we need to concentrate on detail

to describe things properly

need to

go there each year a while

to retain to remain in memory

need to

care for  little things

the bird landed gently

hardly there

she asked about our winter food and i guess it comes from childhood and the seasonal benefits

i thinks it is less chilled salads and shiny fruit

more them tasty pies and gravies

with winter greens or orange carrots

or sausages with mash done with butter

warm, satisfying no meat involved

the neighbour remarked that it is a crime to **** people

yet we do **** other creatures then eat them

differing ideas

yet we all have our winter foods

water falls,
stains enamel.

some notice, yet
do not judge.

he may have
been
aquarius, yet
he is not

leaves are turning slowly daily

except at the turning
maentwrog

they go first always
and suddenly

this time of year

there was no fanfare,
no procession, no proclamation,
as we hit the button, no exclaimation

with the change as if no one
noticed, and if i am right, they
probably didn’t until later

didn’t see as we drove the valley,
didn’t protest, or speak in tongues,
did not see the little things



we bought winter food



it came late early

we are in transition



drew the curtians last eve

while waiting and through the *****

left saw one golden tree

autumn cameo



each little thing

while some things break

what there is may seem paltry to others

in their grander scheme of things

yesterday bought a new pencil with a number that i dismissed

liking chance

looking back i see

the island changed.

perhaps i like familiarity.

repeat

that

i don’t paint like you

or you

&

need to convince myself

that

that

is ok

here they forecast an awful rain yesterday
yet it came quite warm and gentle and

i shared some nougat with the delivery man

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

the sun came &

shadows lasted only a short time

glad i saw the old houses,
wintering, wood smoked,
perfumed. glad i smelled
the oak burning, turning

are having a new bus shelter on the bangor route hurrah….with digital.


after sheltering under a twig nigh on 30 years will now be dry.


went to aberystwyth yesterday and there is no shelter that way

no twig and all the bus windows were open for the covid

**

today is the asda van

substitutes steak type pies with chicken type…..

then subs chicken type pies with steak type

vegan…



bread instead of bread

birds come quieter
scatter at my approach

autumn

we walk your district quietly.
wait in the shelter.

I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time.

the gallery who sacked me for such a thing and other reasons

i don’t know

i bake bread and eat it

his uncle grew golden rod
lived by the chapel, died a
few years ago

i thought him a quiet gentle man

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.                 slow.


grey.

so in the mist of memory my 15 minutes passed  without concentration and went indoors after

.is not so much that I like weird stuff…

is more that I don’t think stuff is weird…

it was dark and even with

the emergency light could

not see

so texted the farmer and he

brought it up for me

he may make a sign noting

that his is the wrong shed

it was in the wrong shed

it may be the right postcode

but up the wrong track, the

one i talked about yesterday

we lifted the soakaway cover rusty after years

saw a slow worm sleepy while ants ran about

placed the first in the ferns and waved to the others

drain rods functioned with a little resistance

distance calculated ,wiped and put away


indoors the sink runs clear

while i am educated

have you closed your eyes at that

within, enjoyed that

without?

the tin hut is still empty.

there seems to be an echoing a glitch in proceedings

so we came in the back way and exclaimed like blimey

there will probably be much of this with all this being

static like some caravans

and other mobile things

there is plenty of time to walk from town,

to give an opinion whenever requested.



there is time to talk, and receive gifts

seeds for the future.

have you collected seeds of many years   packed  labelled   dated

do you have them now in boxes

a gift from those who love

they will bring  work  joy   an independent air

profound gifts

for those who care

seeds for the future



some say it is abstract
that only the present
exists

while others future proof their homes
in case of things that may occur



some are hoping for jam tomorrow

**

we see these  as the falling days
of autumn

for now that is everything

they say that the future is bright
the future is orange

the anxiety failed later in the day


a more comfortable place as i
watched other peoples ways and
opinions

we saw the lights in the village

some small birds have failed and gone.
the others sound just the same.

is that a small
white house
at the side of

the road?

there comes a time when buttons
take on a simple importance

taking on from hooks and eyes

stitched on card.

white threads

this morning i find in my diary
that the glass house is closed
and that some sort of comment
shall be afforded.

.this will take place later today
or maybe tomorrow depending
on all sorts of things.

dark the day came

even with the sky

real blue.


the helicopter flew over.

hiding did not work
for was caught up with
in the lane
asked to explain

talked randomly about slate fences
and temporary miniatures

slate slides
mud slips
rain falls

seems higher this time

water expands to where i see
the edge

watching the weather

discussing the news
for news came yesterday

local

pause like in breathing


I hope you don’t mind
and that is how it started

you see it reminds
me of the visit to
that house by the mill
where there is a box
to stand on to be able
to see the mountain
behind

while waiting and through the *****

left saw one golden tree

autumn cameo

each little thing

here we need no black days
no more, not in this house

seen too many troubles….

as i rose,

a pink mist descended.

it was actually already there,



i like the sound of the action here.

palest blue, some say,
duck egg, with rust,
slight dusting of rose
to combat corrugated iron.

look at the morning come dark now

it is october

look at the weathered walls

hear the song come random

with words true for us with no argument

and our insides curl

with these feelings

down the centre of town
an avenue in fall

and the day came divine

we can hear  the scratching

when dark comes

comes the scuttlings

flutterings  outside


bats fly round our houses

will this all be for nothing

if you make no changes,

live in glass houses

and throw stones

about

james

fascinating
watching the stain spread,
red drops as blood.

salted.

or is it the air changing?

mood settles, or is it the
time of year?

if I had been a boy
would I have looked like him

worn corduroy?

if you had been a boy
would you have looked like him

and we wonder
at the likeness

there.