well hello

you see I did write back to you

in

a different format

more like a letter now

intentions to change it all
then see what is already there and
carry on quietly


knowing the change will come
whether slowly or suddenly


james

i told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister
we laughed and the wind blew things
away

copy, paste..

a military term for the land, sea, and air space that is involved in or may become involved in war operations.

he said they built a special platform like at viewpoints for tourists

with coin slot binoculars or such like

for folk to watch, for students on a school day out, bussed for hours to see

the genocide.

.it is the blue tie and orange
top that looks distinctive..

..today..

oil pond mirrors the darkness the november
day                  sun draws white against the grey
this       leaf  lays on earth

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

listen
to the divine air now


we are starting to breathe
a little

no one
is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of
the night.

we spin.

do not dignify the challenges. tread sweetly,
move on.

it is simply.
not worth fretting.

what is it?

how will they know for thinking
comes silent inside our heads
unless we utter

varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful

becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.

maybe
it was dark blue with a little red added.


lasted two weeks and still prominent.
much has happened since

the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.


while gavin bryars plays
on and on
repeated.

look at each gentle place,
to keep in a pocket
of love,for that rainy
day, you do not go.

maybe we need to check our numbers at the end, see if one or more are missing.          count them carefully, one side then the other.it is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us
onward.

the voices rather quiet. we have had a lifetime
of listening, yet not understanding, really.


let us go forth and compare

an old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing
the hunted tried not to sleep
there

tides are higher now, flooding the paths.

he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us

flashing
nought nought


a sure sign that something
has occured


i will know more when i investigate

we read that they are the most moral army in the world

also read

the moral solders **** little birds, break little bones, and squash them.

little bird. tiny child.

bomb them, burn them, snap their wings.

burn them living, burn them dead, smash the brains out their heads.

pound, break, tiny bones

bulleted.

****** everyone.

animals and trees.

little birds, with little nests.

no nest no more. a moral army burned it, bombed it, destroyed it.

moral solders **** little birds, break little bones, and squash them.

little birds in gaza.

(notes…there may come a ceasefire yet you still have done these things)

( more notes….you agreed a pause and meanwhile **** more..)

life goes on
the mark remains

it was remarked that there is no hurry
that we have the rest of the winter

becomes part of the
pattern
a mark on the horizon

could change it for another yet it has become
a mantra

a pause like in breathing

all became a thing yesterday
regarding these marks of ours
a bit of a collaboration
on twitter and we finished
on this

i hope you do not mind

a differing light
shades and all that surrounds
i drew them later
my way

take note of the numbers,
especially those with 9, as
in 29.

the page is speckled,
left unread mostly these days,

should that dot be approved
and how about the predicted?

we came here early with many thoughts and remnants of the dream

along the edge, the edge
of season. the coast with
slow limits.


the glass anomaly
swept the edges
golden, in proportion.

the year the storm broke, breached
the shingle bank

decisions were made
i hear
to not repair

we look for sand.

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising

i like the greys and shadow.
i like when the cars go by,
the lights go across the walls

yes

‘ i do not think i will like very black’

stopped a while as the lightness started

round me they flew never touching
we laughed in delight
at this natural thing

write of parlay

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

light the darker days
of gloom and melancholia
born from intrusions

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 day
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.

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

sometimes dots

i looked out yesterday at the rain
on and off all day

tiny things become intimate

you may put them in cases, or hang on pins
straight or safety, it becomes political

the choice is yours

bulldog clips

'we were friends’  more than that with promises that faded into silence. i woke this morning the same….

she asked about side effects and though
after reading the instructions felt there

were none

noted before

when suddenly came the surge of energy

he said to wait by the war memorial

so i did &

counted the names.

from the first and second.

none mentioned from all the others before

or ongoing.

enjoyed the drizzle, the memories.

planes flew over and a text came

just before the fflecsi arrived.

honest marks and lines different from the immediate gratification of a photograph. though with the latter enjoys the  creativity of editing, layering ; drawing in on the original idea.

time passes, passes. mind  so focussed that world outside, own  skin forgotten.

eight thirty  till five.   it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning wasting time with wires and connections.

cover the surface.   it takes time.

where is the power house,
metal books he said.

concrete palaces for those
that prey.

he grew it plant like,
fought it,
numbered it
thirteen.

trawsfynydd, we forgot the buzzing,
only heard the wind, for
wind there was this time.

the sky predominant, a gap
for the light to pass

whisper from you came
a good idea
to stop those dreams and headaches

the moon came bright with yet another name

so flimsy it is hardly there.
so worn, it is almost dead.

recreate the dying in your head.

so small it is hardly there.
so cheap it is almost dead.

draw it. recreate the scene in your head.