clutter, the boards,
clatter the boards
in dance, balance.
make
quite a performance.
the best form of
recycling
here
at  the theatre .

we have plans
staged, a house
of cards, to weave
a dream.

steady hands, make light work.

sbm.

. spaces .
connect with spaces,
you may move differently.
sound different.

a specific style of dancing?

which reveals the environment as a character,

animation through animated intent

or something.

Johann Botha said this.
he is in Pretoria, he is
part  of our audience

another sat quietly.
it can be dark.

the date is set.

24 this month
of autumn.

sbm.

. today .
is after yesterday,
so today is now.
we meet at three,
removing boards
from the small lower room.

i imagine to the larger lower
room, which may be
full of  boxes.

a black piano there,
a waking world.

we three, wiser now,
after yesterday.

come see, welcome thee.

sbm.

. i need permissions .

to show you the pianist,
who played, red, from
her own design.
came together
with me and the dancer.

to start, later we will
continue,

shapes, the sound
and movement,

while no one is looking.

used what we had,
passed from one to the other,
quite a lot of red,
things.

it is a collaboration.

the piano had been idle.

until the pianist came.

steinway.

heard her in the foyer,
playing while she waited.
heard her on stage,
where we were staging,
red.

that is a posh piano
all shine, and polish.

there is another downstairs
in the music room, we don’t
know if it is tuned.

so she  plays with us
now, the resident artists
who live elsewhere.

who like the moon.

sbm.

. staged .

there is a lull
in proceedings,
one thing done, another pending.
have you seen the cabinets, filled with airy
fairy, found idiosyncrasies.
ˌɪdɪə(ʊ)ˈsɪŋkrəsi

the boxes scattered as if that mattered,
the staged production of red, deserted,
the white room, read, that it is also
red.

there is a lull, in disorder, chaos borders
on insanity.

i know how to use the controls, really

sbm.

you gave  it me the synopsis, i read  in bed
the next evening. there was no breeeze to
lift my hair, no sounds to thrall the quiet.
smiled at the memory, the company of others.

i have googled the songs, listened, yet
these were not your voices,

the library intervenes
with gifts.
tomorrow we
fill more empty
cabinet shelves,
clear peripheries,
learn to spell
curiousity.

the russian is coming,
there are pianos,
at the theatre.

all pianos are special.

join me, work with me.

. cabinet meeting .
it is not mandatory to attend,
just send in a donation, gratefully
received, you see.
we cleared the cabinets, nicely,
and wish to install the installation,
before tea.

some have offered work for cabinet blog, log,
which is recorded here. now then,

if you send an object of curiosity, even antiquity,
it will be labelled for posterity

examples, could be poetry, or any item you can imagine,
this does not rhyme anymore. he thought it
was art.
quickly, do not lose momentum, please

quote *

we have such unimportant work
here, that needs not be done.

reality *

today, another cabinet installed,
part of the
wonderland event.

i have to let some things go
now, yet the cabinet remains.

memories.

. request .

in dreams make the things you love, take them, show them to this world. i will put them in exhibition.

sbm.

. coat hanger .
google brings strange memories.
my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.

we stare at icons, hoper for a better price,
i went to the theatr the other day

sbm.

spent some time
talking about my absence.
some time discussing
the theatr, oft unwillingly,
while dining.

our lack of chairs,
rubber backed blankets,
and whether to sit on walls.

there is another performance
going on.

it is not at the theatr,
this time.

sbm.

light bulbs and cotton hankies .
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.

shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.

wipe your nose clean.

sbm.

today we have added notes for your interest.

A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.

The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.

Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.

it can be a difficulty
with feelings, indications,
suchlike and endlessly.climbing the gate
was easy, the walk
slipped the slate
higher.

us in wellingtons
and ballet shoes,
decided against
ambition. war time
traps, climbed back
the gate again.

another day will
do for such meanderings.

sbm.

. red .


a white room, blood on the pillow.
empty rooms sublime, look how
the light comes, how the red,
glows.

into warmth here, and above.

he is a solitary man.

sbm.

. rooms .
( rooms and partitions)
flow. we are a different colour          now,

words came readily , night, the white room,

gathering.                        woven with detail.

light early, empty headed, toes tapping, nothing

is remembered.                                  early grey,

sky pink.                                          another day,

in our rooms and partitions.                          this

does not mean.                                     i love you .

. the  red dress .
description in words,
draped, silk in lime light.talk endlessly of pin
tucks, and pleatings.
yet she said,             things
are too profound.   a standing
ovation.

moths in light,
all things due sound.

this was a charity gala, all befrocked,
with polished shoes.        have you
heard the welsh sung?         he sung
lovely,     my lovely.

we liked her red dress.

sbm.

time is upon us, as he writes,

yellow dust from the fire,

the old way.

he weaves, a dance of dream,

remembering the beginning

of it all,

museum artefacts.

muse trapped ,

ash escapes his brain

into solitude.

days left,

three voices

rise, until just one

is heard.

©sbm

.. boxed sets ..
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 pads
ready for discovery.

these are the planning days,
the filming ways, of
lifts and wild imaginings.

note

the words hit our hearts, and sink in to stay, to pledge another stage set, small life…….

. give things .

to some one else,
will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.

handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.

we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.

sbm.


Hedd Wyn
Poet
Hedd Wyn was a Welsh language poet who was killed during the Battle of Passchendaele in World War I. He was posthumously awarded the bard’s chair at the 1917 National Eisteddfod. Wikipedia
Born: January 13, 1887, Trawsfynydd
Died: July 31, 1917

. the kiss .
to sweeten life. the kiss,
use sugar.we wrote the words,
print in blood, yet we only had
sepia.
a ruler to tear, fold
carefully, mix with shards
that worked from window
panes.

cotton lengths, blend with oil.
soothing balm.

we have a new cabinet here.

the kiss
is up for sale.

sbm.

perchance a different
route, a new audience,
yet some came
repeating the sigh.

seeing the love,
the distraction
of another time.

where all the worlds a stage,
the men and women,
merely another way
round.

repeat the sigh,
make a sign,
wear a white bustle,
become, as you like too.

they did.

. i could not dance .
nor take a dress,
i had to work, while
the sun shone, while
all around is  disorder.

i could not dance for the sadness
of others. i will dance today, in
the sun, lines in air and a gratitude
for all things.

small things.

sbm

he stood like a dancer,
arms out.


he looked
and moved,
like a dancer.


sbm.

a quiet day, coffee in the square,

some light shopping, a nap.

the evening at the cinema.

it was a french film.

sbm.

hospital bag.

the things

the memory.



yours?



i spent some of it

yesterday in heaven

thus far

now there are three



one fainted behind the old post office

was rehomed.

two creep the kitchen hungry

i can smell them early



we worried over the fourth to hear it has gone



a sad reversal.



they were clearing the graveyard



ran scared

not buried.



mourned



it has been a cold few days



thus far



sbm.

there is nothing found for jolly

which obviously rhymes  with

holly



a festive prompt



yet



that word will not cut these

days



slightly       dickens

alcoholic flavours

&

other things



i have heard that

he lives round the corner



handy



i don’t do rhyme

much



sbm.

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, you know, the cotton,
and the string.

it is a gift.

tissue paper crumples, bone
pastes this life together, a

gift.

sbm.

leaned by the window cold / thought that if snow falls it may land /if trees grow it may be up /if we all plant seeds they may be food

rift winter days                                                             ­       curtains dragged across the gloom early
yet while light lingers we wander to the snow                                    hear the last bird call

snow or heavy rain dark the days are the evenings darker

forecasts bring gloom and panic then are cancelled minutes later the phone kicks off

ice is predicted / mountains white

my snow day

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely

linen threads hang heavy / needles preserved / small holes ready…

250064235375626932608264217839243961040896_n

. cabinet .
the library intervenes
with gifts.
tomorrow we
fill more empty
cabinet shelves,
clear peripheries,
learn to spell
curiousity.

the russian is coming,
there are pianos,
at the theatre.

all pianos are special.

join me, work with me.

sbm.

.gorge.


sorry, did you say george?

he is here with me
saved from the boot sale
at five pence only

look under his dress
he is a hero

or did you say gorge
where we lean over in fear
up over the pass

we have overslept
the forecast snow

leave george
undercover.

sbm.

i may start with the bathroom
large panelled white
a geyser with gasp, gas there

was

plenty of soap/more in store
no charge

lock and bolt the door for quiet & solitude

not much changes then

talk your self to sleep
upper rooms where no
one hears

she seemed brave/ an opposite
to me/maybe/maybe she was hiding
too

we told no one

sbm.

someone

i should not have gone

we had to call her auntie
no blood relation

we sat with her for tea
cross legged.

i shared a room with Catherine, (it may have been K I forget) so long ago

we were at the top of the house off the landing before the staff quarters – the
uncles,the aunties

Cath was older, brave and treacherous

i liked her yet felt the others didn’t

a bad influence

we went out on the chain ferry across to the beach
all sun sea gulls and possibilities

day of freedom

on return that auntie shouted i should not have gone, screamed and shouted from the stairs shouted

spoiled our lovely day

Cath left the home soon after, they found her a flat

i missed her
i visited her

it continued with escapes in the bathroom
the door locked

wished i went with Catherine

i think of you often

milton road

easier now he is older
he tells me what he wants

i buy it
plus
a surprise

simpler now i am older
i tell them what i will like

they buy it
plus a surprise

three people at bus stop
names in order of arrival

hash tag raining

open brackets
the commercial, blaenau
close brackets

2. is this the bus stop?

1.yes it is

2. is the bus due?

1. yes it is

2. have you been waiting long?

1. no not really

3. hello is this the bus stop?
is the bus due?

2+1. yes

4. etc…

1978754101529941581611774478870514302533697_n.jpg

Advert­isements
Occasionally, some of

you ask for serenity

yet

i have nothing here
in word.

i will make photographs….

from painting

she said it twice

spelled it

hissing sounds

snakes spitting





**** the word, savour the smell

i have told you my darkest secrets
sounds and sights.

say it again with four s’s

plural we will have more.

sing the sin
then **** it
dead

or pay someone to do it

easy assassin

1030724310152492171516177982969328552394904_n

Advert­isements
Occasionally, so

i don’t write about gremlins

nor bogies

have done a search

it has not figured in the work yet



i know that my bread is usually buttered

held carefully it does not fall

not anyway down



if i wrote about bogies  they will be under

the bed not

up the nose

at all



some of us may not be so afraid any more

cross too




cold room council house

she lit the fire that day



one gift each plus the stocking

fillers



a compendium of games or jigsaw to share

three brothers



she walked, talked, blinked

oddly

wore the gingham dress and pants



i still have her

draw her scan her

photograph her



show her in exhibition

my profile picture

is welsh for child



english

machine



crossing



fired pain of

hidden lies



nothing happened



beyond words embittered silk



fabric trails



hiding memory

false beginning





found words

the challenge, 12 sentences starting with the same word – green.



:: green road :

green road is where I was born; in winton.



green grocer delivered each tuesday and thursday.

green front doors and hedges line the road, repetitive.



green shooting brake denotes uncle’s arrival, posh we thought,truth came later.



green our neighbour’s face as bombs fell/were pushed; she hid in the outside toilet.



green school knickers; janet next door under her gymslip.

greens up the garden, with spuds  & rhubard, runners & plums.



greens for dinner, liver & gravy; poor food, i guess there was rationing.



green her coat with big buttons,darted & half belt she wore while shopping.



green my mittens, shetland hand knitted; a souvenir.



green the scarf that matched, richer now.



green the sky; the storm passes.



sbm.

have you watched them marching

beauty has a power



slow

careful



remember this when all else

are shouting.



move together

in memory.



sbm.

the last tab was mushroom



i looked. they had been



there a while.  food waste

when the fog clears we creep back into the garden

watch birds eat wettened crumbs.       softly leaves fall



each year  mist falls an        anniversary physically fed



on sleep we meet



.



&





you are gone & you are gone



again



no parallel lines

should i spend the day looking for the labyrinth, learning how to spell it. should i spend my life searching for the pattern when all around is waiting. should i fail, or should i take up the challenge.


sbm.

is gone.



old

ancient

he died



buried



his house

is now



the log shed



tidy stacked

good



he did not prance about

stood on one leg

lonely





the hens had gone

a long time



we all miss cocky.



there is no photograph.



sbm.

i don’t know what you mean

dancing about like that.        i





thought you said you will make

some cake next. i heard you say



it.



currants are not needed unless

you have no spice



for flavour you could make biscuits



snappy



crocodiles



some people take it for stomach pain



my father ate peppermints           he

had an ulcer. some say he drank too

much



i chose the ginger beer down in somerset



sbm.