who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, rhyme or reason.
breaking of rules,        our hearts
open.                         split a season.

on spring,                 slight chance,
light            or prayers can change.
sons      move in a prouder stance,
yet others rage.

black bird sings   early
the same bird calls late.
sense that nearby
one year came straight.
spring slides. the
moon draws tides.



sbm.

who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, rhyme or reason.
breaking of rules,        our hearts
open.                         split a season.

on spring,                 slight chance,
light            or prayers can change.
sons      move in a prouder stance,
yet others rage.

black bird sings   early
the same bird calls late.
sense that nearby
one year came straight.
spring slides. the
moon draws tides.



sbm.

My thanks to James Stephen for his input on this work.


on the other side
of the path
one yellow flower



early, the crowd came to see the famous arch . laburnum. i came to see the kitchen garden, seeds growing



old words
for things once common
when the things disappeared
the words went with them



some words remain remembered;
scullery, coal scuttle, hod,
broom.

that is yellow.



have a vacuum for
most things
broom is for incidentals,
crevices, or when I'm lazy
'bout getting vacuum out

broom is red
with matching dustpan



i have a vacuum
there is nothing there.

the broom is for

the garden
mainly

or elsewhere for smelling like coconut



sweep your garden ?



slate bits

came from gloddfa ganol....quarry in blaenau.

front yard. leaves fall.





leaves here falling too
a tree here a tree there
so far
soon it will be
all of them together

a collective shed

next 6 months
nothing but bare branches

**

these are the falling days.

did you say whose?



we had hoped to live there, osea.



mud ooz at low tide, fall flat &

wallow.



**** out slowly.

they sold the place to those who sold the place to those.



then those sold it too, to them, who passed it on to those.



we could not live there then.

we live here.



osea. where.

we reared the fire, wild ones flying, walked the shallows, marked

tides.



yet



live here now

instead,

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



no pattern

say yes

it is a habit born not from birth

your nurture

stop no. & think

yes is possible

there is none shame in the opposite

(=  some)

almost rhymes with it



wait a while

initially it was said

that secondly should be

second and initially

should be first



i was confused that

nobody said third

and comforted

by the sound of fourth

memory of moth



there are six of us today and first i read first

and later

went fifth



later will be visited by moths in the window

on the thirteth november i may get the old

observers book of moths

here we like the ordinary

travelling to such places
yesterday
though

bala became extraordinary
the trees come gold
dark birds flocking

down the centre of town
an avenue in fall

and the day came divine

so much changed since the
birth day

so much improved yet
the past remembered
the now appreciated

even with the current
issues

really
it must be the time of year
this restlessness and reflection

mirroring
here and there

here we have changed our seating
to face the fire and candle, the house

cat joins us
except there is only me
when i say we it is a habit
gone on long

and

we don’t mind

it is comfortable here

.  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.

never fails to excite me.with all the talk of leaves

here, falling, i am interested to see another breed

of folk that love and gather.

remind me of roseberry road, the younger days.



sat in the upper room, read his letter to his mum,

about the trenches, the first world war,  wished

to drown his sorrow in  that bloodied mud. the floor

tilted, a scrap lay crumpled.



each room has a different door.

we left, fell the last few steps.



sbm.

used to be in wales, now all shropshire,
borders. a small town with plenty to do.

qubed gallery quoted poetry, refinely
drawn. one man left standing, my face
collected.

salt in abundance, ready for the pigs
head, he really was making brawn,
ear stuck from the saucepan, with
plans for brains on toast for tea.

i lost earth and heaven,
read greengage summer instead.

rummer godden.

sbm.

you may be rendered speechless

again.



i have planned the route, refered the destination.



days of memory.



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.

what does this mean, about a change of bed,

clothes. everyone does it, not a big chore.



though.



when they  do not have a home

a bed. think on it. think on a

broken body, broken mind.



heart.



sbm.

so, said the bear,

‘is there an others day’



no.



‘yet you kept typing it yesterday’



i know. the ‘m’ on y keyboards sticks.



‘perhaps there should be, a special day!’



yes.



i think so too, bear.



sbm.

yes we had marg or dripping
and when there was butter
for a treat there was no jam
on top, nor honeywe had to eat the bread bit before
we got cake
or tinned fruit with carnation
milk
in those days

i bought butter as a friend was visiting
with buns

he watched while i spread it and remarked
that then there were local shops
so i says yes
corner shops

he frowned
and i says
well where i lived
they were mostly
on corners

we ate the buns nicely
with just the right amount
of currants
or are they raisins
in buns?

later the sun was out
and i rakes up the fallen
twigs and stuff and noted
that the council had not
taken the ******* from
last week

anyhows sometimes
while writing like you
thoughts drift into mind

days in lampeter
where we feel secure

and other stuff

birds already singing
6.20 am

small

possibly, yet his life is different to yours.



i have discussed it fully, yet it will remain

confidential.



he is still alseep and will remain so a while.

the bear is a private little soul, these things

affect him deeply.



his life is different to yours.



sbm.

she says that his smile melts her heart.

and boy if you think literal, she is in real

trouble.

physical.



she says it looks more like a rhinceros, probably.



it does, because it is a

rhinoceros.



these things.



sbm.

oh no, do not worry.



they do not cremate

people

until

they are dead.



sbm.

we rise early today, have been warned there is no power

here all day seems to me a good thing. seems to me

that light comes from the sun and life can be good.

without power.



not one of us is better

than the other, maybe different.



sbm.

now the bear is awake.







it was all the disruption disturbed me.



yes.



are they finished now?



no, they will be back again.



i stayed in bed all day yesterday, didn’t i?



yes.



sbm.

that was another life. style and sewing        the work                books.



these will be passed to me later          with particulars on   starching,

gophering, polishing linen. glass works over a few hours. these days.



those days were the foundation for these days. hard work won. there

is another way with privacy and organisation.                          industry .





leave things simple,

leave things be a while.

sbm.

packing things in paper,
becomes the work, performance,
thus,
unpacked remains ditto
the effect.

sound, smoothing,
discovery of found mementos,
blood and rags.

will there be effect,
or as a facebook posting,
to be slid over, looking
for weather and new
connections.

the paper is creased badly.

sbm.

comes easy if you practice,

if you gather leaves, drive the roads

safely.



flatten paper, hope it tears

slightly, obtain a drifting

look with tissue.



white on white always

works to give a ghostly effect.



it may be you just use envelopes.

yet some  find that packets with

string are more romantic.



always thought i was, yet  do

not join into one, i remain separate.



is that an awful thing?



sbm.

comes easy if you practice,

if you gather leaves, drive the roads

safely.



flatten paper, hope it tears

slightly, obtain a drifting

look with tissue.



white on white always

works to give a ghostly effect.



it may be you just use envelopes.

yet some  find that packets with

string are more romantic.



always thought i was, yet  do

not join into one, i remain separate.



is that an awful thing?



sbm.

when all is packed in tissue,
boxes, not to get broke. when

it is ready to go. useless things.

tied hard for transport. when
the work is done, clear the decks.

they are gone, we must carry on.

all we can do,
is carry one.

whispering to you the news,
you said you already knew.

sbm

it will be good to have a job
maybe

i do like working
i like the people
the stories they bring

the journey
up over mountains
past the farms

maybe eggs for sale
i go today

the history of your land is long
short for the incomers

i am an incomer here
accepting gratefully
that which came before me
learning

there was a hedgehog in the back garden
last evening, snortling and bumbling about
nicely

i am glad i left it all to grow wilder this summer

family were out counting butterflies while i was
at the bala studio worrying about ice melting

6.37 am

quiet this morning
easing slowly into
a day

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.

i hope you found your sister well
i like to hear you talk about family

it may help her if you listen well &
it may help another too

the words line up one below the other
yet i cannot remember the photograph
so will go to look

the drawing is mine
as i rather like clouds

some people overlook
these things yet from

your writing
i realise
that you do not

circling the bike
the boys here
do that, look cool

wheelies and touch the bus
in passing by
in the lamp lit square here

some folks complain & write
to the newspaper

i am simply envious of their prowess
the beauitiful skin

sweet columbine who runs so lightly



please be me



flimsy misty dress

little smile of sweet & honest charity



let it be me

let me dance the world away

in black with  white & melody



let them like me & applaud



this world away



#europemyhome

as you know i like foxes

their happy faces with

those pointy noses



do not understand those

that go and **** them for

their own invented reasons



do not get a lot of behaviours

so does that mean i am odd?



when they wave seaside flags

my inside curls in shame

and embarrassment

and

have i spelled it right?

all is not lost, never was
just hidden. a hole, those
years gone.

i went to rio.

there are no photographs

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.

a handy hint is the furthest place,
people like to be near. people may prefer
moving forwards, not looking back too much.

things go round, rebound. it is a lovely
journey, through the mountain range, glory
for writing,

travel journals, while all the while, we think
we travel the other way.

so we did.

sbm

what breed of cows are they?

some are short horns,

the others are the all blacks.

thankyou.

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.

bear knows no god Jared they said that all the insects will die extinct is what they said all the little things & he cannot bear it



a storm came yesterday dark and loud  the landscape veiled

awash a while

black things fade and all is grey



win or lose hedge your edge

write of parlay

we chatted over manners and harboured edges. these things … moved the line into a place of rural contemplation.

you send quite a strong message
within your missive. thoughts on
our vulnerability

how we try to be well; stay
safe

something will get us
at the end

he says people will carry on
the fight; them spending so
much
while
those on the streets suffered
even more this week in  this
storm

suffer intolerably
i have seen them spat
upon



weather continues
plans change……

what to say, when you cannot help.

smile, when the work is overflowing,
when nothing froths properly. milk is not
my favourite thing.

never has been.

those dependant on never eating.
much.

a pause, a comma,here and there, sometimes
confuse. yet know the difficult task comes
easy in time, with practice.

you may not think so when the machine explodes,
covers in embarrasment. there is another mill.

some times it feels awkward.

the looms are still working.

sbm.

winter brings
blind mountain soaked,
peat bogged, sulking
in wet cyclists, heaven colour
of gold on grey again.

he clears the leaves each day
from formal lawn
looks up
as i look at him,
a glimpse
outside .

god is in the small things.
.
pat says.

to think, that maybe driving slowly
is a good idea, with all the sirens
going.

pause a while to correct the mistakes,
remove the tiltles that are
not needed.

launch into space, with ideas which
defy all religion.

it is a quiet place, a book with lists
and crosses.

my brother phoned, i may stay
with him a while.

sbm.

marmalade is good and tangy
tingles the tongue buds

i find the peanut stuff may not
be to my liking

i cannot even taste it maybe
it is a childhood thing
a memory

it has rained here and
that partcilar tree i see
from the window still
has green leaves
unlike the others

looks deco

since i started the last
sentence light changed
the whole cameo before
me

before me hangs the day
beautiful in the now absence
of any timetable

our trip out cancelled
due to weather and other
sociabilities

i did not worry about the cloth
until the texture changed with
a years washing when came the
bobbles

so i desire egyptian cotton
smooth against the skin

expensive at my expense

may i have questionnaire for the

homework?

maybe about allergies

like at the dentist



a recipe

a list

of hysterias



laughing hyenas



i do not mind nuts

yet

i dislike liars

on sundays i watch

gardeners' world early

with coffee



before i gets for work

at mill



giant gooseberries this morning

carefully each in it's own box



penny weights

so he came quite early really,

little fuss or bother, drank

his coffee nicely.



#summerhouse



as did the next one, with

news, that is taken positively.



#belling



so we move forward gently, knowing

now , the man that visited every

sunday, will do so

no more.



#timesup

sbm.

maybe people talk too much about what may have been

or what will be.





it is quieter to wait to see.

reading how the body works, you
will have a better understanding,
yet they do not teach of peptides
at school.

they teach of clever yoghurt in adverts,
i did not know microbes fancy food,
move our choices.

it seems we are not in so much
control, perhaps that is why
we like routine.

rituals.

i read a lot yesterday, then
mowed the lawns and went
empty headed.

sbm.

i have done that
often

all is quiet here now
day after work unlike
you i am part time there

i had a lift yesterday up
and over the mountain
we chatted about the stress
of bad weather driving in
these parts

i feel fortunate that i have
friends to help when my
car is broke
or
if i am stuck in the village
with snow

earlier i saw phil go to open
the church by the house, he
waved

lady in the coat and pyjamas
asked me if i was going to the
service there. i says no i am going
to work
and to ask phil as i did not know

times of the gatherings

she says i looked like i was dressed
up for church

i did not tell her it is a charity
coat far too big, all orange &
always attracting comments

it was a good day at work
at the counting

is an issue,  his head done in, he

don’t do surreal. he does money,

profit, &  a perfectly good hug,

every visit.



then there is the gardener, been

there eighteen years.



very tidy.

no pests.



just me visiting.



sbm.



archaic
bubonic plague.
noun: the pest

is a challenge, with a little

subject every day. for fun.



scour the house, the landscape,

look for shadows, those that may

like you, even though it does not

matter.



i dreamed i cried, i dreamed i

missed him still.



sbm.

looking for mediocrity i only found

those baked in store

so leaving all ideals from family,

thrifty

went the extra score

bought them

two pounds

no bag nor receipt thank you



over coffee we discussed that in london

they can cost that much each and

we had four!



commented as we bit   sweet paste

that

crumbled / melted appropriately & helped

our spelling

when writing of them later

mince is christmas for pi

it is another language