we talked yesterday of tidying
cupboards, placing soaps in tins,
prepare for winter.

polish the wooden horse
on wheels, sweep
the steps, feel the still
warm air of autumn.

down the lane they mend
the roof. i had a visitor.

she saw the logs ready,
lost her way on exit.

they say it is a hobbit house.

sbm

i know little of sponge bob,
yet i like the small pants.

we had the counting
yesterday, walking sticks,
ferrules, the umbrellas,
most were there, the staghorn,
missing.

i like a day of counting,
finding all things lost.

i washed the pants,
ironed,pants folded neatly,
they are taken home.

sbm.

a pattern of letters, ideas, or associations which assists in remembering something so it does we do and test ourselves early



on a still day i

can smell it here

when the tide

comes up to

the bridge

remembering days



life was unclouded

and knowledge

was simple



sleep came easy



ran through paris

streets

in black and white.

no sub titles.



painted circles

the land

used all the paint

the natural light

and st david



watched the colour

make marks

watched the light

turn dark



now i wait the early sun,

to take a photograph



i should like you

to be happy

it looks like a new poetic form-lovely

and there unfinished

tacked and smocked

the littled dress

sewn quietly with love.

your birthday at the zoo.
while
we were at the national
library of wales, aberystwyth.

high ceilings, automatic doors.
trod carefully the red carpet,
saw the landscapes quiety.

film maker in residence.

webmakers in conference.

tape tied book, reminds
me, silent face a memory.

i will return to the
national library of wales,
aberystwyth.

no photos allowed.

sbm.

these are the shorter days, darker days, wood smoke, apple wood, colours of joy. believe in the world, that you can spell first time. be proud as you point out where you live…..

one hundred and fifty faces,
for japan sticky. drawn some

years ago, she is still the same.
looking out constantly, her dress
a little loose about the neck, i often
think should have a k like knee.

perhaps the button should be fastened now,
hair washed. is she is too young a thing
to be kept here,standing in her own scaffold.

other faces will be posted some where
else, the cross added in red ink.

she is not for sale



sbm.

every year, here

the yellow flags find us.

nonchalantly driving,

wondering,

how to spell that word.



looking to the next road,

you know you love,

forgetting the time

of year they come.



flat lands, yellow

with the flags, the iris,

the medieval house.



he talked about the cow,



while i remembered the first field,

filled with them.



i did not take a photograph.



sbm.

the world looks.

where laughter,
secrets lived. light

streams back,
faces change.

the photographs
deleted. turn your face.

the tide has turned.

this is the coast.

sbm.

to see this unexpected,
ladies in the dark
repeating.

the gold cape of mold,
where the stitches
held fabric. i had
to see it, all round.

in mold it was a replica,
no vision, no air. so

we took a photograph.

she said she has to go
out each day, as his ashes

are

upstairs.

i am not blonde, yet
am known in the village,
as the title.

sbm

the dream, the threads 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.

in the mill the loom
stands idle

sbm.

google brings strange memories.

my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.


sbm
we stare at icons, hoper for a better price,
i went to the market yesterday.

saving the year.

ants on the bridge,
words on the air.

the quiet palace
swarming.

look to the garden,
see the change in the year.

sbm.

now we are six,
no longer
five and four
quarters.

official.

so all has changed,
yet nothing has.

the year moves on,
small boys
come leggy. we ride
on trains.

we took photographs
as always.

sbm.

the hold all
does not quite hold them all.

i cannot close it now. offered

a space i chose the cards, eyes closed
metaphorically i suppose.

death comes in many ways, these ended in the
bag.

i wanted to choose yours, yours and yours, yet
it had to be done quickly, recorded, posted,
recorded.

there are 36 less, i repeat.the bag will not close.

the little book of death,
on the irony.

sbm.

new to this, he hung the pictures
well, adding his won opinion.

pinned words, spoke in
wonder. the boy and the
machine.

some times,
all is not well in wonder
land. removed from
the situation we move
on carefully, hopefully
return as things have changed.

i will be informed if things
do change.

sbm.

these are the longer days, lighter days, wood pile growing, apple wood, colours of joy. believe in the world, that you can spell first time. be proud as you point out where you live, at all there is.

some things take longer than others,

oh, these trite sentences we use, yet

maybe this is true. at last i balance,

lock the gates efficiently, not mind

the mirrors, speak respectfully.



some things take time,  relax,

find your family. speak carefully.



it was a long evening, programmes

on monsoons, and the ganges.



we fell asleep quickly.



sbm.

.these keys.

no one moves the keys, changes the letters. there is a writer, and a block of stamps ready. some notes work. while. others do not.

.drilled.

no boxes left. only those of a different size, quite a shock your anger that leapt from nowhere…

3. .drilled.

lift the cotton, look again. cover the place with whiteness. pink is pretty, white is clean. they do not want to see it today, a reminder of fragility.

i suggested mending when you asked about weaving.
yet what goes round comes round. i find myself weaving,
at the mill.

how apt.

was i weaving on pegs, the stuff of dreams,
addictive wool gathering storms and whether,
or not, we should make and mend. the old way

Johann Botha.

sbm.

there are many numbers,

most are broken, a few retained.

i have 43. crushed the others

while walking.

heard the cuckoo call, louder and

louder, felt the sun, thought of africa,

from where they come.

there is a new path, around the lake,

by the power house. it may hum,

yet it is a gentle place.

we kicked about there all day.

sbm.

..day 43..

each day, each day the suns shines
and we stay at home

we plant the pots up, decide to order
more

wonder why we had a gardener now
we concentrate

that is such a thing with the hand steady
the birds singing we draw the line in one

sweep
draw the semi
circle

the halo appears
so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

all around they live in groups
do you hear them chatting
laughing

here it comes quiet
concentrated

flowers and drawings
the story of joan, james

i think of those blue flowers
other than the red i draw
corona

i too have gasped
over colour unexpected

he looked older
i prefer when
the edges are slightly worn

i think it may be the weekend

day 44.

maybe she is breathing out

it has changed maybe it
is the extra time though
we have the same time
we always had now we

use it differently

shall i write to tell him
that things are tidier
neater that
colour creeps in
yet most of my paints
are unavailable

shall i write to ask
if all is well
or leave it all to chance?

last evening i looked at the price of wooden stilts
then ladies light bicycles
would you believe?

how things take us in this time of quiet with this
longer sentence
in all respects

i have at least another six weeks yet with recent
findings it may come longer

sunday

day 45..

only on the slate outside or up the path here

the lane is steep downwards and i may slip

or see people
which is worse?

that is a question you can tell by the mark

wooden ones

i go by the back path as it is common ground
a right of way
for access

see no one
which is mighty
fine especially
these days

that is steep too
worn almost into
steps in parts

we talked about other devices
yet it came too stressful so i

looked at bikes and noted those
electric things at such a price yet
i hope you get one

really

seems i prefer walking up hill these days
to flat

8

day 45..

only on the slate outside or up the path here

the lane is steep downwards and i may slip

or see people
which is worse?

that is a question you can tell by the mark

wooden ones

i go by the back path as it is common ground
a right of way
for access

see no one
which is mighty
fine especially
these days

that is steep too
worn almost into
steps in parts

we talked about other devices
yet it came too stressful so i

looked at bikes and noted those
electric things at such a price yet
i hope you get one

really

seems i prefer walking up hill these days
to flat

hey i could mention the numbers
to add or divide and it seems those

today work well

i enjoyed your talk of roads, reminded me
that when we were in chester on a stayover
a birthday treat

she told me how it took years for someone
to remark upon a street there that was not straight
like all the others built by romans

on investigation found the remains of an amphitheatre
the road built to avoid

nicely excavated you may sit there now
only one can’t in the lockdown
nor sunbathing

i am glad we went that year
it was lovely

romans stil roam the streets with children
following dressed in proper gear shouting
learning
terrorising the shoppers who feign fright
then laugh

not now
in the lockdown

so children learn other things at home
like stars and satellites
birds and butter on bread

i have learned about garden fires these
few weeks, how not to upset the neighbours

how to get up early specially in
my pyjamas light it carefully

learned the ways of leaves and wood
the varieties
my patience required

then stand and watch the smoke plume
against the chill of the hour

once i saw a chap paint that in watercolour
and i wondered

a
good morning
feel better than
yesterday when
thoughts drifted
into things i will
rather forget

as we all do sometimes

james

yes, the snow drops while small snow drops

light breeze

promise of a quiet day



yes, solemn

mournful is understandable



44.

another day
in paradise

45

day 47..

some times we need to make a move
some says bite the bullet yet i certainly
do not have one
i wonder if you

do

i feel it will damage teeth and while there
are difficulties with dental visits presently

maybe the first phrase
is preferable?

my fancy may not be reality in that
the desire is in the present while all
comes quiet
though in my view
the road is busier
lately

will i really want to ride among traffic
both vehicles and other folk on bikes
or walking and walking with dogs

i remember other summers down the tracks
locals and happy tourists zooming along no

bells to notify arrival

i stayed later this morning finding it damp
again

thinking the fire may not light

a treat in these troubling times
should i meditate i wonder to

rid the mind of all the wonderings
yet maybe those are the seeds of

the work

then i wonder why thoughts
constantly drift to lampeter as

i write

with walnut trees
though no nuts
last autumn

do you believe in omens?

james

pink sky
slight dampness
hanging

..day 48..

i let it in
fear
and confusion

had held it apart and got on with the lockdown
my way. then i spoke to another not full of gusto
nor war time spirit , born more recently

that stuff is junk anyhow
keep grinning while all around is dying.

allowed not to be alright a while so
found that expensive soap he bought that
i kept in memory

took it out off its branded box and bathed
with its glorious smell

the small slither
left over from
the mill

will go to the studio iconic
ironic that i am surrounded
with soap
at this time

james

this morning the house is perfumed
outside it rains and i get on with the
day once again

i dream my friends struggle and
i cannot help james

yes we must be careful
very careful james

later i fell over the concrete pots
moved into the wet to
benefit the plants

blood and synchronised
swearing

plus a big sticking plaster for comfort

stay safe james

(not such a hard *****)

plays.

while the book says
about one’s hair in winter,
while in muggy mild weather
the hair falls out.

shocking.

we must realise that
while the wind is in the
north or east,
hair will be crisp,
grow thick , curl easily.

mine didn’t.

the book says it is
an article of faith
among servants
not to wash hair all
winter.

it is an art.

we are on page 56.

sbm

..day 49..

my walk yesterday was rained upon
so hood up head down we saw the stones
sheltered under gorse
noted the sky changing

were the markers always there
left by some other
wanderer?

i had this angelic person on paper
down the studio
that was so precise and quite particular

a long winded affair
with prehistoric music
and crouching from
the weather outside

prepared to mess her up
yet all i achieved was an
extra pair of sleeves really

oh

i hope to revert to an earlier
idea of smudge and carbonate

james

you see
there is no control
only that we think we have
which is probably all imagined

i drew in early
as it came the
national thing day
which some of us avoid

not wishing to be controlled
and not thinking it helps
anyhow

note 1.

being a bad personage
not doing as instructed
again

they come in groups
watching the hawfinches
by my gate. by my gate
it fell, the hawfinch.

i had driven the mountain road
back. a liitle town,avenued,
the turning trees, adding an
edge of solemnity. coffee
and the price of fish,
greeted me.

home to find this
big beaked bird, broken.

they will come in groups.

sbm.

.day 50..

the flowers are corona as you know
now
they escape it seems
and spread about

i went back with resolve to be
untidy
then looked at the extra sleeve
and got excited

so back to the drawing board
hardboard

to work again on this corona
angel

joan
she is always joan
the other one

i like the word truck
he has one next door
full of things that
farmers need and
tied with bits of orange
string like farmers have

he strimmed that path yesterday
while i hung out the window to
watch the flowers die

we talked about the hedgehog
the evidence

food delivery arrived and
they forgot the chocolate

so i ate some icecream
it made me feel dizzy
james

50 days!

quietly

i placed the coins on the table

ready for payment

we had coffee and one sweet biscuit



she asked  if there were any special coins

with pictures on



i said yes they all have a picture of a queen

she wanted an author



i hear there is a new one coming

commemorative



i shall check my change now

if i find one will hand it back



my friend will be given any  with beatrix potter

it is a headstone

in the graveyard

out back.

i think there is a wreath.



the circle turns.

day 51.

i told him that i think of him between
vanner farm and the wild garlic every
morning now
message him

i can walk the whole hill to hafod fach
round the corner and on by the farm
yard without stopping now

when before all this i could not

i can go draw here every single day
whatever i like

when before i did not

a bit a gardening i enjoy as does the robin
when before there was not a lot

my cupboards are tidy, orderly
before they were not

i found soaps kept in tins after the mouse
had chewed

now in the studio for the corona
project

i guess there has always been a thing around soap
it has always had importance, the names

breeze, fairy , sunlight showing my age
those with emblem of ownership
chucked out from the office years
back

cracked

i am finding the paris soap lathers lovely

yves st laurent

james

worth each penny

a leaf fell, i thought of you.

i did not phone.

requiem.

sbm.

yes….nearly as tall as me,

never as old as me

yet wiser

..day 52..

i left your name in once

in error

and she was so intrigued

i some times leave it there

some more

you may have noticed

 

as you noticed the soap affair
started early probably when

mum

bought a new one

 

look at the wrapper

look at the  image on the top

look a little baby walking

look a crown

 

will you like the wrapper for the smell

and the white paper underneath to draw

on

 

will you like to go to woolworths to look

at the soap and buy one for granny for

her birthday

she likes ashes of roses you know

 

round which makes it feel special

when our everyday is blocks

of yellow or green

yellow for our face and hands

green to wash the clothes

moving the stains

 

for the bathroom we had breeze

as i said before and the name is

a wonder and i cannot buy it now

 

those that have given me soap in boxes

i still have it for i am not worthy enough

to spoil it

only to treasure it

 

james

quite clean

52.57.

something happened, something
changed inside me, the moon slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

did you speak to me, was that you I heard in the
garden calling.

is it really such a little thing.

the connection.

sbm.

looking down,

I see.



map, a geology, marred

by that remembered.



history, beyond  one word.

that will not fade with what I see.



fifty three.



sbm.

funny old day
history reminding
finding
future holidays cancelled

fiddling in the garden achieving
**** all of any importance yet

the day passed and i found old
seeds to sow to
& hope they will
grow

found plants in the graveyard
sedum spread
so cleared a few flat gravestones
of the stuff
put in pots

read the inscriptions

was gived some wooden pallettes
for something
from the guy next door who wanted
rid

talked about soap with you

and it seemed a funny old day
all round
here

james

staying home again today

i do not know

what happened really.



i tried very thing,

even #hash tags.



tea bags

and sundry groceries



from londis.



would have tried waffle

dish cloths,



but there was only the blackness

and deep borders.



very every thing

#dontknowwhathappenedhere

sbm.

..day 54..

so we are ordering masks

even though we don’t go

out

even though on our

walk we see sheep &

other gentle creatures

even though it is not

recommended

we use our common sense

those with machines stitch

them at home

others have a template &

glue them

found fabrics & hope we

have sticky in tubes

some where

i am being gifted

while ebay will assist

instead of folding

handkerchiefs

yesterday i sawed wood

the blades are old so i

oiled them a bit and all

was easy

it is best to set the mind straight on things

before starting i find

it may be best to keep the sentences even

which i have not

it is different music

this morning

i dreamed they all wore white

the boys in sailor suits

james

not counting

it were a lovely day yesterday & yes
i mean the weather & though out freaking
early so were the others

she was having tea by the door we smiled
and waved

the farmer came his dog balanced on the feed bag
at the back

was that yesterday or another, the days merge
& i find it quite lovely

the duck was a teal with seven little ones
the real ducks were a flying formation
one left alone trying to catch up

planes flew over in clean air
i looked up

i looked at the picture perfect robin
perching cute on items of its choice

while each of the bird houses are
occupied while the corvid attacks
the plastic one bought for fun

each day, each day is nearly the same

while i like it
he thought
i may be depressed
what do you think james

i often get things wrong too
that is why i do not believe
what i thinks
no more

all in lower case
5+5=10
1=0 = 1
see

james tell me more for i am interested
especially the lines

the sun is not true light
and the dead are not dead

as you know i am a realist
yet in some moments i
see things too

vortex
spinning trees

once i felt i saw him walk in the room
my mother saw him too

or were we dreaming
the need inventing

please tell me more

while here it is grey
hopefully the lanes will
be quiet. for after writing
to you
i walk an hour

our allotted time
hopefully we may
get extra
for some evenings
i feel the need to
walk again

i thought maybe if the bottom hedge
were cut severely lower i can keep it
tidy myself
i am too short to reach the top

then i thought harder
and found my dungarees i bought from
the surplus over 30 years ago

hope to wear them
while working

james

do tell me more
i can keep things
private

you know me by now

all the novels, and romance,

volume two to forty,

all others being

fakes

that need dusting.



the clocks are silent.

pink sands of time

stand still.



the glass is clouded here.





sbm.

one project is comimg along nicely down the garden

ripping the ivy off the pigsty hair ******* from the dirt

eyeing the next task, preparing the mind on
one step at a time

so far we have come

me with that and the outside lav
her with a scullery
very retro chic yet
maybe is just that we have old houses

history

i diary tasks then let them stew so
ideas come for the doing

they call it logistics i think that sounds like maths

you possibly say math all singular james

the news came yesterday and she saw it live
while i was working

it hit me at two thirty that we get more freedom
to excercise from monday, more than once a
day

it hit me

thought i had been fine with it all
then the delight hit me hard………..

real hard james
so have diaried
that for monday
two walks

that diary
if you could see it
lists and tasks

numbers and notes

thoughts of the future
how things may change

may have to change james

twig ladder

 

notes:-

 

( he is a famous scuptor
lives in blaenau
i visited
eyed the ladders he made

how much are they?

how much !!

years later, years i tell thee

i plan to make one
myself )

she gave me plants, more than i expected

i gave her a pocket mirror

as barter

all i had since lockdown

planted in the heat

found more places to clear

another day

later i heard the sound

opened the doors

watched the rain

as if i had not seen water before

i heard the neighbour’s door

i guessed he watched too

before i had looked at the jug

full

as if i had not seen such a thing

before

i went out real early to avoid folk

met those

who had the same idea

it is the weekend

and i understand that many

ignored the rules and may

be expected in hospital soon

according to the news

i settled back with the geranium leaves

and liked what i drew

on one note of delight

i locked the studio tight

so the feeling may remain

today looks refreshed

damp slate

and newness

james

jazz piano

play early, after the weather
forecast, heavy rain,
with heavy stomach
this morning.

tell tale of the nougat
renowned as chocolate
treat.

the book discarded
we twitter and tweet
the early morning,
the two of us.

he showed himself
his own photo.

said,’look this is me’
look.
sbm.

news breaks brings an alarm by mobile
to watch
yet i find
i come not bothered no more
it is just words again
while people die
while folk sew their
own ppe
cleverly

adverb

apparently

i made the ladder easily
with sticks and string
for decoration only

the plan today to go
small make more
and crawl under the hedge

pump the brakes
it may be that
that groans

then have my second walk per the day
perhaps about four
before
tea

thses things are written in the diary

james