when the fog clears we creep back into the wild wood  watch birds eat wettened crumbs.

softly rain falls  each year  falls an        anniversary

well

your dad



inside something turns

when i see his mallet



still



with the blue tape



i had best



take a photograph

of dad’s mallet

now

so you can see the handle taped

yes



you know that buddha



head statue

in the garden from the pound shop @ one pound

i had  one & gave you one two



yes



how they fell apart in the cold…..



i put the bits in a box & today hammered them

to make gravel



for



a path in the garden

all things may come right in time, if you

loves the ones you think you don’t



yet then what do i know really, except the metal

twisted

the sign was  hand written

we need a tv

no witnesses nor mormons

in pencil



i was gone some time

past tense can be horribly traumatic

usually lasts three months

not breathing



released

emotion comes flooding

plus a tsunami of local issues



anaesthetic worked fine

yet the fear remains



it took just one other complication to release



so



we crept into the garden



again

tired

you know that junction known as the nasty bend?

driving home from yours before maentwrog



road mirror provided yet i cannot believe what

i see



turning head quickly and back again to

check the road both ways



staccato

tango move



check again



my head falls off

one day at the nasty bend



it is ingrained not to believe  mirror images

the idea left us dancing

use what is already there            make do and mend

linen threads hang heavy            needles preserved

small holes ready

shall we mend the rags or pin them onto wool?





i  read Glyn Hughes                                       some times

sometimes

i look at the photograph                      and wonder how it was that last year

think of how you wrote to me         sent me your book with your signature



i  feel care and gentleness

some people do not ask us of our early years in my experience though the past

is never

so far away



yes

i wish I can tell it in a more orderly manner each episode in a box to lock away



we move forward sometimes looking back



did i write of them yesterday                boxes?

things are different today



these are the old ones shabby                                          kept a while for usefulness

now used for slight installation

an ongoing gift



one holds a book of time

one has many things

i wished

i wished

that things would change



no alteration there



we gets what we gets

she said



pointless



dorset



i wish, i wish that wishing

came productive



dorset

everest

intense



yes                           we are nearly there

brackets                  the top



the sky is thin                                       yes



we have noted all that there is           all

we have achieved each day



yes                                     a few more steps

to higher ground



will there be remains & litter up there too?



yes i expect so



brackets                                                 everest

long procession.             look.

tamborines.

they wear jewellery. loosely

hanging.



these are the tribes, the leaders.



i see nothing holy.



sbm.

i dream i dream of

white feathers dipped in blood





****** mess  wars

bodies rotting  there    /          there

are   thoughts

a quiet thing



the blood

comes small in useful            drops

drops down      meditative sound



white feathers fall



i think you find, madam it is #reality  / reports that they shouted coward.



jack o’lantern



there will be no

further surgery

yes

i have help
each month

some years the tree man comes

i fiddle every day. lifting logs. i may
get stronger.

it is abutting a church
yard





( thanks to paul brookes for the prompt)

yellow birds

waiting

we need the little feathers





elders taught us

not to **** them



whatever you say

we will not bend their

skinny necks

it is a long time since the sun shone in bright  like that.   does this mean it is spring now?



i did not know you, yet when i saw that you were gone too,                                         i felt sadly.

i stood and looked at the blackthorn trees.



small bird sings early, the same bird calls late                                                    drown darkness.





small things shelter.                                       there is much to research, decide to believe or not.

there are so many stories, re-enacted with a hyphen.                       there are watermarks left.



here.

first sunday after easter

hedgehogs

two badgers

multiple pheasants

unidentified object no legs

no more

motor cyclist

the first sunday

everyone in a rush



some aren’t no more



memorial

spring cleans marks
from winter…

stained with thought, imagining. i will not know them. he said that i was useless

were white

now should be

recycled as cleaning rags

lets not be negative or

say dispose



charities are selective about their stock



now



we take it for the refugees , warm coats

with love



*



or maybe we mean trousers

winding we hurry

to reach the top

climbing to a



safe place with hope



often the stars  are reflected below

my face

or is the sky burning

again



we have a quiet place

as does he/some live

with ****** bombs

falling

so you wish a puppy

some one to love

despite your  difficulties



you loved mine



then



she nipped you

not understanding your

challenges



then she let you put her in the wagon rumbling

over the bridge lisping gently as you sthopped



trusting

rattling



we do not gush

do not love you to the moon and back

the phrase

has become a thoughtless habit



without lisping



do you still want a puppy?

do you still love me?



we best let your parents decide



sbm.

having written of the hour,

move on when all is lost.

the days remain

timeless.

today, we walk the woods,

back home.

it is a clear word

as water pure and bouncing

off rocks



a bird





or

messing about



remembering #

days mud building dams

fighting the tide

pushing back years



running the path

fighting for freedom



then it comes

unexpected

like

the lark



bird



sbm.

she said it was obvious

she said

that he married her



we laughed





the trial continues

by glass

each day , each day. a boy told me there is something different each day. i speak of the back lane, the memory, a ritual as paper and string, sounds like a simple thing. yet it has been different each day.

light    gentle   sweet



you touched my spine

your face no picture



slow    ɡradʒʊəl     inevitable



you killed me

one shot to the chest

now

careful

healing





with silver

lightly     gently    sweetly you touched my spine

your face no picture

slowly    gradually       eventually you killed me

one shot to the chest

now

it is healing

cared fully



with silver

drawing the line, trying to make conversation



failed



drawing a line yet you expected me to stay

longer



spending my time

alone



you expected to know where, why



so i moved higher

drawing the line



.step back/ the first time.

hello



will you like to buy this garment?



no



why?



it is too plain.i like colour and a certain pattern



explain it?



no. i will have to draw it in italics



ok. if you draw it on the garment

i will colour in. then will you buy



it?



yes. in italics

last time i wrote of comics



that day we noticed plastic whales

while shopping. my daughter smiled



they were as i said. we gathered  goods

wrapped mainly in plastic



the invention must have seemed a good idea at the time



news came a whale was dying off norway

with sympathy they shot it

ending quickly

the suffering





its stomach lined with

thirty bags of plastic



you see



oh the irony

it was in the box as expected

bought at less than usual



you are in it

will be removed for those

with more



importance



angel

did i sit quietly thinking,

then place a few

things together. yes.





that was exhausting.

the star.

the title got me thinking



we had comics on tuesdays and thursdays

from the middle shop up the hill



sometimes there was a whale

in the story with a picture



round grey with a fountain in it’s head

it’s tail akimbo                                   later



i learned that they don’t look like that

really   .



he said



real stars do not have points  .



i guess i shall never see a whale

though some bones are over the door

in mallwyd church porch



up the road

.bottle.

.next event.

today i write of glass and ashes, inspired before, then swept by other’s moments. witness the cleaning, month passed, in our surprise forgot the soot and dashes, to burnish wax. today, a small task.…

layered in air we dance with glass small souls with small lives rise to the challenges

glass housed and labelled ten years ago. this house is closed, yet will open at 10 am.
possibly.it varies.

if he only looked out at the world, forgot all this nonsense.
it is what we make it. he said ‘ ” the things we think are

worries now”, as discussed with the boy.

not yet published.



the kindness that is. glass reflecting. slowly it starts. maybe we need to check our numbers?
No automatic alt text available.
now it is shattered. and cuts.

the loft ladder pulled down

creaks & clatters



it can be remedied

while most doors squeak

all a differing tone



they came to film we stood quietly

while

the silence of the house recorded



he explained there is none



it could be remedied

yet then



where is the music ?



same with teeth

each one a perfect note



loft ladder pulled down

dust escapes

like ash from the fire



our thoughts fly as nothing.

read

his blog sometimes

not regular



one small thing

he is not the holy ghost



# let nothing annoy nor irritate



i can think of nothing at present

not one small thing

winter salt

taste the darkness

ice to slime melting



touch the window

watch the frost form



hear yourself screaming

daily surrender



an unpleasant smell

book binders’ apprentice

folding

feeding papers

filing

disliking that it was not my choice



he laughed at my shoes

at my shoes

i scoffed at his glue ***

rabbit fur



the boy

the girl

the social worker



touch the bone

learn to sew    /        promotion

came when the factory closed



cruise wear department

there are no records

an island

a place of ones’ own

where alone

is a choice

silence invades reality

it takes some practice

[ 3/5/3/3/7/5 ]

[  ..3/5/3/3/7/5..  ]



a wonder

you are not worried

sitting there

quite nicely

watching politics again

you are not shaking





you were last

week. i wonder at

your welfare.

have left you

in  your bed quietly today



i will go to work







i worry

on your state of mind.



with all that

is going on

and your constant interest.



do not watch the film

threads 1984







all alone

penetrate the scene

with strength &

single  mind



face north and be strong young man

never mind the news



[  ..3/5/3/3/7/5..  ]

had not learned to be suspicious

until too late



google surprised me with

the truth of it all



now

most of it is removed

a local anesthetic



now

things are mostly flat



and i will remember



the love for pools of wax



wire in the wind

a pattern of letters, ideas, or associations which assists in remembering something



so it does

we do

and test ourselves early



grey son perry

gay bion

no associated links





combine



with

numbers repeating back wards

links

a lovely poetic format on my phone.

this morning on my laptop it comes different as prose



i feel that pants are such a good subject



as are other pieces of  sensible underwear



i know little of sponge bob, yet i like the small items

while superman has much to answer





i drew you with yours some years back

now





pants

decided to drive to town while the sun was out



feels a long winter



pass the mountain

snow topped



thought on a challenge

how the cairns are made

one stone upon another



parked the car tidy

down the high street



noted the man with two terriers

his hair the colour of theirs

his coat camouflage

i could hardly see him



later i find the factory shop

allows dogs shopping

another cairn



a better day

one stone upon another



ˈkaməflɑːʒ/

i see

it is a pile of stones

not just the one

maybe not diamonds then

yet



it is



still



memorial



cairn

smiled at you



my lip split….

slowly you moved along the edge

orange coat showing



are you alright?



yes



it is dry

the edge may crumble



he looked down



yes



are you sure you are alright?



yes, it is nice that you care

this is another place angel

small stone

embedded

near the heart



memorial

years

layered



#notes



each work is photographed

layered

manipulated





combined

an explaination

some of us wish for privacy

respect



our dearly beloveds