1.

storms are predicted



slowly the sign starts moving



we head toward home        trees

are down.                  power gone



dark                           yet the bones



are showing





the door is open



rattling



2.

we ring the police                                  the line is dead

buttons gone spongy

reduced to mathematics and tying the thing in knots



no dialogue                                             they are out everywhere



trees are      down

bones are showing



here



3.



police arrive                    tree men to mend and repair

on overtime

for

mass calculation



crowd in the house for tea

find there are no pastries offered.



there is nothing in the house.

bones are apparent.



sbm.

when the world runs cold,

water freezing, eyes held

from the words.



moments with the old story,

knowing it will be understood.



each day a moment to be

shared out here.



sbm.

early while driving.                     omen repeating



sometimes the sun comes lower after the crest



one moment



imagine them marching,           slow & white.



will you name them?



in the wake all things come clear.



slow & white.



later below the peaks i tell him. he said it is

the dark crystal.



sbm.

it was quite a while



then while travelling she noticed

an interest in cattle.knowing little

noted their shapes and patterns.



mentioned the farmers yesterday

most in rugged vehicles

dogs barking



one in a saloon car, the passenger

kind



full of food stuff



for cattle.



she wondered at the white ones

on her way home.



sbm.

maybe connections are missed

the link dismissed.





metaphors faint as my flimsy

whispers



symbols



do you deny me peace?



perhaps you utter the words

constantly?



look closely





sbm.

one hour               moves

my body             remains

the same



one thought       removed

the mind                 alters





some words          deleted

spaces

added





some questions       never

asked



sounds of the earth

which frays,

tells the story, discarded.



some say it was his handkerchief

used, worn     not discarded



here.



discarding , all was bottled, remained.



another day.



sbm.

ladies

on the bus

pointed to it



a lady bird on the window.



i watched and thought how nice

they noticed and admired it



a while later

she got out a tisuue

and squashed it dead.



she spoke to me, but

i speak a different language



on waiting

the driver said

that too many people think

only of themselves

#thesedays



sbm.

some  have been away



(on holiday)



i have



some think that  this  means

prison



those in america



velcro is easy

more than buttons



some say that pinc is welsh

for pink.



this is repetition



sbm.

words recede.

our upbringing denounces us.



i stand in the garden, a glimpse

of the bat out late.     early here.



now i am hollow.



he said that swimming can be dull,

i prefer calm.





we hide from nothing in particular,

distance becomes us.



near cuckoo woods,



the hollow i sat as a child.



empty dry ditches.



sbm.

they lived in nottingham.

i remember their visits.



uncle arthur was a shoe

mender i was told. not a

cobbler.



he had a car, a shooting brake.



there were not many vehicles

then; we ran to the gate to see.



the family moved to australia, were active

in their church, the seventh day adventists.



i felt we should admire them.



ann came back one day on a needy visit.



she told my brother that uncle arthur was just a rogue,

a wide boy, a crook.



not a cobbler.



sbm.

ann,  her name was ann.       my cousin.



slight, blond, flat chested.  almost hollow

as I wished to be.



I think it was a whimsy shade of blue

with glass buttons, the style of dress

she always wore.



voile.



she grew tall

and it came to me

.



mother said it did not suit me, I wore tailored.



I felt out of place  at parties.



mother gave it to the girl next door

as always:           I saw her wear it.



recently I bought a red version, hung it

on the wall.



there is



an eternal wish to be hollow.

sbm.

world glows a brighter good as they pass in time.                       it is an

omen.

nothing blew down here

and it is tidied up now



this week i have done two things

despite the anxiety stuff



many other  things were comforting



the log pile is bigger



sbm.

i remember her name,

she said it is salter.



i sent her the mothballs.



borders.



sbm.

so  naturally we think of heaven.



realise it is the pattern that makes us,

the familiar and ordinary.                   other prophets

come false.



in agreement we lose to the music,                hell as

entity retreats.



there is a book at the university. i have

read it twice.



sbm.

.prompt.





notes:-

Chinese painting about hell: “Picture Reference of Causality – Paintings of Hell”, which was painted by Taiwan Chinese painting artist Jiang Yizi in 2003. The painting is a roll of 62 cm high and 50 meters wide…..

sea

swim

.

cotton

threads

.

this  dark gloomy morning

may cause

a random feeling



despair dealt

another way



time creeps forward with splintered light     creaking

of humility



it happens every year



sinusitis

almost rhymes with

tinnitus



no punctuation



sbm

being asked to explain

again.



refer to the fallen.



pick up,

collect.



the fallen.



i told her it was about

dead soldjers.



it feels natural, without the need

to explain.



to verbalize the fallen.



lost connection. lost heart.



sbm.








notes:- don’t you see that one experience, memory is mixed with another, there is no need for isolation. we cannot judge, we cannot understand everything.

stairs go up

stairs go down.



pedestrian.



sbm.

having come to a halt

decided

to reside

a while

at the sports man.



portmadog



posh for now

unlike you folk who swim and visit gardens



i wore my garbardine to be sure of keeping dry.



portmadog.



sbm.

fifty words!



as many as that;

not as many as last night you know.



brainstorming with abandon

and counting symbols.



crossings out and wiring my brain is a task

for which i am not fit without a drink.

a sort of drink cannot say or i will fail.



sbm

challenge:~ 50 words. no ‘e’

history is not my subject



bombs/



sounds rather current



except this guy got caught

before the damage



i have just been advised/



he had hoped to be interred at

coventry cathedral



except

he was not sure if it existed yet



then



it was decided to cut him up to **** him

put his head on a spike

up his neck/



that was bombed too

coventry cathedral/



bombs are nasty things/

seriously

sbm.



(prompt.  guy fawkes & coventry cathedral)

bricks are selected, organised, moved into store.



into the  yard.



with slate

tiles & edging

ready for a shortage.



rocks are left

for paid work.



he will come this thursday, another opinion.



i would say if questioned that neither of us

are athletic.



dogged

is a word.



sbm.

precious.



each morning early, i feed the cat.



a sachet with jelly.



packaging straight to the dustbin, outside.



dressed



in pyjamas i step the slate, feel the air, watch the sky



change.

swallow the bats whole.



later, when dressed, and booted, i smiles

at the bare foot print on the step.



during the day the others come foraging,

through the flap, what can I do?



first one is flimsy, timid

trespass. a shadow.



the other bruiser ; black bully.



bold, hissing wildly.







each evening, I feed the cat again.

take the package to the bin again.







one hundred words.



precious.



sbm.

circle dancers fell asleep that

afternoon.



met previously

that morning.



he said that one should not

look at another’s back whilst

singing;



local singing circle.



i am finding it difficult to make a circle

by my own.





free library.



sbm.

as opposed to funny, we are constantly relocated.



looking into suitcases and meeting places, we find

another idea.



amusing as opposed to



witty.



hide away, nice as opposed to the

opposite.



isn’t it?



sbm.

Red.

Pain applied on canvas.

Empties space

and fills with red, peace And Rothko

cooler now,    spiders come heavier.

it is decided to use boxed cotton to

inscribe.



dead father

dead husband

dead son

dead brother

all



dead soldjers

boxed and rotting.



chemical invasion.



sbm.

today.

unlike yesterday.



is your head clear today, loose limbs, while

mild air floats above.



will you go the other way, as you did

yesterday?



it can still be achieved each day, with or

without.



it will be easier today.



there is a light mist.            here.



sbm.

the planning office is up the road, by the old hospital

that was once a work house for the poor & suffering

to suffer more.



boils.



pass by regular on the way to somewhere else.



it is listed so any changes are scrutinised.



boils.



there have been a few.



changes.

i do apologise

did you say planet?



sbm.

we needed a translator to explain the word.



a differing gender.



he was someone’s brother.



mort de guerre







sbm.

the bandage is pointless, will not help him nor no one else who is

dead.



shall i make some more, label them and roll  tight ready.          we

use the rubber stamp on paper         trace through onto rags. it is

a fine pen.



still connected our thread is black.



knotted

quite dead.



you came late, scattering all you saw.



left quickly.



mistakes occur.



soldjer bombed dead.



sbm.

i have a vacuum

there is nothing there.

the broom is for

the garden

mainly

or elsewhere for smelling like coconut



sbm.

some words remain remembered;

scullery, coal scuttle, hod,

broom.

that is yellow.



sbm.

tiny tiny things
made
to plan bigger
things.

architects model.

sbm.

he said it came suddenly as if overnight

a busy man



i watch it slowly rise

fall into gold



leaf drops then another



rain fall while the sun shines



the equinox is not a particular day



sbm.

so you cut off your left hand

or was it your right?          to

own the land.

to dig and grow.



was it wealth you required

or  happy living.             one

handed.



****** mess.



i hear the woodturner

has hurt his finger.



sbm.

hurt.



it was a mistake.

sew.



seems i  have written much on shame.





with punctuation.



again i say,

that i hurt you

without intention.







shame. an invention

for         reflection.



hurt.



you do not speak of him?



the soldier.



sbm.

shall we go there again?

watch the trees change

write without punctuation?



only question

marks



september is a softer month



energy in those trees spread out as cotton threads

knotted

&

i will not mention the word



sbm.

it happens.  mistakes are made.

we do not know why.          the

soldjer died.



we have thoughts, dismissed.

&

no one talks of it.



sbm.

maybe  this one day will do,

as in suffice.



maybe that is all we get.



picking up crumbs.



sbm.

you said nothing is ever perfect, and

i remember this and why.





reciting, shouting, jumping on walls

laughing.



you  sent a book, along

with the money due.



st.ives.



sbm.

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 a private inscription.



sbm.

it takes on a new meaning, horribly iconic.



my lidl carrier bag.

asked for a refund.



it did not fit.



touch it gently, it may not explode.

this time.  tentacles wave.       keep

clear or they may touch you. burn

you.



keep clear.



talk carefully, they may shout to blame

you.



tentacles.



sbm.

it is not a word we use much here.            we have to adhere to rules.

those made in mind.  seems good to displace oneself a while. to work.







note the cattle,  blur the sheep.



there is smoke rising.



hen blas.

old place.



there are things going on here.

it is the eighteenth.



sbm.

met him on the bus.

he gave me a copy of

his book. fall haiku.



sbm.

i cannot raise this arm.



properly.



i can still raise the other one,



and lay properly. to sleep. do not

look for the white,

tiredness comes its own way.



later that evening we watched tv.

they were young & pretty then. moved

their  hands about.



a type of dinosaur.



sbm.

i knew nothing.



while younger.



now it makes sense.

with

a complete diagnosis

again.



a difficult subject, some might say thorny.



sbm.

the lady with the blue umbrella

is merely a road sign, remember.



until we walk over and find there

is not one.



had difficulty sleeping, thinking.

of you all.

the hurricanes.



thinking of you all.



the genocide.

spelled carefully



you all

at war.



all who are ill,

unease.



i went on the bus, saw the mud

from the festival. talked   to you

who got lost and fed the homeless.



read some road signs elsewhere.



sbm.