liking rags
i move on
with differing
music
the trial by glass

required for mending always
yesterday she explained to sew
the four holes in synchronicity
tight
on linen
yesterday the words came easily with labels

i think my work,
my soul
is in
my chest.

they did not know she had many, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                          catalogued

a darker green,
jasmine climbs the window,
storms brew, we are older now.

moving on i feel it was a flashback
to the girl who wished for quiet and
can remember  in detail

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

careful what you dream on a cusp of night. know that all stars are not the same.

seen  through the net nightly.

a thing so private, so intense .   . simple , complex. no one will see it .    

                      note your achievements to date.                     .hell no

maybe connections are missed the link dismissed.    
metaphors faint as my flimsy whispers  

look closely

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

new mathematics

the rooms were swept yesterday
bones hidden
teeth implied

yet the shape remains embedded

power house looms ahead. they pray for peace and family, their lovely homes and salary. pigs. work for the people supposedly.

slipped sideways.
while all remains the same, something is different.

do not know everything
only my version
a fraction of the whole
blue sky thinking
here

mainly red,

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue,

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

pause like in breathing

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

like gradually the markers came
maybe someone someday will
see them
suddenly

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

power house.
bone house.

dark/ we painted it
all vaguely national
trust

blows ideas into our houses
messages bring connections
a busy day with folk talking

things will do for now
until it changes again
slightly

there was a gentle breeze going, then
the sun came through.

slower morning here today. the radio plays.
dove grey overcast sky. heavy they say.
maybe rain?

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

doubly,
font and image.
to twice the normal extent
or degree.
things happen, we deal,
cards are set, dice thrown.
life moves on.

some folk don’t say much
some folk manage
quite well
really
being independent

now the days grow lighter, my head is
tied back on, and all seems well.

dark small cloud dropped rain.
still, the small birds sing

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around .

did i sit quietly thinking
then place a few
things together?

yes

i don’t use a teapot
but evidently many do,
and cosy up together.

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

stains the cup if left standing,
remember the hotel, 1964,
we used to scour them especially
round the handle, then the base.

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality
please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time
for hostility

there is nothing quite like changing stuff,
you see he always came on tuesday, but then
we started writing that day, so he will come
on thursday each month.

happy yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour
and oh that name come true.steve

is fading now
yet remains as the description

do not feel so great, again today.

i wanted to be european.

a bigger picture.

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any embellishment that is bows you
know
yet
i don’t know why
only as i say that
i think i may do
i guess that is a story for another morning
james

was dark blue with a little red added
lasted two weeks and still prominent

serendipidy
all is honesty
i have a witness.

evidence produced.

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

there was thing

to write about

yet

i forgot

it

tapering off into dots repeated
the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

‘ you mean it were the settings that was wrong ‘

yes.

‘so it was all your imagination?’

yes.

when you say gray, do you mean grey, as in lady jane or earl as in tea. when you say grey, do you mean gray, as in mary, my friend? do you mean that we all come from different countries.

we named it best eleven.        dark the day,          we are survived.

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

pool of fear,
the fright of interrogation,
guilt,
i hear.
from where comes the mourning,
late afternoon,
and evening…

goes where it leads me, a kind of conversation between me and the work, but drawing on what is in mind.

“kind of a diary?”

things come awry and we leave it so
the random nature of things
faintly corrupted