light the darker days

of gloom and melancholia

born from intrusion

and swede.

this is quality,

a fortunate piece.

in blue writing

as if

it is important

you see

your time will come

i will wait politely here until the time
and hope predicted don’t change
nothing

no more

while all around is trembling , we weave together

with dreams and possibilies.

there is not much more to add, it is lighter

now.                                       birds sing early.

once again we come back to ourselves.

dave asked about the utility bell, and war time candles,



following the wax theme, yesterday. i got my household

ones, 5 hours burning time, yet to be proved. they offered

me dinner candles, but i had leftovers ready, so kept quiet

on that score.

anyway, dave, over here, we had rationing as you know,

which continued afterward. things had to be simple,

saving stuff and time, and had a mark like two hungry birds.

mum bought the utility bell in woolworths, from the flat counter,

simple cut out metal, good colour, much valued in those days,

alonside papery chains and lanterns.

our tree had candles, i do not know when lights began,

i still have her candle ends left, fancy twisted, faded now.

i keep them special, use the newer ones , red and plain, and

remember my mum,

i will scan these to show you dave, later.

it is still raining.

small thing  ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

or

is it a moth here in the dark?

triangles bring mystery

a new mathematics



the rooms were swept yesterday

bones hidden

teeth implied



yet the shape remains embedded

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 .

good is in the small things.
.
pat says.