rather a lot of words were said in friendship.

yesterday.

good words.

#writing for jamie.

words on health and well

being.

recovered, we admired

the socks, little boots.

she knew who i meant,  a small

description. the bluebells are down

the road she told us.

kind words come in memory and subjected

elements.

some folk cannot connect other than eyes

while some utter such kind words; honey

and furry bears.

sbm.

dead head the roses,
suffocate in silk. stifle
their feelings.

dead head the roses,

suffocate in silk, stifle

their feelings.

bundle them blind with
bloodied rags, boiled

clean.

bind them twice. the smell
is decay.

Magritte.

sbm.

she said it sounded sad, that is because

it ****** is.



sad.



she also said it looked sad. it ****** is

sad.



some things are

sad.



some things are happy.



some things are in between.



see.

explicit blunderings, darkness descends

with out the need for words. pray for

forgiveness if you are so inclined.



do not beg approval nor eat the chocolate

rabbit. that will be ****** sad. smiley.



sbm.

do you hear someone sleeping?

do you hear them breathing?

i did not for many years.

last week I did.

the hotel

had thin walls.

sbm.

i don’t often go in. i only went to see the back, the upper room.

area.    i noticed the creeping plant outside, walked to the door.



went in.

the cat came in.



i thought there would be lilies. there was just a few of the usual

sort, daisy types.



i left, the cat came

after.



my boot scraped the moss from one on the slabs

to see the name.



william evans.



sbm.

oh you are a beauty, showing your legs,                dress swinging.



in rhythm. in photos , little gifs,                                      to share.



how can we  look the same?                   i think i look different

now. now that i have grown,                          watched you grow.



now. now.



now that i helped  when you were sick.                   now.now.



now i am older and watched you die.                          all of you.



i say goodnight to some and remember                       all of you.



how can i look the same.                                                  now. now.



remember all that has been done.                                           how

can i look the same?



you are still a beauty.



dress swinging.



sbm.

the dark bird calls. may be starting an engine.

it has a sound about it.                        the word.

not at all biblical,

in that sense of

the word.

some people come unhappy. tired, out of sorts.

all sorts.

i had wanted to live on an island,

where they burned the       grass.

stubble.

it became quite private.

i like to hear those birds; they are coming closer.

sbm.

the rain is come again, lightly.

we have sewing to be done.



red thread.

never measured. severed

with teeth,it leaves a groove,

she said. the dentist will know.



red thread.



you will know too.



it is a christian festival, did you know?



sbm.

occuring at a favourable time. a time that was requested.



it is opinion. it could be that things happen any when; we

could be pleased.



do you remember when the ship went down.? all

were saved. this makes a happy ending.    ending

the story.

while in port glasgow it says that

port glasgow

has an

old man’s club.



official.



ship building.



&



jesus changes lives for good.



sbm.

isn’t it? mutiply. divide and you may be surprised.



i came upon this fella, charity shop find, with mary.



they are surprised.



as am i.



these things have a small life.

=2.



not always a good surprise…….X2



sbm.

that it has been a good day. that i said something when she said we had no money. pointed out that we have food, shelter and heat .                  #whatmoredoyouexpect?



that we have our comfort and honest work.                           #whatmoredoyouexpect?



i am not righteous, though my breakfasts are sad now, by design. the cream is off.



limits.



i am pleased to say i wrote the book, bought the book, told the story of my life today.



#whatmoredoyouexpect?



sbm.

There are no records left; I asked them.

The probation officer arranged it, he was helping my brother. My trip may have been unofficially organised.

I was taken to meet the lady, I remember her name, her home clearly. Mum kitted me out in hand knitteds, summer and lace up shoes. I was shocked by the latter; I aways had straps.

I may have been 6 years old; there is no record.

We went on the bus , cook and I, to the small cottage hotel, Lelant by the sea. A bus ride from St. Ives, a short walk down the hill to the beach to play.

My host went shopping, introducing me to her friends, and worrying over my hair. The hairdresser suggested that cutting was not the answer and I was provided with a dark green ribbon, shiny, wide and expensive. I imagined the cost.

The food was unlike any I had known, just tomato soup, scones with cream that left my tastebuds traumatised. I liked the boiled eggs; I was used to them. Cook looked after me kindly and understood, told me to say. The gardener suggested that as I must pass through the kitchen garden to school, I may eat as much fruit as I liked. I did.

I liked the little school, made friends. The laceups were a great succes as I could walk on my toes, like a ballet dancer. The soles were thick. Friends were made and one girl lent me her woollen bathing costume to bathe in the estuary. It sagged when wet; my self esteem lowered.

Adding here that at that age who knew of self esteem? We just felt bad.

I was given the sweetest little bedroom in the roof, all dolls and dormers. They took away my comforter, and it seems then I walked in my sleep. Moved downstairs to the piano room where no stairs could harm me, I felt unsettled.

Yet the days moved nicely. There were little troubles, nothing to diminish the beauty of it all.

The day came when I was sent home, I guess it was agreed; there are no records. I had wanted to stay, and I still feel guily for that.

My family met me from the bus, laughed at my accent and threw the ribbon away.

Weeks later I found it ***** in the lane, and kept it, hid it.

Years later I went back. In the museum, met a man who recognised me. We were then in our fifties, and he said I looked the same.

I am not the same. There are no records.

I never was a ballet dancer.

sbm.

another time it may be well to ask what it is . does

it bring comfort?

it may not be bad.



pull the thread, watch it fray. sadly they took it away.

said it was *****, filthy and smelled.

bad.



ask.

me.



i can tell you a story.



unravel your cloth. most things are woven , time

upon time.



some things come different and often not

bad.



as you imagine.



sbm.

the memory starts clearly aged ten. kept in the fitted cabinet, second drawer down, mother’s scissors. i guess they were around before in a more muzzy state in  mind.

she may have kept my fringe tidy  when i was not taken off to the barber in the village. he used a plank across the arms of the chair to seat me. i was small then.



she said that hers were special, hairdressers’ scissors. we were never to cut paper with them, yet we did. once i saw her cutting greaseproof; different rules apply.



we  had only one pair. just one pair that i remember. i felt that mum gave them great importance, transfered this feeling.

i wish i had kept them, even with the damage.  the incident was one afternoon .



a lamp needed moving,  plug removing and my brother put it off for various reasons. we heard the noise, the bang , we saw the feathers.

those days many people had budgies, ours was blue usually. i think green was a different price?

so mum cut the electric wire with her special scissors to remove the plug, still plugged in. a hole then  in the blade. mother put to bed, we probably took her tea. the budgerigar tidied and settled we all moved forward with experience.



i wonder still if this is why i collect scissors here.



sbm.

hear that , crashing in the old wood, trees fall and                          die.

seems time stands still, nothing moves .                                happening.

older times are done,                        quiet now, seamlessly it will start

again.

one word, one sound, then blindly we will crash  into the wild woods

again.

i met a man who did not know,  had just arrived.

we may learn in time.



again.

sbm.

a younger rock formation isolated among older rocks,           someone who works out differently to others.             an exercise in the way to  view the world. we are all

individual.



as much as this is said as  aid, the performance can do with quite an improvement.



so you gas some,        bomb the others.

mr and mrs do as you will be done by?



look at what you do now, and think about it.

seriously.



sbm.

accept things. easy? no, i wrote of this yesterday.



looks better in visual than stuck in mind. html.



go with the flow.                       we had thought

it was an eel fighting yet it     was some string

in the current.



he said he had used the wrong nails,

had hoped for galvanised.



it is alright, we are not in denial.



there is a spectrum.



sbm.

We had moved from the suburbs out into the country.  To walk through the woods, cuckoo woods, for the village for groceries was the way.  By that lane a field of cabbage plants rotting, passed by holding breath, or holding nose.

I forever remember the smell, imagined the slime, the slugs.

If dusk was falling, and fear involved, I ran quickly singing hymns loud for safety. Sadly it was not the lane that hurt me, it was someone else. Hymns don’t work in my case.



One time we swung the shopping basket between us. Lost most of the potatoes, and were sent back to find them.

Nothing was packaged, left loose in the basket weighed by the pound.



Kale was curly and cheap; we shredded it from the stump for boiling.



By now it is more acceptable, even fashionable, already chopped, stump bits intact and probably good for us. Yet I miss the whole leaf, where the memory formed.



No more do we boil it, softly warmed and stirred with butter and scattering of pink salt.

Slightly addicted these days, is it the taste of the memory that holds me?



Each day the good feeling is slightly spoiled on throwing the unnecessary packaging away, damp cellophane bag. I miss Mum’s basket, yet I do not miss the cabbage field.



sbm.

i search for champion, hoping for a hero.              it gives me clothing.



the sort i will never wear.  i do not do sport                       only walking

and swimming, nothing competitve.                                    it is a shame

the pools are at a distance, needing time and effort. I feel younger in

water and see no reflection with out  glasses.                   i understand

a health and nutrition app can be most helpful these days, and while

i type this i hear the gardener down the big house mowing lawns since

early morning.



now tis mid afternoon.



champion.



sbm.






177933331015525285112617768920630_n

.  happy couple.



seeps  in like marbled water, **** on the tide.



once we touched through holes in blankets,

now we have our own demise.



a comfort in the glass, the daily.          mirror.



there is a box unopened,



there was a photo

tied.         there was a face set with bandages.



he chose the other one.



two pictures, some of us look the other way.



a while.



sbm.

reduced, and knowing how you like your nuts,                                           i bought them.

the small boy chuckled.

radio four this morning, suggested dropping ***** ( another laugh, small child) notice that mistakes do not **** us,                                        mortified though we can be in error.



i have worked this way a while for interest, and am still awake and                breathing.



this morning i forgot a while,   radio waves me back on track.                    i have mended

the plate, my fingers

stick.



sbm.

this is the first time i have lined up those particular coins,

it is also the last time .                { those coins in particular }



sbm.

much wenlock, on the the edge. fall over.



do not

undertake while the vehicle        reverses.



careful what you dream on a cusp of night. know that all stars are not the same.



seen  through the net nightly.



curtains are unecessary,        there is no one left to see.



anything can happen,          depends on the mood. repeat.



may go back.                                                                     for no reason

or to count the flowers, list the names, then tidy into alpha, omega

betical

file under f.







sbm.

is against thee , or for thee. we are all individuals.



he said.



i present thee a truth,                         you see a lie.



look to history.



so i shall make a case, produce the evidence.



medical notes, broken glass. we cannot find

the gun.



christine.



sbm.

do we have thought and care for the future here?



we do, though we never know how long we have.



now look away, this is a warning, content may upset.



i had a cat named prudence, she had some kittens. mum

drowned those in a bucket, and i saw. she put a lid on top,

with stones. i have a                       bucket just the same for

boiling clothes. never used.         i have a washing machine.



prudence died,                rumours of poisoning, who knows?



now look away.



one saved kitty george was mine, i loved him. he died sudden.



rumours abound.



things were different then.



sbm.

there is no need for politics when choosing your sweater,

is there sir? no need to have an embargo on scottish goods,

they are only asking, so far.



it is best not to speak your mind when working, to have

woollen garments dry cleaned to            avoid shrinkage.



i understand democracy, yet we  have our own feelings.



we fold the fabric tidy, colour code and talk of our lives

together.



look at the new coins, aren’t they pretty. will the machines

still work?



closing.                        music blesses us home. listen and you

may cry too.



Max Richter.



sbm.

there is  a need to pace about, wave the paper, move the arms. need to pause and       counter act. if this reading thing                      will work.   maybe moving eliminates the standing .



pause a while to correct the mistakes, remove the titles that are not needed. launch into space, with ideas which defy all religion.



googling I read that  a perfect              sonnet rules.  if according to terms ,           conditions. you think so;   if you have gone     and done it properly. I understand this                 situation. yet some  like free form  verse.



wander into town while your back hurts edging into breaking. meet the one who instigates recycling for its sake and others.   suggested the items, collects and delivers.   meanwhile he eats the offered sweet and confesses there are more …



sbm.

i could write the story of my life remembering all that was,

forgetting the things i forget. i couild start at the beginning,

work through to the end when it comes. it could be that way.



may be, i have already written much of it in bits and       scraps

here and there. such is the way of it. some things come random.



not as you expected.                     i was to tell my story, you said.



i cannot be

bothered. there is no interest.



if there is, it can be googled, gathered, stitched quilt like into some



image.



i cannot remember my granpa fondly, for he was dead a while before.



you told me your tale, silked tongue, the things you wished me to know.

not

impressed.



no need to impress. cat **** leaves on skin leave black marks. remember?



recall the smell.



i could write the story of my life.



sbm.

when the air is clean, where the glass is dry.



look back , is every star venus?                   so.



bright. drops     shine .                          notes on

honey.                 a dead bee in the back  room.



i have not removed it . yet i have a paper moth

ready as a gift.



30p it was, made with cotton buds, the world

museum, liverpool.



sbm.

did you say passe partout?  did you say alone  in this corner?



i have been to ireland recently, took my documents,           my bag

and passport.



it is another country.



we were away a week and on returning felt slightly low.  lower

now since the article.                the helicopter crash up the road.



can you imagine?



they were going

to ireland too. they

never got there.



(  written  with respect )



the roads are still closed,

i just drove past.      been

to buy plants.



it was a red one.



sbm.







daily post : passport

their link says fortune/2 with 22 responses. we are good

to take up the challenge each day. step by step we work

to make a fortune here.



not bags of gold, no no.



we like just nice things to eat and comfort. we like to feel

well.



same as most others. i watch a programme last evening

about those who want more.



i live in the country, i have said this before.



sbm.

land or sometimes sea

can be

territory.



people divided.



people drowned.



sbm.

written after the article,

was so before, now becomes

more evident

i was away a while, since last summer‘s referendum. i have an

exhibition.

it was all leading up, then it was suggested that i wrote about

daffodils.

remember the repair shop?   where they fixed the old phone.

she said it needed two hands, so she could not write a    note
simultaneously
ˌsɪmlˈteɪnɪəsli/
adverb.
at the same time it resembled the flower.                            a bit.
it was a difficult day yesterday, the cat died, the boy threw up,
we had the article.                                       yet i decided to come
back
now the exhibition is up.                                  these things.
i have seen some people on facebook dressed as daffodils  maybe
with relation to rugby and/or saint’s days.
she was a midwife.
these things.
sbm.

. some hedges are higher than others.               i wrote . a thing so private, so intense .   . simple , complex. no one will see it .                           note your achievements to date.                     .hell no.

we talk  again, for these are not vertical.                           we walked the dazzled mirror, crept.

.small and slightly curious  conversations.

we chatted over manners and harboured hedges. these things  …

moved the line into a place of  rural contemplation.

sbm.



45809101515390816011771976450131_n

is it today?



yes.



the letter?



yes, the article.



it will all be different?



yes,  it has been different quite a while……



will they send me back?



no you may stay here with me, safe.



sad together.



sbm.



(there is no picture today)

it came in pink tissue, crumpled. the glass.

she said that i may like it though it was

not good class,   did not ring true. i said

i did and imagined an elixir,   blue and

deadly poisonous.

it has sat waiting, and being of a pleasant

#mood   added the lead soldiers instead.

( i guess those be toxic if ****** steadily)

so here is the glass with the old clock

that chimes wrong and the photo of

my father in the war, behind.

thank you mary. it is your birthday soon,

then mine comes later.

sbm.

too much to bear? seeing the first violet

by the step, remembering how you sent

the blue linen

jacket wrapped.



my love of tissue paper.



she wanted to buy the pillow too,

yet we do not sell them. that is a

cushion.

madam.



for display purposes only.



car fresheners? no, those neither.



ah, air fresheners, no we sold out.

i could not raise her disappoint

ment confessing her daughter

bought the last one. her mothers

day gift.



george raft dancing the tango, &

new connections that love beetles

as much as me.



rather a lot to bear. #happy.



research day at the mill.



sbm.

even that. the relationship between to two or more

becomes more difficult when one flies solo. depends

what that word means.



i felt a connection with someone next to me when they

laughed at the performance. we came separately. we

never spoke.



is that
symbiosis
ˌsɪmbɪˈəʊsɪs,ˌsɪmbʌɪˈəʊsɪs/.
the benefit?
sbm.

we named it best eleven.        dark the day, the equinox .          we are survived.



light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.



sbm.

speech.

simple notes, there is much discussion now, where the place used to be pure quiet and  acceptance.

it seems to him that talking does not get the job done.                 gently balancing wool.  words  fall .



we had gathered here before to watch the weathering.     referendum come and gone with fury.



speech



fails us.



simple notes. none rise higher than the one next.



to you, to me, this may not be

the acceptance

expected.



sbm.







1002690101529068877961775370599434980022329_n

can you believe it.              that it was said?

red cross.



we should help    people in this country

first, not those abroad   scared and dying.



that she asked about her washing,      yes i

hang it in the garden, in    sun and breeze

to dry fresh.



she replied that is what peasants do.

do you believe that?



red cross shop.



some say she has a face lift!



sbm.

… mothth …



faint.                                                  a soft breath, minimal sigh.



ththth.





gauze.                                                  the space between,    thin.



thth.



thinner still the sound.                                               on the wind.

seeds.                                                                                          touch



skin softly.                                                                                hardly

sense                                                                                  the feeling.

one feather floating.



thth.



listen.



sbm.







14463277101546387232561777804934958290103387_n

she gave up bread and chocolate, told us many times.

ate ryvita smuggled it in, softer by the third day. lent



me ideas for writing.

told me it was for forty days, i asked why. she said it

was for lent.



i wondered if it was to do with jesus in the wilderness?

she said she did not know.



she explained.



it is just for lent,



bread and chocolate.



i wondered silently  if he gave up chocolate too

in that wilderness.



during dinnner i pondered loaves and fishes, kept

my thoughts to myself.



the dessert was chocolate. i ate it all



sbm.

label your house ready, this is home full of love, that

this is the bathroom, and there is a toilet. label your

life away, grumpy egg again.

force yourself up of a morning, head out in the rain.

remember you were a passenger once,

no  need to park the car.

walk strong, look at the face plain.

know that the donut will work even

with  your heathen tendencies.

sbm.

dark the day, the equinox .          we are survived. as the cat

survived last night,fighting on the landing,      outside the

front best bedroom here.



some wars are fought outside, battlegrounds. theirs is  fought

in house.

intervening, saying that the house is ours, not yours,  noticed



the carpet will need cleaning

later

today.



sbm.

no conquistador, nor battle minds live around this block,

that i know . perhaps they hide secretly awaiting surprise

attacks.



some folk surprising sweet, inside stained with thought,

imagining.  i will not know them.



he said that i was useless at war, had to be the  metal medic.

then he bashed me bent. toy soldiers.



even that.



sbm.

daily post : conquer

model

they may not like a controversal opinion, so cross it out in black.

i think that red may hit the mark better if there was a facility we

we used to amuse, may be delight, then it was censored. banned



to the bin.



quiet now, you will not hear any controversy, you may only read it



here.

cancelled my apprenticeship

neatly.



there.

so we panned the work, stitches.
while before they panned
for gold.

all much the same.

peoples’ values.
sbm.

jasmine bundled.



a living thing, tied.

yet i  tied the books, shredded cloth to rags, bled a little. arranged it all my way,the name will be the title, length an object. all else is waxed and tied as usual, making it       unusual. when i explained, she asked why will you do that? because of the chained libaries, burning books, the secrets you hide.



the light was different yesterday.

sbm.





photo challenge ~ atop