it is a quarry man’s cottage, well they all are in blaenau except the foreman’s house.

a small villa.       the bus goes by.                                                       some things have labels.

some folk wear solid shoes, a good overcoat                                           look you in the eye.

some friends are dusty, remind us of

the grumpy egg.



it is a source of inspiration, and research. it is written,    yet having writ.            we use. imagination, add a dose of suggestion, slightly thinking this is fact we do not move on when perhaps we should. so moving on quickly……

cut them.

maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.   need to count them carefully, one side then the is all a pattern, that keeps us safely, leads    us onward.

simmer them.

what about this list, to do it before you die, well as she said, you probably can’t do it after. some may disagree – another belief. we try not to judge, yet that  bucket was not worth five pound,so

we paid two.

strain them.

ready for later.


tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records.

mine are all destroyed. ask them.           there are no answers.

so we attended regularly, varied             chancel houses, over

time.       sit up, stand up, sit down, recite, remember, stand.

up for yourself at last.

do not believe all that you are told, all that you like         to.

think about it.

you wanted  to believe that you believed that.

the truth is.

you did not.


we live rural.i have an immersion for        hot water,

and for work.  along side research and     hot baths

keeps the days flowing.

there is a gas pipeline crossing near us, yet not with door neighbour is the gas man yet not required

locally.he has bottled stuff while i have                    not.

mary was stuck behind a lorry delivering the      latter

so was later arriving here.                                       today.

i switch it on each morning then evening though they

do say it can be economical to leave it on all day. i have

not tried that.




you have been away for ages

said the bear, with no speech marks.

yes, two weeks. remember you use


i spoke to you each day.

how come when you left me at home?

your voice is in my head,




no mash, laid on stuffing. i tasted it,          reflected

on the day. natural history musem            taxidermy.

two floors of victorian cabinets. dust & formaldehyde  .

fish in bottles.i went to see some beetles you know

all pinned and tiny labelled.   all gone for cleaning.

that evening at dinner he pulled my leg over labelling

& asked me where i shopped. did mash really depress?

i left the stuffing.


the boy plays on his own, in water                                                                  it can’t be helped.

machines work less in cold,                                                  sheds and lack of encouragement.

the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came,                 the day proceeded gently with

stops     and dictation,                                                                                                 who is this?

spring came.   each road a picture, slowly staring,                          visual overload resulting.

i could not breathe

for wondering.

the lime kilns are empty now.


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