we have been there while it is open.

we went there when it was closed. when
no one tidied, while the apples grew.

we sat the geat chairs in all weathers.

now it is open again, and all the flowers
grow.

cywain

sbm.

warm, a sudden breeze.

as you like it.

from the valleys they came,
to act, entertain, travelling
troupe.

eye to eye, interaction, plenty
of action, and oh,
the costumes all pretty
in that green place,
with a hey
and a **.

birds sang, ants crept.

we laughed, sang, danced the lane
forgetting the path.

it was, as we
like it.

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.

i do not wait for the alarm,

just the red bar on my gauge.



it is a quiet village, a name

i can’t pronounce. so i stopped

for fuel.



how nice, an attendant, probably

owner/mechanic came, took my

keys and did it all for me.



whilst chatting about the day, how

the nights draw in, and i felt cosy.



a softer voice than some, his clothes

hard working.



i asked for twenty quid’s worth

to see me home, and a chomp

at 25p.



i shall stop there next time.



comfortable.



sbm.

a busy little thing, buzzing down the estuary,

then back again, up and back,                          practising.


in order to acquire, improve or maintain proficiency in it.
“I need to practise my French”



no clouds to cover .                               it was a gentle day

of gardens, les cloche and legume given freely.



the pronounciation was not at all as it should be,

the company all welcome.



later the v22, toy osprey.                           delight.



sbm.

did you read some time ago,
about the old garden. the men
who felled the trees, lowered the terraces,
months of noise, clatter, tan llan.

do you know that on visiting,
gasped at change , beauty
quality of light.

it is a lesson to remind,
change can be a surprising

thing.



pleasantries.

sbm.

i like the look of wild growth
i like the old garden in montgomery

although my passenger declared it a mess

i worked with a girl this year who studies
wild things, sustainability

a difficult spelling

she says this wild way is best

modern
culture has nutured tidy in the
minds

though i notice a surge in love
for wild flowers

to resist the mowings along the roads

yesterday i left the tall grass and watched
the butterflies there

my daughter gave them names
while indoors again find
no observers book of moths
or butterflies

now back on line
i may
ebay

did  the bird survive?

we must try to save the trees
we must try to save it all

regards
have a pleasant day

Sonja

6.42
heat warnings
limited train service
rails may buckle

( a rhyming poem. homage to cold comfort)

it all happened down the woodshed

she said.



not the garden shed

then? he said.



no you see the shed i mention is designated for wood

and should

be used for that.



while a garden shed

she said

stores the mower and other tools

and it did not happen in there

it happened elsewhere



in the woodshed

see

she said

so if the seat is not level,

we slide.

if the leaves grow,

we can hide.

quiet. see the paths wind,

the grass grow.

talk about everything.

sbm.

he admitted it was not working properly,

yet they still bowed thier heads and said it.



have they thought of changing it all,   back

to basics. we fear it is to late, it has all been

going on so long.                      too many of us.



he gave his opinion which seems disloyal, yet

they had polished the floor, which

placed the garderobe off limits.



sbm.

seen from the window,
the gate is open.

the grass cutter comes,
spends the day,
into dusk.

the gate is open,
the grave digger
working.

the gate is open this
morning. birds fly.

sbm.

i could have bought it,

travelled to town, spent a lot of money.



others are famous  in paperback,

or hard cover, some are chaps, and other

words i do not get.



they write to me of stanzas

and i google the word effectively.



no, i did not buy it,

once again i made a gift,

for you.



handwritten.



sbm.

i was given a gift . not wrapped

just given.      before the winter

festival, before the anniversaries.



the gift was given

gladly received.

if i believed in all that i guess i would give thanks, yet  give thanks anyway.

one has escaped.



sbm.

given.



received.



loved.



broken.



mended,



loved.

there but for the grace,
go i, you, maybe three.

there has been critisiscm
on spelling, living , even hedges.

yet there but for the grace.

some things are simply
said.

sbm.

your writing delights
in the latter sparseness

the initial intensity

i enjoy reading it
coming to life
before me

beside me the window open
an owls sounds
yet no lorries
on the road yet

remember and

we touch the wall
where the car crashed
that time back
remember how he died
how my friend tried to
help

so we carry on

sequel….

so my house keys are with my car keys
at the garage now
i have spares of course
in the house

which i used to lock up at night
however
this morning will not unlock
the door
not at all

so we goes out the back by y bryn
down the track, along the lane up
the hill

to outside the front
at which point the key works

wild cats waiting
there for food

glad to say the grey one is back
not been seen for a week or so

i keep spare keys at neighbours
not much use when we are
locked inside…

it is a funny time of year

we saved our money and earned  a bit

with paper recycling carted down the yard



same cart we took the guy down the road



penny for the guy mister sir?



to buy our fireworks



a penny squib cost you know

and

jumping jacks got banned



rockets in bottles, dead ends collected after

sparklers at arms length

light the blue touch paper and retire

back

the word of the time



nail the catherine wheel and hope for the best



such grim anniversaries



sparklers remain for cakes at birthdays

though

celebrations are limited now by health

and safety rules

and group bookings require firemen



thinking

back

remembering

my brother’s panic racing up the flaming fire

to rescue his lumberjack hat



he survived

so the lights are fused, upstairs only.

the lamps work, they are plugged

in sockets of course, so that is

a different matter.

unlike anti matter.

so we have a torch, and candles

in the bathroom, which light up

the place nicely. inspires photography.

some videos not shown yet.

the handy man comes once

a month, mostly on a tuesday,

nine thirty till four, he can turn

his hand to most things, as

can i.

yet teetering on a ladder, i have not

the energy to lug the fuses out.

so we wanders in the dark, it can

be a pleasant thing.

we are carefull not to fall the stairs,

having done that before.

wish not to repeat it, interesting

though it was.

sbm.

heres hoping you rode your bike out through your area

to relieve the fever that may come with cold with too much

strong coffee

i remain tied to small things and tiredness still which is fine

when no one comments

then i thinks i have done things wrong again and fret

meanwhile apologise profusely while thinking of a future

plan for the space

are you surprised that the work has come egyptian

that i like his figure

do you have quiche over there?

we have a day at home

the handyman comes

which is handy

is very handy, so now
i have another egg cutter,
coffee grinder, he brings
old things for me, mends
old things for me, generally
repairs and sweeps, the

lower terrace.

ask him anything, he will
discuss, pleasantly. resourceful
is a word i can spell, i tell
you there are a few things i cannot,
do. so i have the handyman come.

also have a windowcleaner. he
did not come, yesterday



sbm.

have you ever gone back,
that painful journey,
watching swallows dip
as if they had never been away.

staggering the stones
you may find god in
water falling.

echoing all the tears
of your life.

sbm.

so i got home,and the wind yesterday has blown some of the leaves away….

taken the holly wreath down  there and surprised to find I was crying.
( ah when you are under the weather things get to you……)
it will be nice to see you. the early days are hard especially this time of year.
your hat has turned into quite a project. i took it to mill to get darning wool,and it was pointed out that lots of the holes are indeed eyelets, and what a splendid hat it is.
also spoke of leaf bags and she said that if one have had the bags a while they will start to degrade…..
how much needs mending?
sbm.

should one be listening?                        it is common courtesy, after all,

yet minds designed to wander,                         do so, through the glass

door where the waitress hoovers,               reveals her scottish descent

whilst delivering our coffee and the single biscuit each.            miscounted .

one  left over. no one takes it.       it feels like being in a hotel, she thought.

it is old. the floor slopes nicely, warm .                      the chairs supportive

while the sore throat slides gradually in….

sbm.

is retrospect. something to do with the war,
yet do we remember?

if it is light in the morning, then it will be
dark in the afternoon.

this is autumn, light fades, natural phenomena.

colour changes, we use the rooms, play the radio.

travel to see the mood. stay to feel the night.

this is the hour. nothing has changed.

yet.

all is changed.

sbm.

having written of the hour,

move on when all is lost.

the days remain

timeless.

today, we walk the woods,

back home.

yes, i like that
a spy fly

looking at all things
regular, irregular

looking out the window
looking at the world

translating babel

it is golden here
the slate shadowed

up the pass
while travelling

while visiting

the imperial
with a friend

i speak from experience

the garden is usual

yet the things i find

of a morning are not



i sits on the old table

see the door open

mostly the same time

each day



see the things put

down on the slate

in dishes or in tubs



i see vegetables

so i eat

them

i see pasta and i eat it



yoghurt is a must to

dip into to share with

slugs

who bloat in the thick of it



lucky i am if she puts out

cat food



then i lay and look through

the grass to the river



watch the flood rise and fall

while the sun warms



watch for the proper cat

who lives indoors, ragged

unlike me



and chase her up the boughs

of the tree



the oak tree

the room has history    

“write it” said Pat  
  
i do not know the history  
  
i feel the still shape of a wren

see the window wild wood beyond  
  
i found the ink stain    
imagine

he had pockets of stones

so heavy his trousers

fell



first i met him small & wet from the river



dry he wore the white dress

his hair curled damply down his back



we filmed him

we photographed him



he is taller now & remains

much the same

having been invited, to write,
an invitation, inviting you,

i wrote instead about the
calling card, you know the
one by the clock, the one
i have not photographed.

aked again to do it properly,
requested politely, the you
after queue,, i started, yet the
double spacing and rhyme
annoyed me.

i watched bleak house instead.

the storm raged

sbm.

i notice this morning that
the work list is lost. though
it remains that i work sundays
unless i go on thursday or some
other day

she invites me to walk as we
have done before. i opt for
having a coffee instead

i like to walk quiet, to look
at things and remember them
so shall go alone

in london the irish man asked
for my number.

he did not ring. i guess he lost
it too.

i have been drawing
again

or should we say diary, notes

and conditions, terms and

editions. i wish it were so.



i wish it were stored safely,

that we hald each other tight

and out of harm’s way.



they say that patience is a virtue,

yet some times patients die.



shall you write this is the daily

blog, or lie?



sbm.

white with red is cool and dramatic

he came by yesterday
his tyres were fat and I smiled

she said they were purposed for snowy terrain

there was none of that here

it was hot

and the birds sang different

i feel

or is it the space

feels special

things start to relate
what needs to be done next

and now I listen

my brother phoned
the one who refuses to talk of the past

talked of the past as always again

talked of days out with granny and why

her strictures ?

suddenly I understood
maybe

she was scared too.

my granny

yes.

i do believe the spoons will have more depth now that i have discovered the key.

it takes a while of gnawing over and again,  laid out on white.

cloth that is given in charity.

shrouds the pain and indecisiveness, a clumsy word.

yes.

it is a rougher image, while all around are fighting.

shall i break the pattern this end, so

that some one may see that there is something else?

sbm.

yes.



i do believe the spoons will have more depth now that i have discovered the key.



it takes a while of gnawing over and again,  laid out on white.



cloth that is given in charity.

shrouds the pain and indecisiveness, a clumsy word.



yes.



it is a rougher image, while all around are fighting.



shall i break the pattern this end, so

that some one may see that there is something else?



sbm.

the code for the forum,
works at home. the

transition has been difficult.

again.

i missed you.

again.

sbm.

. the kiss .
to sweeten life. the kiss,
use sugar.we wrote the words,
print in blood, yet we only had
sepia.
a ruler to tear, fold
carefully, mix with shards
that worked from window
panes.

cotton lengths, blend with oil.
soothing balm.

we have a new cabinet here.

the kiss
is up for sale.

sbm.

said her sister in law hoarded soaps

unused without the wrappers

and what good is that?



only good for sniffing

i reply.



the lady on the bus did not understand .

why would she?



we are all different, like differing things.

some like objects on our surfaces

to abbreviate or admire

while some come minimal.



it is a memory that

we used to ring bells together

in the town church

a couple of miles from here.



at first

she did not recognise me

as look  older

as does she.





sister in law lived alone

maybe she liked the company of things



rather than the bellringer.

so you cut off your left hand

or was it your right?          to

own the land.

to dig and grow.



was it wealth you required

or  happy living.             one

handed.



****** mess.



i hear the woodturner

has hurt his finger.



sbm.

shelter here under this door?



no i do not mind the rain,

though it is all mud over there,

and may slide.





where do you walk?



to the end, and back again.



thank you.



sbm.

have you drank four tified wine,

guessed  years have passed.

walked the lane daily, to see a

small world outside, have you

poked the crevasses,  gathered twigs,

for lighting. taken photographs?



have you crashed into the old wood,

looking for the birds, found new growth,

there.



have you seen  monks walk the lane,

smelled the wax? have you seen the imprint,

the stone, st illtud?



i have.

sbm

four boats were sent. all much the same,
all differing,

oars to row.

a cross to bear.

three left, one remains.

the last boat.

sbm.

four boats were sent. all much the same,
all differing,

oars to row.

a cross to bear.

three left, one remains.

the last boat.

in depth we drown.

sbm.

or is it, will it grow some more come october?

the drive is easy, flat, up and down quite stately,
neat stripes, well nearly.

little lawn by the pigsty , a bit rough, no problem.

the lower, is sloping with little paths and mole bumps.

we start off buzzing, then the engine steaming,
we pause, gather breathe push on, ankles bending.

was this such a great idea? looks good on completion.

friends came, admired the dresses, do you wear them?

no not really, they are just part of the furnishings.

i am not quite that tiny.

sbm.

forgot to come, to smile
for me. i shall have to change
the label next week, it does
not really matter.

this week or the next, it will
all work out, until it does not.

some feel it is a failure, yet
i think it as a gift each week,
received gladly, clean, crisp
packed nicely, labelled.

with a smile.

sbm.

there will not be a note on the door to say i have gone.



i have called you.

it is  extra  when



you go alone.now  i have tidied around and taken the

glory. stocked up, and locked the out buildings ready.



it is an autumn day, gold,  glistening from the rain

that fell last night. sun warms and the scarf becomes



unnecessary.



as is the note.



sbm.

i thank you
for writing about the dilemna
for explaining it all

the picture of linen to the ceiling
the word soiled
twitching

the explaination of how you are
is honest

i hope things are much improved
no need for that word

on the boat last week
the commentator used the word
discharged maybe five times
in regard to cargo

another twitch here

words have power
make me itch
a bit

it is good to know ourselves
well
it helps us manage

i guess the summer is coming
to a change

6.31
quiet so far
tourists gather here
the holiday weekend

i have no landlord
now
i have neighbours
my granny pussycat, her real name emily
i remember worked in the sunlight laundry
a while in pokesdown

she was not a granny then

sounds a grand job, making all things clean
again
making all things tidy & white

i use a laundry, collect the marks & numbers
find stories amongst the linen

you will have routine and wood for the winter
a pleasing thought both here and there

i find the stories i make are often or always
dare i say not true

the apple tree was not felled
it fell

those that came before us
& those that come after

it is a question of time
do we move through or past?

i find i am correcting & editing here
it has come serious to copy & paste later
elsewhere

honest work

6.50

misty start
now clearing
preparing for the day

how can it be a lay in, when we wake at five,

then up at six with the dog, to snuffle the garden.

did you see the sickle moon, means rain

some say.



how can it be a lay in, when you sit writing,

an hour with tea. believe me for this house,

it is.



being a postman for thirty years, he rarely

had a lay in either.

simple.



sbm.