insults from it trip
But compliments that smooth the way
Let them see the light of day

The path of the sun, with its arrows shooting us home
the light, the lulling moon miles, the night roads we travel
in vast fields of star flowers we are born, reflections in the river
floating we ride, wildly glide, some days on the smooth tides
with these eyes, sometimes half blind
we live and dance, we hide, we fade and die
all too soon only a ghostly glow,
a glimmer in the blue water.