when quiet

moments return.

she says he was a good man.

pressure goes, is gone with the news that

my legs are ever brown

that

the trees have changed by the maentwrog

bend



that my voice no longer is

streaming through my head

between my ears sounding

like lead



and while all this has settled

tuck in and sleep a while



the pressure diminishes

september rises



all was well yesterday

it happens every year

excited we run down to the damson tree

in gwylim’s garden



run on to the apple tree

with a clothes prop

to bash the fruit down



stand back when the boy shouts

he is chucking rocks in desperation

as boys inevitably do……..



may be that is where they learned it; those fishermen?



i think of all this when i see the last apple hanging

when i mend the clothes prop



(note- conkers next)

it may seem, my friend, that i pass
by some things, keep the time, precisely,
eat the same food , talk about politics
or god.

if there is one.

it may seem,my friend, that I move a
little differently
than others.

it does seem, my friend that the day
was so good, i am overwhelmed.

with everything.

i have an autumn dress. thank you.

i did not want to get involved, nor be noticed.



particularly, nor impress.



yet you said you loved me, never mind the diagnosis,

mirror image.



so that was done.

dusted.



they came in differing aspects, by now I did not

want to get involved, nor did i.



remember  I told you that I do not fall

in love?



we were in the garden.



this is not a mystery, just reality.



sbm.

you stand like sentinels above

straight lined and backed

up

there early



what shall i tell those below?



that i saw you there

as biblical prophets?



what shall i tell them?



that i saw you

all waiting early.



earlier than my arrival

here.

on sundays i watch

gardeners' world early

with coffee



before i gets for work

at mill



giant gooseberries this morning

carefully each in it's own box



penny weights

i know it is a story

a film yet



still

i am shocked

when people are killed in films

shot

suddenly



and deeply  shocked

when people are still killed in war



which is not a story

or  a

film

words

yes, & they cost nothing

i aim to do my work
at minimal monetary cost...

#makingapoint

There will be a cotton hankie and a bag of beach combed pieces.

Some are very tiny so I tips them onto something white to see. Set up is lining them into rows onto the hankie. I make up categories for the rows and use even the tiniest bits too.

thanks @Nigel .

it  is a parrot made in glass

gender neutral

&

i like unicorns

too

we do not have an asda

here

some of us go out for tea and stay a while

some of us arrive at eleven

leave at five

after considering

the dots

pyramid style: therefore

then upside down; because



checking efficiency so that we may be pleased

with the choices made that day

∵



yesterday the word was silence

∴

i shut up and got on with it

all

there are asterisks on the calendar

we thought it denoted something important

maybe

a coachload coming

for tea



i saw  it

& thought of

asterix the gaul



though no one i know

has heard of him

the glossy covers nor nothing



anyhow i asks the boss, so what are these stars

for you know

asterisks, careful how i say it

so as not to confuse with comics



oh that.

that is me crossing out  my leave

and not a star at all



ampersand

first i scanned the doll
then had it printed large
for london

photographed the print
using an app

one man with camera
no longer available

the sun shining slantways in the studio

i think



time

some folk have tinnitus

while others have

earthquakes

on tuesday they have the poetry club

in the pub, by chance i went



was told they were quiet, rather private

and i understood



they bent low and whispered words

mostly looking down or away



my host laughed

noted it as almost silent

yet what is the harm



on tuesdays i attend our poetry club

in a pub

where we project and flail about emotionally





shaking we sit after and have a biscuit



poetry

maybe vicarages should have rooks about

for the noise and general ambiance



perhaps at at dusk they will return

a black feather cloud

darkening the sky

as if



that god were about



inside is cosy

lamps lit

with meat for dinner



i watch old films often

&

watch the landscape slide

into stories

today my name today is joan  of arc

though no one knows



my hairdresser knew

and

cut accordingly



leaving a a tiny fashion edge



if  younger would like to work

in morgan’ s



fashion shop



in chester  and layer their clothes on hangers



look the part

smell nice



yet



i have spent the day today

being joan





of arc

they say it is too cold there. cold as icebergs

none came the year the storm broke, breached
the shingle bank

decisions were made
i hear
to not repair
now there is salt marsh where samphire grows

some eat it
i don’t

i like turkey island

i ask to see the lace ups,



yellow will be nice



we only have winter shoes with laces

she replied



which i have always called



lace ups



sea salt

i guess they were not up

there to watch the planes



they don’t fly on sundays



it may have been for the scenery



she pointed with the walking stick

you come as hungry

wild ones



ignore the beans

until mixed with dry dust as protein



you start as picky

then

gobble up

with hunger



wild ones

not around or about here this morning

often gone for days



look

i never find



she comes  as she likes



she comes in 11.15 when due at 11.00



placed



in the basket

steps out again





to be chased

&

captured



they do not mind the lateness of her arrival



hengwrt

don’t look at the sparks without a mask



he said

at the garage



food for thought



mouse

i wanted to suggest that they do not argue

it is nothing that matters

not death or  life threats

not fire nor flood

just driving



no one is hurt



back home he made the gate

from branches



we are mostly quiet



here

i sit with my heels up on the chair rail



she says my feet are nice



&



we talk about the sandal marks

on  otherwise brown toes



she wears flip flops

&

we reminisce over summer days

bindweed  climbs the college wall

&

flowers on the fence

some mornings while drifting

i see the writing in my head

come patterned, neat lines balancing

dancing with the rain

at the window

on waking



yesterday we remembered blancmange

and jelly,  ideal milk and water

pineapple that split cream



food that touched



yesterday we remembered our granmas

our mothers



bundles of cotton with  colours

required for mending always



yesterday she explained to sew

the four holes in synchronicity

tight

on linen



yesterday the words came easily with labels

and names





today on brightening

forget

didn’t get the top for likes

even shares



yet i enjoyed my day

got rid of the chair i never liked

a compromise



wrangled it out through narrow doors

into the shed where i cover it solemnly



a white sheet is apt

the colour

can heal my soul

those bits that are left



i shall gather the rest together

reorganise these books

be busy

so that

i do not



think of them huddled there together

you fetch the bus to town

& be home within the hour



shopping & conversation



boys at bus stop

talk of parents

show

off on skate boards badly

nearly miss the bus



pay gently while i go free



buns come from many countries

& towns ; i had the london ones

two a pack; just out the oven with

sugar



i ate them

so there is no photograph

Main Entry: niche
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: place all one’s own
:: niche ::

i gave the words away.

wrote them,

published them

shredded and pickled them,

and gave them away.

left in a niche.

yet, still they rattle,

and will always

be a part of me.

my words

we discussed the hardness of the ground,
it is still quite cold. yet we found that moles
make soft places for planting.

dig up buried crocks for saving.

old photographs spur us on, to
care and treasure, to sweep and clean.

so wash and mend your broken plates
my friends, become a gentler way,
make a pleasant day.

look for mole hills, and old photographs.

sbm.

the girl who stands up



Elin Ersson, 21

. welsh blood.
:: not ::
Working with found images, the work has been investigating restrictions made on women now and in history. Language, behaviour, physical appearance is focussed.

Work entails museum visits, research, writing and producing imagery, refined into a personal statement on my findings.
Found objects, manipulated, covered, layered, the issues not hidden.

am loving your wild flower planting in dolgellau and wondering if you sell the seeds
to public. seeing those flowers made my day.
will  you sell me seeds, or  advise  me where to buy?
the morning I saw them was very anxious and the flowers helped


Chat Conversation End

“the rain of one afternoon” … “These beautiful words look like the rain of one afternoon when we are alone watching this landscape behind the blind of water.. and their sad and lovely sound performs the luth of solitude.” – The words and the work are about Time. Time in our lives, time when we are alone, time that is a memory.Only one minute can pass, and all things change. Each one of my works is about the passing of time, the changes, and the events. Circles speak of life, and death, slate fences tell of the ancestors, power houses of cultural discord. The cruciform paintings are arduous, layers of paint carefully applied, each drying for 48 hours before the next. Then the final coat with a splash of water, and a swipe of the cloth, the image revealed in one moment. The passing of time…………..

so i wore a dress

&



my legs turning brown.



i drove to meet you

&

the car broke down.



you will never know

little red house

little white house

conversions

near

those blossom laden fruit trees



in the country



start of life

my beautiful childhood



red house  first; emptied

hollowed chambered



breathe breathe………



the rest of  your life…



breathe breathe

zyklon b





drag them

bury them



oh then build a another  little cottage

build it white, like a  pretty village





plant small flowers, warm the water

empty



breathe breathe







they stand waiting



it takes up



to 20 minutes

until the silence



zyklon b



drag them

bury them

hold your breath



he lived by the village with his  fair children; a beautiful childhood

little  theatre conversion

commander

butchers blood



no record of him hitting anyone

nor killing them personally



he commanded



middle-class  son husband and father



****** murderer

over a million



it is



reported that

he hoped to reeducate the jews



zyklon b



reported  that he killed himself using an electrical extension cable

fastened to a rear window handle just 1.4m from the floor



death was far from instantanious



zyklon b

cyanide pesticide

conversion



.the second part.
may not be written

though they have taken notes



the truth can be too much

for them to share



long deep ditches

full to brimming



the man on the tv

told it how it #is



#was

sea shells
seasons greetings
and laundry marks.
oh & red bits

( there is usually red bits)

it is a layering.



tides come and go

covering uncovering



paint



things revealed



working



until things come right.



or not.



5. tide

nope

as is

my phones says

lots of s es

poetry

was yesterday’s creativity



tell no one

or i will lose

my street credibility

he says that germolene is white now

& smells

different

this is more like yellow stuff they

put on wounds

&

you know before an amputation

like back in the war



i sneezed splendidly

because of pollen

&



grass bits





iodine

making hay

drinking tea after



while others stitch bandages

breathe iodine



birds skulls

they have gone to south wales

down

in south wales

my phones says

africa

it is not my village
i have lost that one

it grew

too big

carelessness

rooms full of plastic

instead of hard wood

ocean wave

carelessness

i try to be anonymous

but am found out

how careless

they ask

‘did she lose her husband?’

&

“how will she be judged now”

labelled & worn

happy memories?



do it remind you of the good



or



the not so



good



times?



it may be easier to accept things now



angel cards

may not be written

though they have taken notes



the truth can be too much

for them to share



long deep ditches

full to brimming



the man on the tv

told it how it #is



#was

tennis elbow

wimbledon week

the barn blew down

a wild wind; a long winter



she used to hang the washing

there to dry



now it is too hot