a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,


yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home

later I heard they liked her despite the startled look

she was drawn again yesterday

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

day of small things,

slowly steadily worked

as we rest the dust motes,

shine as gold.

the air moves

on my skin.

i turn

look past the curtain

see the face again.


framed.

light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.

yet when

she said my friend looked pretty

&

that I smelled nice

I sagged a little.

later that day

i found a message

request

from a soldier in the usa

holding a puppy & a rose

calling me a beauty

the world outside the window commented on . as a child .
tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records

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

while out on a longer walk,

met him and he explained to me,

about walking there and back again

is your head clear today, loose limbs, while mild air floats above.   will you go the other way, as you did yesterday?

that all are temporary measures
temporary structures
and collage

so we can move things about

change things as we like

thankyou and say it is only temporary

balanced or tied with string

though overnight decided to use the glue gun

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

Main Entry: niche
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: place all one’s own

:: niche ::

i gave the words away.

wrote them,

published them

shredded and pickled them,

and gave them away.

left in a niche.

yet, still they rattle,

and will always

be a part of me.

my words

small village, mayhap a hamlet, named,
one forgets the rules with all that has happened.


nice to be out, to see the neighbours’ houses,
to see what has changed while i have been working

duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town

at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there

and bus back you see

slate slides
mud slips
rain falls

seems higher this time
water expands to where i see
the edge

stains the cup if left standing,

remember the hotel, 1964,

we used to scour them especially

round the handle, then the base.

like to be quiet,speaking
only
when you asked the question.

not sure why i came.
i think you invited me?

she came worried about monkey pox
so made her ordinary  tea

the next day I travelled  up
walked the streets and saw
the stories there
for a change

the voices rise

can you clamber
through the rocks
slipping into water
oily boots leaking?

can you stride out
over dewy moors
peat bogged
with no direction?

will you come with me
to these places
my spaces
and make history?

will you sit a while
amid the berried hedges,
sheltering,
remembering?

will we shout at the wind,
running, laughing
knowing
that this is ours
for the taking

or

will you stay home,
stay safe

and bleed?

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour.

did the breeze come
late last night, or did
some one slip into the room.

you were sleeping.

was there some one in the house
creeping
down the stairs. looking,
another time for thinking.

did the breeze come
late last night, or did
some one slip into the room.

you were sleeping.

was there some one in the house
creeping
down the stairs. looking,
another time for thinking.

sea swim
is saturdays at ten in the morning,


sundays later at eleven.


this too remembered in the bathroom.
we use the pool, mainly.

nicely

sometimes I have toast

and sometimes insert one comma

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality

please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time

for hostility

now i beg forgiveness

we are little things

that dance in the mornings

james

in the light of 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.

powers and dominions,
virtues

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 our window

so,

must we write about it before we forget,

before  people come and disagree?

they have small waists and a  national costume

may be best to go with whatever feels right

honey on toast suited us  while

now coffee is off the menu here

and eggs mayonnaise is back

on

today found the co -op depressing

so bought home made ice cream

yn bala

yn is possibly welsh for in

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

that inspires

not the modern kind

more the flavour of another time

another rhyme