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.

as i rose,

a pink mist descended.

it was actually already there,

i like the sound of the action here.

i thought the window misted,

my glassses steamed,

walked room to room,

and from the windows saw,

the softest steam morning

on the mountain,

through the trees.

the promise of another

day in wonderland.

:: tides are higher now, flooding the paths. he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us ::

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

Which are often spelled as doughnuts.

My confession comes next.

I thought about those donuts a lot, and wondered if it is the jam or the crispy sugar coat which is the main delight.

So guiltily thought of visiting while in Portmadog and eating one without you and then feeling the need to confess on meeting with you.

Even pushed the door yet they were closed.

The alternative was Spooners yet even there would not be the same without your company, so went to the Port and just had coffee.

Bought a pack of donuts in Tesco before catching the bus.

On return see on Social media that Spooners was closed for refurbishment anyhow.

I hope it don’t snow.

Hoping you have had a good week also, maybe with some donuts…

With all this talk of donuts, remembered Mum taking us to an ideal home exhibition at the Wiinter Gardens and she bought a metal donut implement to fry batter.

Delicious.

Note..If you are arrived in Blaenau early on Tuesday, the Model Bakery there used to/may have donuts, the heaviest I have ever eaten…

That got me through the first months on my own.

Looking up observe the doll has dusty hair.

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

so i googled it,
and this is probably
as good as it
gets today.
i shall be sketchy
a few days.
slightly offline
maybe.

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.

blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was said the rock had failures

&

shouts of bingo.

three types conceived

which is possibly the max.

boston lodge

walking back on the cob in rain thought this is our take on rock, and that the rock is possibly being regular rock.

.some define folks this way.

faults.

they  do not know the darkness
how the light can fade into latin
& all things unreasonable

yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour
and oh that name come true
on opening jim

is fading now
yet remains as the description

shades defining.
now I have to say that I usually like
the colour as items, yet maybe not
as entity.
I face the slate
grey
and bleed red

feels necessary to hold onto memories
and to repeat myself

no words to describe the mass,
the danger of it all, the hate  that
rises.
the parallel,
the home, the black chair.

power house.
bone house.

red depleted.

i use blue.


oh the darkness of it all,the surface tension,primeval scream
hidden by centuries of crimson

a touch of red
suggested at dinner, to make
a photograph splendid, i noticed
the same in paintings at exhibition.

looking out, the grave yard, noticed
a touch of colour by the white.

cutting,
bleeding the lead
into showers,
and explosive marks.
the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.

when she heard that i had been drilling fitfully,
she asked why but i could not explain really. so
i added the stop.

it seems that some like sticks, while others do
not.

there are a few of us, one of us is      leaving.

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.

it don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.

think i may like to travel to small places,
old and full of history. deep aged fabrics
stained with the words of time. to touch

light is wonderful
lifts the brain and limbs
beyond

sparkles rain the morning
once again we have the repetition

walk the rooms in horror,
see genius in corners,
there.

realise that he may cry
all the tears of life.

sometimes takes a thing of note to come dancing
yet yesterday there was none of that though highly praised for labelling

he seemed surprised yesterday that i had completed the task

to ensure the proportions looked right for me

it is part of the job and if it is diaried must be done

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

or maybe you will still stay inside a while

inside the boundary lines

four fields

corona

we shall never know
for there is no microscope
here
moving on i feel it was a flashback
to the girl who wished for quiet and
can remember  in detail

seems we gets busy here and there
yet cannot verbally explain why we write
and paint

black dog,
barks.
below the llan.

such is the change of time
i have been around for  an
hour
extra

so far we have read the rules
in black and white
in print
meanwhile others translate them in different colours
i read your poetry in the rain

liking the format, liking the days
that come natural now without
no planning
evolving gradually

my heart is in my chest

a particular siding

i feel it sometimes

when i am walking hard or eating chilli

so i avoid that last thing

mostly

pink i expect with tubes

mostly like in the pig’s hearts

mum used to buy from the butchers

for dinner

now i am vegetarian


i think that if i have a soul

it may be behind the heart

hiding

and maybe that is where my work

comes from

it seems odd that at times of rest and when all is quiet around

that i cannot hear it

nor the other workings

like lungs and veins and stomach

oh!


except the latter rumbles

early yet
I have to tell you
that
i went a different way
to avoid the usual

is it the coldest place?

no shelter, only the doorway.

she let her friend warm there while the lady opposite hid by the wall

for the 30

was travelling the other way and watched the birds

fly

over

the chapel adorned with those spikes to deter them sitting

except there

where

it perched

vocally celebrating.

corbett hotel stands empty still

deteriorating.

it came gradual some time back

no one memorised the date

at all

not at all

we felt it was not right especially

the day on the bus, remember?

over time with help from friends and durability

all came better again.

special thanks to those mentioned.

#doll
#starry

and maybe, and probably
i cannot fix it
so will look after it
admire it daily
unless it rains
james

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

drawing the child with found fabrics
watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

you feel like two people
that one is split in two

that the other one does
look a bit like you
only more so