you ask for serenity

yet

i have nothing here
in word.

i will make photographs….

from painting

i have a book.



i thought the light was strange,

white glancing the grass,

cut now, buttercups gone.



he spent three days cutting,

the dog long side.    sleeping.



this morning, we have

frost in may.



the book is in the back room.



sbm.

(notes i wrote)

it seems you can google verything

and put your life a right

i just paints, and if you

read Terry Frost

you will understand.



drawing lines
in paper, cutting,
bleeding the lead
into showers,
and explosive marks


the power house rears its head again
pouring images down
like rain
while gavin bryars plays



repeated



jesu’s blolod never failed him yet

unlike the titanic

which sank

i like the idea of finding family.



spit can create connections.



meanwhile down the road, the

memory differs.



spit.



sbm.

driving here on sunday morning
is easy too. always a worry about
weather on the mountain during
winter.

it chucked it down yesterday. i was
on the bus over to the lake. white
on the higher reaches, slush on the
windscreen, wipers busy until the

bird hit, all grey and feathers. it
may have been a pigeon once.

the wipers turned back on with
windscreen wash as extra with
a shocked silence.

i drew the power house again
yesterday
with no thought of promises
made.

had it all been different i may
have taken further education
you know.

faith in the garden,

that some one will care

tend, the beds, grow rhubarb,

again. a crown is cheap on ebay.

they have made raised beds,

left proper pots littered,

here and there,

an inspiration to some

who pass. a disappointment

for those who seek perfection,

head for disppointment.

buy a little tin for seeds

to keep them dry, buy an old bucket

ready for the fruit patch.

clover.

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

you were awake so early
yesterday and
i hope that day went well
for you

the day in the city was splendid
around the docks & liverpool
one

we went up the eye, the big
wheel despite the wind & vertigo

felt the admin in the tate was splendid &
told her so

she comes to stay in garndolbenmaen
on holidays

a firm voice demanding that all body parts
were kept behind the lines & we did so
while others did not
forgot

we are safe & i hope you guys are
too

do you work on sundays
like i do?


6.35
warm, cosy
there is a storm outside
the knapweed is going
over
now

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

warm day, dry . we need to post
the letters. wander down among
the houses. well kept, small front
gardens.

this is new look, how long has
it been there. i know about this,

look, i am right.

it is a good scooter. i will
watch you and
gather grass seeds, as i did
when i was small.

i am still not very big.

sbm.

woke,

not knowing the day.

i blame the varnish!

like a ghost in the night,

man handled by friends…..

Any tips for posting photos here?

I am unable.

yes i saw that

am used to copy and paste

where do i get the url, and what does url mean

i am older now

am googlying
yet i see the images
are from online
when i wish to upload
from my laptop
files

i have done one via facebook

yours is numbers

with a pro pg

and thanks for the feature thing

i will get used to things

in my time

i have done one via facebook
yours is numbers

with a pro pg

Another way is to click on “more options” and then on “upload file”.

ok thanks

where does that look like

is there an icon?

i best get back to the twigs

sincerely thanks for

your help

i guess i always
hope that things
will be the same

patrwm is welsh for pattern.



pattern can be lovely, grand

and decorative.



some can be ugly.

repetitive.



it is part of the family.



genes.



sbm.

it has been so, so many years. dormant.



hurts and atrocities.



you did not know you said it.

did not remember.

did not mean it.



sixty years later, passed it forward

when you shouted.         this is how

things go                                   round.



for which i apologise.

hurts and atrocities.



sbm.

here this morning, treading one note at a time,

pointing toes, wondering about the roof

next door in all this wind.



vedro con mio diletto



now the days grow lighter, my head is

tied back on, and all seems well.



it all sounds worse than it really is,

the beams , you know, do creak so.



it is an older house, direct line will

not insure, as it does not conform.



i use another company.



sbm.

real jewellery

does not go down.

any more.

everyone wears

this stuff.


they have it in

oxford too,

and have you

got a pound

geoffrey?

dark

crossed

X



tucked in with you

look at the eye squint



it is black

nothing can get at  us  here

in the black



you know it all

i have told you                      over



your eye glints in the dark

you look the same              always



and



you say nothing



people walk by



it is a long time since i drew a bear of wool



((it is about abuse / homelessness/ the need for a place of safety))

bakers

cafe



near the works along the high street

traffic free

a treat

while shopping

while  cathedral closed  doors



gained  comfort  further

up the street in morgans

all good fabrics





we thought it had closed

too

are we fading gently?



the sign was  hand written

we need a tv

no witnesses nor mormons

in pencil



i was gone some time

past tense can be horribly traumatic

hope the worst is over and a gradual improvement
is happening

each day
each day

hope you are looked after with hot drinks and quilts

books on bikes
and other tales

if i were local i would bring you something of comfort

and say that i hope you get better

each day
each day

. ghosts.

i tell you this. there are some do not believe
yet will not sleep there, while others will, and some
wish to be invited.
there is one that talks to them,
in the auditorium.

the seats are down.

some photos show nothing,
as does the work, i produce.

yet it means something, if
you go to look.

i tell you this, put on your nicest clothes,
go to the theatre , chase
your  ghosts.

there is nothing to be afeared.

here.

sbm.

taken a while, slowly,
slowly the things came,
collected for the box.

to say thank you.

i layed a leaf, a number,
ensuring it was not 13.

i would not have minded,
but she may.

the photograph fitted,
then she said she likes
rusted metal,
a piece from the boot dump
then. declared.

explained that at the
post office, to hope
it passes customs.

sbm.

is pure cotton. check. we can sew straight lines.

i had imagined the house shrouded, in cream linen.

ties. yet.

they said it is mostly green gingham nowadays.

they sew on mondays, twelve till three, any thing
that is required.

it is a big old house, quite dark to stop the fading.

there is an example.

i can tell you so much more. yet.

maybe it is best to see for yourself?

i saw green gingham check.

sbm.

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.

. 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

on the latter I concluded for myself that maybe best to do as we feel and think that is our choice to make.

we can give and think the person may be fake, or the other thought is that they may not be ….

there is no replacement for mummy’s hammer or its official    name.

i saw one of a different style today…

more gutsy,  i laid it straight, removed the things for                charity.

the boxes all looked very well.                                                           no dust.

none that i can see. phillip glass is eighty now, the hammer from 1930

or soon after.

the middle drawer.

sbm.

to talk of dead folk

i was quietly drawing
at the old table and as

one can, I felt someone

behind me on the work
shelf

i turned
as it skittered away
with its prize to chew

outside

the last of my dead
mummifieds is gone

eaten as before

i am drawing some odd

stuff these days. meanwhile

my mobile still makes capitals
so I changes that

the breeze comes through the
window

while down by the hedge I get
bitten

it is a four bedroom house



paid for.



nice

comfortable, full of fancy.



she says they are hard up

need a new car for the dog



i left early saying my door was unlocked.



had tea

listened to the radio

an interview with the homeless

is this inspired by brymbo man,
or the medieval manuscript?

i have seen other work, more
valuable, skill full, commercial.

yet it is the smaller things,
that keep us busy here,
a forgotten word, shattered glass
and insects.

gold kicks in to try to claim
importance.

yet, it is just a little thing.

this time.

it is for sale,

sbm

so it is in sun shine,

early evening, window open,

dust rises.



slanted light, dog lays,

weary.



a day of small things,

slowly steadily worked.



a day of fledglings,

a tiny song.



as we rest the dust motes,

shine as gold.



remember this……..



sbm.

i have always liked little monkeys
desired a live one as a child for company

now it is those advert ones for tea

pg tips
a promotional thing

i find them in the charity
shops

then while at dinner one
christmas
kept the ******* ends

to make them party hats

i should take a photograph

it is a simple thing.



we hope for independance, privacy.



so we google, ask advice and listen.



take our time, let the thought wander,

heal ourselves.





we can even mend the  typewriter,

gifted by a friend, now there is a lovely

word.



soap cleans the ink away; the wind will

blow the water, dry the chimney,

clear the floors.



we have kept the old ribbon,

in a box.



sbm.

i asks my google for a reminder at six fifteen



she say reminder set, at what time?



so i says quarter past six



she says ok it is set for six fifteen



i blink

oral commands work sometimes

here

another time it does not



i tried talking to the light

yet no one answered as nothing is set



in that respect

yet



at jamaica inn those days

they had no alexa

only servants to do

the deeds & random chores



no promise of an answer for and of

everything

encyclopaedias in between



with the surprise

of spelling it right

i feel



i forget what the other word was

who so mrs ciano ?



are you blest, is this

how to say your name?



ask the curator, learn

another world, where

not all is at it seems.



it is just an opinion.



they took the paper, the cotton

away.



sbm.

who so mrs ciano ?



are you blest, is this

how to say your name?



ask the curator, learn

another world, where

not all is at it seems.



it is just an opinion.



they took the paper, the cotton

away.



©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.

run in parallel lines, find words have no control. the lake on the other hand, padded , dark through medieval floating green. a day of shifting gravity, i wonder to slip

in gracefully,

after diving nicely

clear eyes ,

bound throat.

remember the cold ness of the day.

glow in groups of style and ease. now.

die back gracefully or be
trimmed?



sbm.

a positive gift, a hobby,

unlike philately and slovenly.



it is meticulous,  and out

of doors, so very healthy.



slowly collect plants

carefully, while grading

size and colour. as they grow

regrade, dry, press in bibles

ready for the fray.



I have read of this, will

take it up, immerse and

remember. number all

the specimens adequately

until I die.



I grade, to graven, I have gradened.



sbm.

the other was granny wigs.



the first one was an immigrant .



i do not know if she was a refugee

we have no record and no one alive

to tell.



the rest of the family were casual residents here

going back.



i do not understand why people make a difference with folk.



i came here from england.

this house is straight on earth too
the surveyor said those years back

with slate floors or quarry tiles

except the one room
where the cellar lies beneath

that has wide wooden boards
rarely seen

once the basement stayed
fairly dry
yet recently one notices more
moisture

hash tag
global warming

to make the dehumidifier useful

we spent hours tidying and cleaning
find it was worth it until barefooted

we slipped on the stone steps so
had a bath and went to bed early

i talked to her her about the days we had
before refrigerators. the cold shelf she
called the thrall

meat safes and cheese that lasted

the brown bonnet she wore and me
locking granny in the walk in larder

how she laughed then

my granny

today I wake to pouring rain and know
that I shall not cut the grass today after

all

it is three quarters of an acre

slight mist, the window this

morning shows a softer

green. since the rain.

the oak has started,  new

flowers come through the grass.

while feeding birds, we watch the

smaller things.

gradually all things

grow.

sbm.

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.

raining day, the pram hood smelled. gabardine.



blue white edging patterned              greek style.

sound of water falling,                 puddled apron,

bread in damp paper,         taste of crust corner.



springy, bouncing down green road, my brother

weighting.                                           the other end.



a blanket to pick fluff

&

straps to bind me.



later came other fragments, the whisper of sausages for tea, the promise of marmite,

fragile gas mantles to repace night time candles.



my brothers.



sbm.

were white

now should be

recycled as cleaning rags

lets not be negative or

say dispose



charities are selective about their stock



now



we take it for the refugees , warm coats

with love



*



or maybe we mean trousers

such a thing while some are older
and quite particular; find their own
ways around things

look back and see the pretty room
stove glowing where we toasted buns

folded paper

where the cow lives up the lane, where
we sit by the window to phone each
other

the rain came early
the rain came heavy
as forewarned

i wearied
so
today i stop
a while

to

remember the little image
in my mind

weather warning
again
yet no numbers
no more

your words on coffee rattle my buds while drinking tea. mine later

today brings a dryer aspect, it rained most of yesterday that light refreshing stuff

i looked at the nest and they were staying inside

the day had an odd energy & i felt strung out by evening

listened to music & watched the rain

calls came and visits are cancelled today

so later here than regular, deciding things will change

i too will have like to live more remote

i will try secluded

private

i see the full moon is coming & all will be prepared

to hide or live face on

did he burn the book due to his beliefs do you think
or simply a nasty bloke

do you know that word?

bloke

i wonder it's origins & whether it paints a picture of me
my upbringing
my culture

so we carry on
we carry on

this has been a daily thing
a pattern

all things change with time

enjoy this day
friday
7.19 am
pink light

the robin came down as he cleared the ground,
all red chest, pretty eyes.

we discussed the earth, rich now, without
the stones. we could grow potatoes as they
did here in the war. i have the photograph.

these are fortunate times, while have disliked
the tuber since the flu struck.

there has been a lot of it this year here.

we plan a pretty little greenhouse, all white
with embellishments, red geraniums.

the robin watched, i am told he will like mealworms.

sbm.

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.

early. you got here first
while i was still asleep

worn out & emotional
the bad sort of tired

i prefer the weariness
that comes from honest
work, walking or travelling

i did none of that yesterday
just fiddling and fretting
over news

the new coal nuggets were
chosen wrong & worked out
good with a steady flames,
fluttering sparks to delight

i mended the roof slate teetering
on the kitchen chair and fixed
the guttering

now there is a juicy word
as is spluttering, a song

to be sung here interrupted
by tap dancing mayhap. so

we talk to each other and
carry on, carry on.