there may be positive thinking,
the day after the cleaning.

after all, one’s problems
aint so bad when we hear of others.

it was hoped the electricity
was off, seems they still
use it in bangor.

this is shocking.

is it really all about shopping?

i think it is more about friendship,
and carings.

it may be said now, that
they do supply prawns.

sbm.

early, the crowd came to see

yellow, the famous arch .

laburnum.

i came to see the kitchen garden,

seeds growing, chives flowering.

humble plant sprout small mauve flowers,

bees come early.

yesterday mostly yellow and mauve then.

bodnant garden.

sbm.

charcoal.

yes

a soft substance

easily crushed,

manipulated.

must ensure,

i am not

sbm.

back and forth,
limited number each time,
counting.

one did not return.
the last crossing.

sbm.

ginko and tulip tree,
along the path.

walk to clear the mind.

further, there are
stepping stones.

walk to the stone,
glimpse black butterfly.

farm to the right,
distant sound.

the gate is locked
at five.



sbm.

i said it were a lovely day, i did not mean the weather.

i talk about the feeling, the mood that did not change, all day,

little tasks that please. planting chives in treacle tins, ironing pyjama pants,

and cotton handkerchiefs.

he warned me the rain would come, and when it did

heavy, we tucked in tight here, enyoyed the darker

green.

then, the rain will stop.

sbm.

writing stuff, not physically,
curled up in the big settee.

opened the window behind me,
talked to pretoria, prettily.

not hard work, packing stuff,
to go, unless big and unwieldy.

midsummer yesterday, it was
not difficult to see it through, warm
and sunny.

dreaming of war tired me.

yellow star houses.

sbm.

tides are higher now,

flooding the paths.


he walked the mud,

bringing the footsteps back to us.


we mop the floors, when the rain stops.


if you leave the boots to dry,

the earth will knock off, neatly.


there was a partial eclipse, the tides are high.

he was a gardener.

sbm.

he was a gardener. sbm.

scarf hysteria friday,
thirteenth, even the spectators
joined in. unpacking the delivery.

polyester kept quiet with electrical
revery, silk excited us in with gentility.

it was the deepset , pleated, spotty,
adjective filled woollen slightly
felted, even reversable at such
a reasonable price, that sent us
over the edge. all was lost after that.

there are two ll s in woollen.

sbm.

etchings are probably finer than carvings, i bet the latter are more country based, as in
rural.  wood blocks made from twenty years .
he has done me a service, how to be happy . no need to buy and sell,        we can  look
and enjoy..
the wax came later, as did the currant slice. neither resisted, the cake        one pound
ten pence.
i placed the white paper bag in the village                                                            recycling.
so very nice to me today too late, i have resigned.                                                 my self,
my work is honest.
i have turned it all upside down, and most of the crumbs are gone, with added blowings.
verb
verb: resist; 3rd person present: resists; past tense: resisted; past participle: resisted; gerund or present participle: resisting

    1.
    withstand the action or effect of.
    “antibodies help us to resist infection”

noun
noun: resist; plural noun: resists

    1.
    a resistant substance applied as a coating to protect a surface during a process, for example to prevent dye or glaze adhering.
    “new lithographic techniques require their own special resists”
    sbm.

they break down that
hard exterior, steam and rolling,
find the soft and curative properties.

add almond, dark dried fruit, stand tall,
look down like alice.

this is the hard world
of discontent. you

may survive.       say nothing.

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.

a simple mistake, typing
e when it shouldn’t be so.
changed the word, the meaning,
the shape of the final text.

it was some time, way back, i met
the theatre, ardudwy. now it is
named harlech, while i start
my residency today.

provided with two cabinets.

sbm.

she came in from the rain,  walking in the hills

for hours. they come most sundays, some all legs

and boots.



very wet.



left her gear outside, still had her coat on. where

are the toilets.  i told her.



I have to go outside?



yes.



she complained.



it is raining.i shall get wet!



yes.



she has been before and had observed that she felt too old for this.



i smiled at her with fondness.



sbm.

have missed it this year, plans never came together,

we meant to go together. i have stayed hotel, while

this is nice, have missed the freedom of the

self catering stay.



so absent from work a while, at home, i pretend

it is a self catering cottage, which of course

it is.

i play, and rest, eat little good things, watch

films till late, and have unsucessful laying  in.

if i was overly concerned with cost, of course

is cheaper.



we lit the fire the first time this  year.



burned your correspondence.



sbm.

‘ this clothes thing is getting on my nerves’



said the bear.



‘i am exactly similar in that i wears what i like, no nonsense,

a satin dress with pearls’



yes.

‘all this fuss and dress code is so out of date, get real’,



he said.



sbm.

he knows stuff, facts,and        figures

while i am astounded.the sun  comes

out by the drawers.    open they show

me birds and insects.      did you know

they cross their fragile legs      and tie

with cotton threads.

did you know that we are the only         ones

who do not eat insects and that            there

are more species of beetles than              any

other creature. having lost the             sexton

i despair while some                                  tick.

they thought it was the soul from the     dead.





i thought penguins were smaller and         that

an elephant had more teeth than                 that.

you let me hold one;  it was so heavy          so you

show me the tusks too, and we talked about trunks

and headaches.

it was hot there and hungry so i went for lunch,

a sandwich, returned later to look through   the

microscope.the man in the museum helped me.

there are fibres everywhere and when our   coat

comes

off he said there is a shower we cannot see only

imagine.

later i saw a sputnick, yet i liked the mothths and

beetles best. so does the man in the         museum.

sbm.

a story nonetheless, as are others. i prefer tintin

with snowy a dog. this year you have not told me,

confided. i have the little things that could mean

much.



not about money, more about family. it may

be time you told them.



it is time to regrade

christmas.



sbm.

surprising what you learn at work, from

carrying a heavy load. the day was slow and dark,

all day, never cheered.  he told that his ancestors

were buried in wool.

his banter had been ignored till this remark.

work stopped , heard  that all             were

buried in wool except the plague sufferers

and the poor.

a five pound fine to those that did not comply,

the register marked affidavit, wool or naked.

it takes some reading, is in wiki, go see.

last night we slept on the

linen sheet, and overslept.

sbm.

to live the life
of pomade and petticoats.

no ajustable waist.

one imagines there will
be no worry, yet the
adjectives will prove difficult
for me,renowned for
few words.

daily checking hips
in slanting mirrors,

reading of heaven over,
which is life on earth
randomly .

gods throwing dice,
rules changing constantly.

i find sadly,
i am not jane austen.

sbm.

spring is on its way,

the ants are in the kitchen.



they will leave by easter

whenever that is. he said

it should be on the same day



each year; he is learned,

pronounced as two bits.



it is nice to see them back

this year. see the snowdrops

too.



sbm.

no fabric left, well
just a tad, not as much as
expected, hoped.

no garments found,
weave named after
the area. in town

made flannel for shirt
underthrift for jacket.

oh how we love a long coat
all sunday best on monday.

with what we have we may
make place mats, or send them
to the other mill, still noisy.

dust in air.

dust in air.

sbm.

notice the gorse growing,

the quarry redundant, is all

zip wires and bounce below.

i have a new photograph,

you look very sweet and handsome.

you were not at home,

so i chatted to your mother.

used to vist that quarry

you and I to watch the train.

tourists come.

45337

sbm.

will you watch the world             treading.



water floats my heart high, reflected red

below,                                              sky above.





will you hold me up when i am failing,  no

longer floating   .   will you play soft music

say



that we are in this together.meanwhile shall

we keep swimming



together?



sbm.

more than we can write. erase
and unpick the seams. words tarry,
waver and leave this place, this room,

scuttle back into corners. sweep the house clean,
cross the words and know that when the time is right,
they will come again, dripping from fingers,
folded , torn, photographed in plenty.

wondered about misspelling, maybe
missed the point?

sbm.

there is lavender
in the fire, someone
is tapping
on the window, patterned
with cracked kings and
predecessors.

sarah’s bible, hand held,
open via perspex
and blue velvet
at ecclesiastes
chapter three.

to everything
there is a
feafon, etc,
in italics.

sbm.

yes, we bought them.

pale green hooks,

for the greenhouse

walls. it is wooden you know.

i will hang the panamas up,

ready for hot weather, and for

effect.

we arrived in town early, waited

outside until she opened.

had seen them before, yet too

ill to decide.

we used those screws that had

been covered white some how,

seemed to suit the task.

we would continue the painting,

yet  wake to rain.

sbm.

some people seeking perfection,
their dream in music
decline.

have their own reality,
ideals, unreasonable
requests.

we found the shade,
missed any remarkable
rainfall, ate the cherries,
at the royal welsh.

no are no demands,
no disappointments.

these are the days,
a repetition.

sbm.

is gone, i will look for it later.

it died in death, laid it gently
in the bathroom, on the soap
box, moving it only when the
ceiling leaked. we have had
some weather.

the pears soap box, has no moth
now, never mind, i shall search gently
in the light.

of day.

sbm.

the notes are down stairs
somewhere.

memory may serve well
to tell you of the diary.

the ladies ate well, with liver sauce
on fish,
and blade bones laid atop.

servants walked to market,
all prices noted down.

indeed small boys swept
the chimney.

inspected after.

in this world we have
wine soaked raisins, pine nuts,
drizzled salad

while those outside
eat burgers.

i cased the joint.

maybe i will use tacks.

sbm.

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.

there were no chives, so we hunted for ferns.

they are everywhere here, we wanted something
in particular, me with my green trowel, gardening
apron.

she was coming up the lane, head down,
i waited. a steep *****.

on looking up she smiled, and chatted a while.

did you know him? she asked, told me he had
died suddenly.

she went on her way, she has moved house
you know.

we went on looking for a fern, and
found one.
sbm

balancing now first time, although the coins don’t quite

fit the tray, using the pointed pen, keeping neatly.



have done this a while, got the rhythm,

the style of dressage and deportment

for one of our station.



i don’t have a badge, so

look with confidence, courage

so they know.               i quickly

fold tidily, imagine i am japanese

and check my hips in the showroom mirror.



i work on sundays, except

when i go on thursday.



so being monday, now

i change the bed.



carry on with the domestics.



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 on the succulents

that grow on gabions.



my heart soars that we have

a beautiful home, with

few expectations

now.



sbm.

peppered with softer marks,
light washes, while we are
all dishevelled, worried
about nothing in particular.

did you find a clean hankie
leaving out the d, you felt
should be there.

did you read the history,
yesterday, or did you
just sketch and draw
the chorus.

the day dawns, who is weary. tell me.

sbm.

hell no. i cannot think of it everyday,

nor have regrets, ignoring memes.





held deep and private,   a way

to live.



think.



remember what you said.

to me.







hell no.



sbm.

he has no knowledge of twigs,
his mother had the secret,
as do i.

he has the knowledge of acting,
it was quite a performance,
as they were the same
twigs.


no photos allowed.
©sbm

to something better, 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 to guide the

next sentence, the composition.

now we ask.

this is the countryside. candle sticks.

sbm.

a book of a certain size,                                                             some prefer content and romance.

having moved things around                                                    the cat finds contentment near the

books on mental health.



she said it is especially nice for children.                              i think everybody, yet do not reply.





the cat has aspergers,

the dog is black.   the

case is               finally

diagnosed.         she is

married              again.

the dvds are in alpha

betical order         tidy.



to get out again you must press the big button. most people forget until all the     pushing

fails. is this helpful? probably for some it is ,                        while others pay 30p for printing.





sbm

i guess yours sleep in bed,
clean and cosy, safe, loved and cherished.

others love and cherish , yet their families
sleep in mud, on streets, wherever they can find.

they have left the place where bombs drop on children.

yes. a person simply decides to drop barrel bombs on children.

on everything.

now be angry.

sbm.

i was asked a couple of weeks,
ago if i looked out for the lorries,
would i describe.

no, not any more.

yet, the bridge is small and narrow,
seems room for two to pass.

looked up, saw everyone watching
the big blue lorry stuck. still.

time passed, onlookers lost interest,
while gradually the lorry moved.

left the bridge. a coach came next.

a narrow bridge. there is another
in machynlleth.

sbm.

to be spoken in clear voice…



howard rose profoundly swearing ; his end perforated  with a rose thorn from the thicket

his friends found his behaviour boring, wondering what he had been boring down there in the hedge

howard removed his suit to apply the ointment to his wound, yet it did not suit his skin.

he felt inclined to seek help for this affliction, got up to quickly and fell down the incline.

‘**** it’ he yelled,’ now i have ripped my trousiers and do not know how to **** and mend them’

so he hid in the shed where he shed all his garments and bared his soul.        
                                                                                                                                                                       tada!

cymer, a confluence of two rivers.



if  one ran different, if each thought  were deeper.



tide pools,   north and south,

the moon fills and the current

stops a while.



our  river runs east to west and as the tide pools,

stops a while.



mixing.



take a leaf, watch a swallow, we could be  different.



let the rush stop, stand a while, let us mingle,

north to south, east and west.



no barriers.



sbm.

chasing the boulder.

having looked before,
i looked again on my way,
past the laundry cottage
on the bend.

low tide indeed, no
**** up with the tide, sand
showing.

back along, slow and glance,
see the thing, reverse return.
standing proud, the wooden boulder,
david nash sculpture. me in dancing shoes,
the river bank deep mud.

i had to photograph it.

quite badly from a distance.
i will go again.

i liked the montbretia.

sbm.

* notes ( i have not written notes a while )
Montbretia
Crocosmia is a small genus of flowering plants in the iris family, Iridaceae. It is native to the grasslands of the Cape Floristic Region, South Africa. They can be evergreen or deciduous perennials that grow from basal underground corms.

*extra note

David Nash is known for works in wood and shaping living trees. His large wood sculptures are sometimes carved or partially burned to produce blackening. His main tools for these sculptures are a chainsaw and an axe to carve the wood and a blowtorch to char the wood.

so now, here is the thing.



as a kid i was not allowed

crisps.



gran disapproved

& mum had little money,

on her own with four

of us kids to feed.



it is just potato.



i had game chips when

i went to the marsham



court hotel to dance

the new year in. i wore a kilt.

my mother did not come.then

my nice brother went to work

on the railway. one day in secret

he bought me a packet of my own.



early employment as a cook

entailed cooking crisps, oh joy,

& paid for it.



these days i eat them as & when i like.



#salty



sbm.

it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss

on each cheek with out avoidance.

it may seem continental, yet we are

dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,

near the church. there are similarities,

yet this is not a metaphor.

we met at ten, talked of family,

one hour led to two, and overstepped

the parking time.

later in the garden, i thought of you.

i cut the paths and thought of you too.

it is a gift.

sbm.

run in parallel lines,

find

words have no control.



the lake on the other hand,

is on the road to bala,

not llyn celyn,

padded , dark through medieval

floating green.



a day of shifting gravity,

i wonder to slip in gracefully,

after driving nicely

clear eyes ,



bound throat.



remember the cold ness of the day

on the moor, gently home

to a warm white bath,

hot water to seal.



parallel minds,

deviated.

it is a relaxing place the library,
free rental on a dvd if you borrow
books.

a barry hines. all creatures great
and small.the enemy within, a short
history of witch hunting, recommended

by the boston globe, and a guide to
the king james bible, the english language,
words like begat, horribly afraid, goats and swine.

a lovely children’s illustrated for inspiration, delight.

we built blocks, read jokes, talked of mending,
forgot our toys.

i read asher lev….

the dvd didn work.

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.

make bombs with razor bits
to explode and cut people up.

to ****, and dismember, some
one picks the bits up, to carry
home in a bag.

child.

two thousand and fourteen.

it is raining today.

sbm.