cover the place with whiteness.
pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

.he had leaned toward me and commented
that i was getting old
and while that is correct i assumed from his
remark that he must be younger

time goes on and i am told that we are much
the same

carefully we drew her out
all tidy with reason, wearing
us down

putting words in my mouth
like sweet sultanas in chocolate

they come in twos

so while out on a longer walk,
met him and he explained to me,
about walking there and back again

how small
how white the child
skin rinsed with tears

salt in the wind

fail softly with a sloping line

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

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.

the kitchen is quite dark without the light on as is slightly below ground, the graveyard behind
used to leave a lamp on yet with energy prices hike, now follow her lead and wait until entry

they screamed that there was an accident waiting to happen on the stairs

handbag, not fit for any purpose than
delight and design.

while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home

duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see

is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows,

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

you like birds?

as do i

neither of us employed
&  i am vaguely idle

now i beg forgiveness
we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james

in the light from the phone

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

google when back at home, read about
people, and know we may after all
be twins.

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.

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

carefully we drew her out
all tidy with reason, wearing
us down

our work
our soul
is in
our chest

some of us manage
to be vulnerable as naked
in private

some need holding up
in sight from my window

so,
must we write about it before we forget,
before  people come and disagree?

they have small waists and a  national costume

my goodness
such a thing to see while out
and about

such a high up place to be

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

the idea left us dancing.
use what is already there,
make do and mend

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any embellishment that is nice you
know

wind blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was the weekend with time
to spare

thankyou
for your offered help
and saying you care for my welfare
all very much appreciated
i thankyou and say it is only temporary

some photos show nothing
while paintings can come
more personal

is a simple thing,
to think sideways,
practice makes a hindrance
when others think straight.

look at the weathered walls
hear the song come random

no mention of gains or fortitude
some may look for the other one
some may find it

while the little people with their arms held high
dance in the sunlight with all that remains

you notice small things too
and record them slightly

those touches, nuances
do you see the way they
glance, look aside…

we miss you if you do not visit
a while
and we get all our tenses and lines
wrong and have to go back in a hurry
to amend

is a curious thread that
hold us together
while apart

some of us most of us
tucked inside
becoming whiter
chattering
small white teeth

sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

was noted that some folk aren’t bothered and carry on without looking
the difference is a thing

the mothth as collage.
a quiet ththing.

paper covers history.

bent on layers
of time, pretending.

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any other embellishment like bows

you know

he asked me who will be afraid of our ghosts
ghosts of humans
when we are gone

no bus arrived the timetable lady was contacted and she explained the bus was due at 2.30 pm that my internet were wrong and no one was bothered what it said at bus stops

during the evening after tea,

we wondered who had invented the chair

asked why i wanted it
i said that i did not know

he had a box in the room
to stand on
to see

we may all need one of those

the medicine works

though leaves the passages

dry

triggers sets me thinking of cowboys

we don’t have those here either

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.