you have an egg. he asked a question.



answered it himself. talked of differing

lines, marks and silences.



we usually have what we need, may be

a case of looking.



you have an egg.



along the wind comes a feeling

of change.



there is an egg.



sbm.

methane and maybe online shopping?

he once said that there would be no sheep
if we all ate vegetables only

i suggested there may still be
yet wild
free to live a gentle life like me

cheese is where i fail
i fried it yesterday like
my foster mother made
for supper

her husband down in the studio
the bell between them to call

he was at dunkirk
stuck in the water
hours, & shot in the leg

there were other care
places in the past

now i don’t care
there are no records
they say there was a fire

or something

he painted golden sunsets
over the sea
limped and was kinda nice
i remember

i am wearing last year’s sandals
and got changed after gardening
to look tidy

a first
this lockdown

james

things tucked in nicely
since all this excercise
walking and cutting things

back

all are talking of numbers
constantly. three years that, 5 tears this,
no music plays on this computer now.

it plays in rooms, where darkness lingers,
where cloths are folded neatly, ready
to store, to air , mend, abide until required.

each day has a number, each a task.
i have drawn seven chairs, need to
do thirty three more,. this is a project.

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

sbm

have you ever slept slowly,
holding all hand to hand,
savouring the softness,
dark of night.

they say there is a new moon,
i saw it sickled, bright. they say

that all will come right, while somethings
are wrong.

have you ever slept late,
not minding at all, that

things move slowly.

have you ever checked the date,
to see that time has passed
quite slowly.

sbm.

i never know what you may write about each day

except maybe bikes

and maybe on that

i am right?

i went down the estuary yesterday

flat for a change

wide walking path

only one bike passed

went onto the toll bridge

and will have to return

for there is an honesty box

while i had no cash in my

pocket yesterday

we hauled the slate chippings

spread them by the sitting place

did not move the twigs

the focal point

we watched the birds

swallows over the meadow there

those at the feeder

at the window

cats had gone off somewhere

post brought the lavencer oil

and a head band which doubles

as a mask

james

not much news when you are at home like the others

i drew some trees

again

what you see is magnified.

they leave here larger than life,
petrified in their own forests.
scan beds and lens.

light the cracks, the boxes.

tie the books closed, leather
bound, broken, words lost.

boxes can be opened to
reveal,  still quiet faces.

small lives

sbm

oh james i cannot tag your name this morning
in my thanks to you and i crack myself up

it is the way

never take it serious, this life
is all such a lark mainly

yesterday was such a day
with fettling and unpicking
the pallet and sawring it up
and spelling things incorrect
cos we can

it means the same

making a space come clear
imagining we are at chelsea
without the cranes and helpers

sitting on the grass until the bites overcome

watching him strimmimg the lane for the big
house
ready for the reopening
except we have no date
yet

mourning that the thistle and bindweed are cut
down

knowing i have a photograph
as i have those of him james

i like the number today
good in all respects i feel

i feel that we like the words the same
come thither, come random, moved
about with life
and details

he said he thought it would rain yesterday
and i told him i thought nothing
thought to wait and see
and found myself talking avidly about my bike
repairs
so worth finding it out

a topic
a project
the sculpture in the garden
to wheel in and out each day
counting

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

he said they have ordered take away sunday lunch with meat

a wild cat came. broke the glass.

it stood there twenty years, now
it is shattered.

and cuts.

sbm.

it is a slow fire today
in the garden with a
lot of green stuff
smoking gently

unlike the holly
cuttings which exploded
with flame & fury needing
constant attendance

it may be a long job

some things are &
need a positive mind

with thought for others
up at dawn before them

all came quiet here yesterday
we worked in the garden making

we worked in the house making
while in the studio time stood still

i learned from him to let them chatter
to not to care nor reply
to change the subject kindly

some want to go on holidays
one wanted visitors
when she has them daily
except on sunday

down the lane

they had sunday dinner and wondering
why some folk eat different that day
googled and find it was to do with
church attendance
initially

with meat james lots of meat

my mum made that with gravy
we did not go to church only
sunday school

with stories james
just stories

i do not have sunday dinner
i have dinner
on a sunday

i brought the outside ladder
back inside

smoky joe

oh james i cannot tag your name this morning
in my thanks to you and i crack myself up

it is the way

never take it serious, this life
is all such a lark mainly

yesterday was such a day
with fettling and unpicking
the pallet and sawring it up
and spelling things incorrect
cos we can

it means the same

making a space come clear
imagining we are at chelsea
without the cranes and helpers

sitting on the grass until the bites overcome

watching him strimmimg the lane for the big
house
ready for the reopening
except we have no date
yet

mourning that the thistle and bindweed are cut
down

knowing i have a photograph
as i have those of him james

i like the number today
good in all respects i feel

i feel that we like the words the same
come thither, come random, moved
about with life
and details

he said he thought it would rain yesterday
and i told him i thought nothing
thought to wait and see
and found myself talking avidly about my bike
repairs
so worth finding it out

a topic
a project
the sculpture in the garden
to wheel in and out each day
counting

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

he said they have ordered take away sunday lunch with meat

i am waiting to hear from work official too

we chats most weeks mostly about gardening
the treacherous holly

we bear the scars

so as you know most days come quiet
here
not much doing in the diary

then yesterday was all of it
together
more like we were used to

interesting that were were an are
i changed it for these are different
times

good at the garage; the mechanics with
longer hair looked lovely
we said so as we
threw the keys over the barrier
then walked home in the storm
sheltered under the tree when the phone
rang

chatted

watched the parent, two children all in waterproofs
playing by the river
throwing stones

making ripples

james

later he asked me the best bit of the day
&
it was mary phoning

day 95
he says i should keep counting
although we are all much the same

i set it up mostly
not all at once

nothing here is done all at once no more
we takes our time indispersed with piano
music

i imagine i can play imagine fingers flying

i can saw more now, improved from sawing bits
off
to sawing things into objects and now i can make
thin slices
with a glove for protection

we walks up the gate, looks back up side down
to see impartial
to judge
and add
more detail

delivery man pushed the gate the wrong way
bits fell off
so i stuck them back on with a twig to hold
it all back together

i make prototypes that become fact
with a temporary nature

move things around here

while in the afternoon i still draw
the trees
as i feel them

lower case

i envy you

here there were four

 

that time back

one died

another wandered off

got sent away to a rescue

place

 

recently another

my sweetheart

annoyed the people

over the village

rattled their door

dug up their veg

 

she told me

she will trap it too

send it away like

she did the other ones

 

some things come wild

we don’t own them

we can

leave them be

 

she was angry and unkind

 

i have not seen my sweetheart since

i miss her puzzled look

 

so moving on

things are now more ornate

in a rustic mode

me cutting thin slithers

 

so next i shall make wooden wheels

for something

 

the delivery man commented on my dance

i explained i was social distancing while he

told me only two in town have had it and

now got better

 

how would i know

i don’t get out much

these days

 

i explained i was preparing for longer

a second lockdown so he reminded

me we have not yet come out of the first

 

good point

 

i wonder what they are doing with the gravel james

 

the next guy delivered fruit, veg, pop and a little

chocolate

which made me dizzy

 

another  day

presume it was.    walking

the lane,         looked back,

boys in black,            turn,

suddenly run     shooting.

shouting.                  turn,

do it all again,

again.                  i   turn,

all i see is heat haze.


we have four horses now.

sbm.

you know that thing when out walking
the same way for months you see a thing
you have passed so many times without
noticing

then when you do
it is blaring obvious
it is there rejoicing in itself
and you wonder how you ever missed it

i saw it yesterday
paused and went
over to look
to photograph to be inspired when a
voice said hello

another early walker
have seen her before
a lovely face
and her little dog

we spoke
walked on
and i never took that picture
james

so will go back today

it has beautiful spots james

while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any embellishment that is bows you
know

yet
i don’t know why
only as i say that
i think i may do

i guess that is a story for another morning
james

i am hoping your bike is home

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.

such good numbers today
such big birds at the window
rattling the morning

it has come clear after a period of rain
it has come about

that the shops can open on monday
that i can go to the recycling centre
with garden waste too wet to burn
with the tv that broke

i made an appointment

monday after the schools open
a relaxed idea, more social than
otherwise

monday after that the self catering
restarts

i used to have the garden fire on
mondays
feels an important day of the week
now

these covid times

he came later
gave me the damp package left in
the old stove outside

i shall make it a lid tomorrow & maybe
a meeting place

what do you think james
not sure what i think any more

it is a good rock eh?
who knows what will come now
appear on paper

your bike james, maybe you are being tested
your patience and detemination

how many kittens
this time?

hopeful

i have written of them before,
now in code and symbol, i regard,

that ‘again’ brings a sense of permanence,
that familiarity does not always mean
contempt , yet continuity.

autumn comes round, and we keep
the litte things, again.

twigs.

sbm.

sun hit the sea,

i was blinded,

by my own

shortcomings.



sbm.

bindweed  climbs the college wall

&

flowers on the fence

not of war, it is peaceful here.



I have heard such dreadful stories

of casualties, these days

and before.                     senseless.



I would ***** my words

if it would help.


I can help this one,

a victim of the

hot and dandy night.


I will show you his photograph.



I took her into the woods, the grass was

too long, though cooler there,

she was too small.



sbm.

‘ look what i have done, all on my own,

i am so proud, yet no one noticed’



not even your best friend?



‘no’



i noticed.



‘yes you notice everything, you care’



thank you



‘we shall help each other’



yes.



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.

a brief note

as i am off out today

on a jolly after

my refuge yesterday

i feel i could spend more time

on detail here focussing on

each point to talk over yet

we talk the way we talk

without rules and ceremony

no pressures

so we carry on, carry on

glad of your early day

glad for your shoes

yet miss your joy of riding free

your words on flowers and skunks

a change is coming this way and that

6.26

gotta be gone in one hour

bathed & fed

a bientot

hope you got out into the fields
saw the wild things grow

i met with a friend yesterday
mentioned you briefly over

there on tug hill. said that
we chat about fuel, the animals

that you are a veteran
he suggested that if

you are our generation
that woulld be vietnam

and how beautiful it is
now despite all that

damage

we should look after things
better. i wrote a thing a while

back. it filled my head with
pictures. a guy from the U.S.
recorded it and folks said

good things
no bashing at all

asked me to read it
and it broke me every time

i think i shall continue
the story somehow

it is about a bird

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

she said they were soul mates, with a yorkshire accent.

both much the same. it lasted a while with ups & downs.

the usual.



then it ended.



this is the shorter version.



sbm.

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring, a free sample
some years back.

others we get from the pound
shop, mostly costing one pound,
a waste if we get the wrong fitting.

they pop regularly, it is to do
with the electrics they say.

we put them in bottles and
jars.

sbm.

left early yesterday to travel to chester
to prepare for winter

to see the mosaic again
to remind myself

that most have survived

i sat by the river saw the man
feeding birds to entertain
himself, his small son

they came after for my ice cream
cone crumbs

in rain i walked the cobbles
to the old toy shop, closed

peered through the windows

yes it is a good series, yet some refuse
to watch the unreality of it all

i go again next week
the three to see the spaceman

spent some time
talking about my absence.
some time discussing
the theatr, oft unwillingly,
while dining.

our lack of chairs,
rubber backed blankets,
and whether to sit on walls.

there is another performance
going on.

it is not at the theatr,
this time.

sbm.

we worked it out, she had,
lived there over fifty years,
clean and tidy. the nightmare
over, i can face it.

face those that come with claims
and accusations,those with self
importance.

it seems it may be all religious,
i told him i did not believe,
it is just a story.

a good story at that.

absolom,the third son of david.

sbm.

not so cold here possibly

as at yours


i still light the stove

for cosy with resting

legs after work


that poetry man

don’t get much

and even says so


i thinks until my brain

figures it

out again today

it is a busy week

with a trip related

later

the wind can cut deep
so wool additives will
protect

some here knit furiously
and while meant for charity
family
often desire
and keep
for their own attire

we read an article that spies
knitted codes into their patterns
in the war

no one suspected
a thing

you see two or three miles
sounds fun whizzing along

ears covered though woolly
hats make my forehead itch
a bit
never mind

nice, it is a nice morning.

it is quite an obscure book,
the mouse and his child
by russell hoban, some
of you will have heard
of it.

pictures by lillian hoban,
perhaps a relative.

the photo is of r.k.narayan,
breaks a rule
so this may be deleted.

this is an installation, a
love of old things.

some members will be sad
today, and we shall
empathise.

sbm.

it came in pink tissue, crumpled. the glass.

she said that i may like it though it was

not good class,   did not ring true. i said

i did and imagined an elixir,   blue and

deadly poisonous.

it has sat waiting, and being of a pleasant

#mood   added the lead soldiers instead.

( i guess those be toxic if ****** steadily)

so here is the glass with the old clock

that chimes wrong and the photo of

my father in the war, behind.

thank you mary. it is your birthday soon,

then mine comes later.

sbm.

quite a business keeping warm, making friends
missing them when they move on whichever
way

the coffee affair with pods and seasons is recordable
into a small book, a journal of morning feelings while
i use a spoon for instant gratification . the modern
is much improved on the old ways

my gran used camp coffee (with no inuendo those
days) syrup in a bottle and tasted alright in warm milk

though i never liked milk solo and felt it a punishment

i deserved that
she said so
she said so many things that i believed because
why not
it may have been true

for some reason i remember lampeter and the feeling
of well being

my new glasses are red and the keyboard is clearer
and slightly domed

as is the tregaron bog you know.

involved.

erasing of words. the text.

started a time back, my friend,
group of us , writing, illustrating,
coming together, moving apart
in miles.

a daily habit.

how to explain the heart
of this matter,

yet does it matter.?

words explain them selves,
as do pictures.

each one tells a story.

erasure.

he had a man's gift.

sbm.

he is splitting logs & sawing

in the sun

they will go at the back where the wind

blows round



kenny says they take years to dry

he knows his stuff



i broke the mower & have two

strimmers that work



cut the paths

tenderly leaving the flowers to grow



we try not to go out here bank holiday

week ends



so a rest indoors now



with



ARTURO MARQUEZ – DANZÓN Nº 2; GUSTAVO DUDAMEL
in blue writing

as if

it is important

you see



sbm.

days of restoration, making.

gathering , stacking found
books, some to tie, to read
later.

it is a curious thing, the cotton,
the string. there are films
and recollections for work.

if i say there is nothing
to understand, will you
understand this statement?



there is another ceasefire.

sbm.

162.

we cannot always
find the pictures.

then, when we do
there is a dog standing.

been talking on language.

never understood  before, now
on meeting again have no idea .

he talks about.

just my style has changed ?,

my whole life .

differs.
from here to there, not just
my hair.

least of it.

a meeting , round the round table.

he speaks a different language.

raw stringy man

how shall i prepare?

sbm.

i think i heard a night jar

up the valley here.



it was a quiet night except

for that.



we have the window open now.



sbm.

perhaps it was the weakness,
brought on with aspic jelly,
perhaps the truthfulness
that lives inside me.

i admitted it was me, and in
the confusion babbled and fought
embarasment. it is truthful
and honest work i do each day,
yet i am discovered now.

secrets will come out, lies will catch
you some day, they do say.

he was a nice man, who explained,
who takes photographs. I will leave
him gifts.

sbm.

wanted to show
the photo of the
yellow star pressed
with the steam iron
ready to be pinned
on her dress, labelled

seren

the dress is finished
clean, white, pressed.
the star is finished
pressed, to be pinned

rusty pin.

who is this?

worried over news

trembled
a while gathered back the warp,
the weft

slowly he flew

before us

we watched him prepare

carefully, smiling.

then he rose and flew

before me

it seems we sing peace,

good will. if we sing at all.



while others vote

about dropping bombs

on people.







sbm.



( note – the innocents.)

i knew nothing.



while younger.



now it makes sense.

with

a complete diagnosis

again.



a difficult subject, some might say thorny.



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



easier now he is older
he tells me what he wants

i buy it
plus
a surprise

simpler now i am older
i tell them what i will like

they buy it
plus a surprise

wonder where I went that day
after being sacked 

i would have gone back home
if I had of had such a thing

i may have looked in the posh shoe 
shop window for comfort

that store figured a lot in my early days
losing myself in the display, styles 
and colours

I bought a pair once
they let me pay the four pounds 
weekly
as I did not earn much more than 
that weekly

only on tuesday did we discuss our
lack of money then
now with lockdown
we spend little
though we have

more

coming in back home with those
shoes she laughed then scolded me

who do you think will look at you
notice you

at work the upholstery assistants
laughed

I still like shoes james
and boots

and my home

#russell&bromley

( notes and diagrams)

there are times

when i am rendered

speechless,

and so i was,

again………

the

again brings a sense

of permanence

while

familiarity did not breed

contempt



after dinner she went to church

where

she laughed shamefully