it is a quarry man’s cottage, well they all are in blaenau except the foreman’s house.

a small villa.       the bus goes by.                                                       some things have labels.



some folk wear solid shoes, a good overcoat                                           look you in the eye.



some friends are dusty, remind us of

the grumpy egg.



sbm.

orange.



it is a source of inspiration, and research. it is written,    yet having writ.            we use. imagination, add a dose of suggestion, slightly thinking this is fact we do not move on when perhaps we should. so moving on quickly……



cut them.



maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.   need to count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely, leads    us onward.



simmer them.



what about this list, to do it before you die, well as she said, you probably can’t do it after. some may disagree – another belief. we try not to judge, yet that  bucket was not worth five pound,so



we paid two.



strain them.

ready for later.



sbm.

tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records.



mine are all destroyed. ask them.           there are no answers.



so we attended regularly, varied             chancel houses, over

time.       sit up, stand up, sit down, recite, remember, stand.



up for yourself at last.



do not believe all that you are told, all that you like         to.

think about it.



you wanted  to believe that you believed that.



the truth is.



you did not.



sbm.

we live rural.i have an immersion for        hot water,

and for work.  along side research and     hot baths

keeps the days flowing.



there is a gas pipeline crossing near us, yet not with

us.next door neighbour is the gas man yet not required

locally.he has bottled stuff while i have                    not.



mary was stuck behind a lorry delivering the      latter

so was later arriving here.                                       today.



i switch it on each morning then evening though they

do say it can be economical to leave it on all day. i have

not tried that.



yet.



sbm







shot_1352188558571

you have been away for ages

said the bear, with no speech marks.



yes, two weeks. remember you use

italics.



i spoke to you each day.



how come when you left me at home?



your voice is in my head,



see.



yes



sbm.

no mash, laid on stuffing. i tasted it,          reflected

on the day. natural history musem            taxidermy.

two floors of victorian cabinets. dust & formaldehyde  .



fish in bottles.i went to see some beetles you know

all pinned and tiny labelled.   all gone for cleaning.



that evening at dinner he pulled my leg over labelling

& asked me where i shopped. did mash really depress?



i left the stuffing.



sbm.

the boy plays on his own, in water                                                                  it can’t be helped.

machines work less in cold,                                                  sheds and lack of encouragement.

the dream, frost cancelled a while. visitors came,                 the day proceeded gently with

stops     and dictation,                                                                                                 who is this?

spring came.   each road a picture, slowly staring,                          visual overload resulting.

i could not breathe

for wondering.

the lime kilns are empty now.

sbm.

see them sometimes while driving out the area,

or should i say whilst?



eyes stray while driving, could that be whilst?  it

does not happen here much, daily in aberystwyth.



by the pier.    keith the photographer films them.



a lot.



all together flying, in harmony. wish people would.



really.



round here, small groups fly up.



birds.



sbm.







shot_1483196453503

irregular, you came, your best clothes shining.    humming               . the first tune hit the mind, patterns and mathematics.         the kindness that is.                                             glass reflecting.



slowly it starts.



maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.          count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us

onward.



while all around is broken, shall we mend and tidy this little bit.   shall we change the linen, white and clean.            lean toward a better place round us, start again?



he said. machine you see.



searching i find nothing.                                                huge in front of me, that machine is stuck.



sbm.







ab

. one wish.

that all

folk. be

kind to another,



each other.the one next

to the one next, repeating.



a photo challenge.





sbm.

numbers came suddenly, soon after one. nothing added any more, all began to subtract, divide, the result algebraic there are no rulers, lines to divide, the total is irrelevant now, the addition foremost. i have been to the counting.

initially, crossed the  sea to the land, from one to another, then, talking. crossed the narrow bridge spoke of the past, you know what i mean.                                                                       courage to walk

away.

a book about death. 14.

sbm.

irregular, you came, your best clothes shining.   never mind. the first tune hit the mind, patterns and mathematics.   the kindness that is.



he said. machine you see.   glass reflecting.            slowly it starts repeating.   the walls of differing colours.  we have the dvds.                                          on and on repeating on and on repeating on and on repeating.



back to the counting, how many have there been, how many are left still standing. an issue for some, yet we  amend the figures here and move on. lucky ones,            maths divides and decimates others.



1.2



repeating.



sbm.

Posted on March 6, 2017



we will not have blankets, if there are none, take the old rags, layer , stitch and stitch by hand till fingers bleed.



work is steady,  absorbsion  as if the outside world is ended.    looking up find it has not.     stitching can be rhythmic, and never mind the capitals.                  other words confound.   birds beat the window.



the questions came that i cannot answer here   or ever.   did not count this time only the final one.                                     noticed the first ones  are now undone. the wrong knots.



maybe we need to check our numbers at the end to see if one or more are missing. ? we need to count them carefully, one side then the other?

work along the coast with thread and diligence. gather wools, layer carefully, we shall have warmth this winter.

eight thirty  till five.   it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning wasting time with wires and connections.



cover the surface.   it takes time.



sbm.

it is a new little ribbon, for you. i will tie here, yet not too tight.   it has been a long time now.   yes.

. a long, long time.



thread bare.    nap worn                           the                 warp       shows through.   sounds sweet, none of this plush and sensuous stuff.



the dream, the shroud parted a while. visitors came,                         the day proceeded gently with          stops     and dictation, who is this?            we worried over news, trembled a while, gathered back the warp, the weft.                                      today we continue.



much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.



it don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.



sbm.

they did not know she had millions, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                         catalogued in eternally.



words affect us deeply.   voices  come and go.                                           while the worlds spins with  people’s chaos and confusion.       yet.           above the noise of the day     they show me birds and insects          did you know they cross their fragile legs?





did you find a pin there, did you pick it up and stick it?   did you stay safe, wrap the shawl around and hold    it   close?        did you see my life breaking, bring me pins for mending? …



stick in be safe , despite the pain and raddled cotton threads.   to hold my life, hold the rusty hinges, prepare the coats of varnish again     .                    remember your mother’s pins, my friend.

be well in your mending.



she asked what it is all about. just everyday things to look at, nothing to buy, like in a museum with strings and labels.

sbm.

repeat.

vivid(2+3)=vivid(5)

or

vivid(2+3)-vivid(5)

is nought.

there is nothing found.

yet algebra and geometry are used

to build the castle.        this is vivid.

this is maths.

sbm.

power and beauty
stone and steel.
rise above
mud and wood.
swarmed by
worker ants.
world without end.

wyn is a poet.

a visionary.
monkeys and tigers
stalk welsh hills
the
satanic mills
of his imagination.

he is the blake
of the a470.

did he once see
angels on peckham rye
too?

i expect he did, i expect.

we will not know
unless i ask him.

he will tell.

yet not when
his colleagues
are listening.

he may be shy.

balfour beatty.

sbm

sun hit the sea,

i was blinded,

by my own

shortcomings.



sbm.

she talked rapidly

about family,

history, opera, poetry.



i idled,

listened a bit,

eyed her clothes.



wished i dressed liked that,

treat myself,

et cetera.



then.



she told me

that

her uncle,

in war painted

white crosses on men who deserted.



an aim for those

who shot them.



she said,

he was never the same after.



©sbm

win or lose.                    hedge  your edge.

write of parlay.             slowly ending bet.

forbidden child!             drift into another.

world.                                               tabbed.

dice or other  games.

no one wins…..

sbm.

is left behind with tiny writing. salisbury cathedral.



the back way. written in latin for those who matter.



those words and those words

an historian uttered sent me reeling          outside.

where air is cleaner.



oh , by the way

left you both there too. were you trying to appease

the barons?



sbm.

time is limited these days. those one admired in youth devastate us now.   can we know all things, we only went twice ?   the back road was littered, rather blustery.   today   clouds blow in, leaves crake.

i took the shorter route this morning.



sbm

we have a few.



we had a storm.



one broke, we bought another.



the assistant suggested house insurance.



sbm.

use the word, good.



it makes more sense.



to me.



radio four,

was only on for company.



sbm.

water flows down this valley. wind blows

round our houses.i have said it before.yet



seems that those who should know better,

talk of gods, may judge the             people .





live in remote places.



between mountain, sea.      the land becomes



dry.



this arid land.



sbm.

there are moments when we have no words.



moments when we stutter repeatedly. nerves

kick in.



there was a time far ago.       when we slurred.



when we suffered.

we threw the crutch away.



sometimees we fall over.



still.



sbm.

work is steady, absorbsion as if the outside world is ended.    looking up find it has not.





stitching can be rhythmic, and never mind the capitals.             other words confound.



birds beat the window, damp now,                                       little feathers hoping for food.



now we  descend into darkness.



so you think i wear a cotton dress, while all round is storming,                      i do not.



i wear pyjamas.



sbm.

warmer now with rain.there is a nasty bend.

eric and phillip named it so.                we slow.

see

the snowdrops drift.



turn to meifod, feeling the way, note the

camp, the little hideout just up the lane

past the coach park.



some places  so unremakable we shine.



a pleasant day with pickles.



sbm.

ants in the kitchen will leave by easter. he said it should be on the same day each year; he is learned, pronounced as two bits.

dusting

cobwebs away, yet not all of them. an old house., national trust where all is care and cleaning. they leave some now for authenticity.

it has been a wet winter, look at the water stains in the fireplace.
do not fret, i know you worry, i will paint it over in the spring.

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that.
sbm

they killed it.

without hesitation.

it glittered like starlight, fine, upstanding, an

example of kinship, solidarity. dead. they

killed it dead.

it shone with kindness and friendship

so they deliberately made it die.  now

they continue to ****** what is left,

as they have done before.

it was a good thing.it was different. that

is all.

sbm.

a rabbit lives by there

among the green scented branches.



peoples’ litter.



sbm.

you may think that when you search the words

you may find fruit, the type that drips on eating,

mostly down your tee shirt or other      garment.



here we gets hip hop and pop art which is cool,

yet not as refreshing as strawberries, raspberry

and lime. some time we needs a damp flannel.



randomly i see that the little      iron has been

replaced in monopoly. glad i already have one.



somewhere.

sbm.



daily post – juicy

not keen on the word really, sounds somewhat    toiletry

or

occurring in a natural place/ america, or grizzly big furry

thing

that

may be a myth.

crouch is also disliked for one of the above, and the end.

the synonyms are disagreeable as far as i can see, so

i shall sit here nicely.

sbm.

sound sounds like this in english. sounds familiar.

in the morning,             heartening                 lorries,

mansel davis, north to south and back again reverse

turn.



garden, sounds fresh so early,                           outdoor

noise.      indoors,

the radio plays.                                             brittle.      news

mumbo jumbo of politics.



birds sing.



tinnitus continues,                                                 softer now





sbm.

so she has suggested that  this god may be a girl, and / or  somewhat feminine.

last week I said that gender is over rated and that I do not believe such things.

we talked of the random nature of everything, and while in agreement there

are still issues between us.

I shall say that if there is a god, who is gender based, may she be kinder than

if there is one now,                                                                                                 is.

and learn better grammar than me, and forget the punctuation.

sbm.

biggest leaves in the lane, no one swept, bothered. we hurried by seamlessly,      or did we? some of us looked, a few of us bothered.    some of us helped each other. it is always a nice day.



your birthday.



you are younger than i ; stride out  quickly. walk down the estuary. it is good to hit the sunny patch and hear the bird call. a cold day today.



enjoy your

birthday.



sbm.

my heart leapt, when he said.                                                      his home, he can see the beauty there.

with reality and fiddling.     films it.   forgets the language, passes the garage    and looks to me to talk

of the succulents.

yet what can get better than this, no jealousies, no expectations, no anger,     when none is needed.

when all around us is raging, rain against blind window,                   mid winter. music plays, soft covers  sooth, plain thoughts.

why do some wish for perfection, in all things.                that in mind. there is no formula,no rules, only their own desires   which                                                                                  can lead to disappointment  .

sbm.

serious matter making tea, then dinner.

cake with fruit, later vegetables      with

home made gravy.                           i know

there are more serious things.      i have

done them.                                            a lot.



it is just that

i do not wish to talk about them at     this

time.



jack , a dull boy.



sbm.

it says that most people are aware of the dangers of sunbathing

and that it is another adjective.



we had some of those yesterday.       plain words affect me deeply.



in the btahroom there is a book about womens’ health and beauty.

chapters on skin care from years ago before the war,   the second.



paragraphs on the dangers of being tanned, it says it looks common

like a working person  out of doors.                                  things change.



the book remains

in the bathroom.



sbm.

passed over by accident, the
thing occured naturally,
without clerics. without beatitude.

given by friendship, yet
piety slowly eroded.

they come now with learning,
holding large words, a different language.

the charm now gone,
perhaps they did not need it any more.

once again, it is said, that,
they speak latin. made
the word bleed.

sbm.

a small thing, ragged.



who knows all of it,                   pieces

torn away.                                 framed.



an exhibition again.                 Christine.



only you know most of it.       Christine.



sbm.

this is not a word i have used much recently, if i did it will be related to plants i expect.



adjective.



i may use plush in regard to velevet clothing, cloth, clothed. another adjective.



i shall not use it as british informal language, describing ****** attraction. no.



adjective.



i will prefer to write about fabrics or gardens. mostly.



this is a daily thing. here.



sbm.



daily post – lush

frozen, the code will not work, nor will the counting with interruptions, all things moved about. there is a discount, on top the discount, so a discussion ensued on buttons.

now there is an understanding.  the season of it all fits, the picture is made the pieces are in place. left on the tray, photographed for all to see.



talked in numbers and rhythms. a train passed, gulls flew the heat haze. on return, no one spoke.



i have written of them before, now in sign and symbol, i regard, that ‘again’ brings a sense of permanence, that familiarity does not always mean contempt , yet continuity.



spring comes round, and we keep the litte things, again.



sbm.

.charleston farmhouse screen .


criticize , critique, where is the difference?  read  google. read wikipedia and you will

see that eventually it becomes too much.                                                     that fateful day.



some say you have lost your memory,                                            think of the wrong name.



there are others remain the same.                                                  it may only be one sentence

yet is still part of the story.



an unfortunate phrase.



his name was             duncan grant.

two panels. there is no photograph.



sbm.

with great love and care ( adverb) he made them. each one             by hand.

most were killed before breakfast. visitors asked to see the bodies,  having

none, he imported them from abroad.                                    more  killed than

the somme. thousands after dawn.                         he has models now of dead

soldiers, some with arrows in.

small scene          first world war,                            glow in the dark.    memorial.

having spent time among his battles,   i went and ate a donut.           lovingly.

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.



the day before  we  drove to

montgomery.



sbm.

i often wonder if i              should recognise you

in passing,                            or are you gone now?



should i remember your name & your brothers.



would i laugh at the experience,      as happened

yesterday.



he walked straight past me without       blinking.



i guess i am plain now, without no fancy hair style.



blinking.



sweet heart.



sbm.



daily post



sbm.

solitude is usual ,              even welcomed.

trips out reveal another state. the mind
and all travelling            excites, , i await
silence.

again.



he asked me a question, then i replied.

endlessly.                      it may be a gift?

ash escapes the brain

into    air.

days left,

three voices

rise, until just

one

is heard.


sbm.

overcome by woollen mills,

things on a window       sill.

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.



he said he can uplift my carpet

whilst    sounding very biblical

it is quite practical.   the notice

indicated that I could        pray.



maybe not this day.



sbm.

i posted it, titled it.                                 civil war.

stopped and wondered how any war, any fight,

any death, anger and destruction. any child hurt.



can be termed, ‘civil’.



even with punctuation.



marks.



double meanings.



sbm.