we watched it come down over the mountain spreading
slowly
as the cloud passed by the sun
after cooling indoors we went to see
the maker in the lower field

feeling my way
through the history of this place

we should look after things
better. i wrote a thing a while
back. it filled my head with
pictures.

will watch the film on perception tomorrow alongside
another. red & white.  they say it will change my life.

meanwhile i **** boxes.

said old people fold notes
&
i felt insulted.

she said it bothered her a lot
when she counted them.

we should keep them flat
&
others may agree

who defines the different
level of thought
is there a manual
with charts and graphs
a litmus test to testify
that the thought got tangled

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.
this one remained bright,
even glaring

is a pretty thing especially today with the backdrop being darker

seems there may be some connection
some call it a trigger
some things leave us cold and wondering

hope to revert to an earlier
idea of smudge and carbonate
james
you see
there is no control
only that we think we have
which is probably all imagined

hesitate again
look down

regret my first sentence
now

maybe will say it some other time
now

pinky glow

she said that it was the coldest night for years

and I forget how many

were built where the chickens did live

where the old cottages were and some time back a photo occurred to remind.

bungalows

seemed modern to me, then the Shirley’s came, Mr and Mrs, with two boys in short trousers.

brian and the other one

they had wallpaper with galleons on while we had distemper  that was best not to lean on

my mum looked after those boys and once took them to grans

think it was Brian who slipped on the glass roof he climbed and split his leg open

next to them were a lady who had a baby born and showed me how to breastfeed with a rubber **** and me a child under 8

i think there were three bungalows in all

them days mother did not shop at coop,  nor did her mother  either, something regarding dividends

storm came yesterday dark and loud  the landscape veiled
awash a while
black things fade and all is grey

win or lose hedge your edge
write of parlay

there is not much more to add, it is lighter
now.                                       birds sing early.

once again we come back to ourselves.

metaphor.

which previously i called a small holding

provided us with murdered birds

heads bitten off

saved mum a job there

and when they sold it along with the old cottages set back

the bricklayers came and while  low down in their building

i ran round the back of our house despite her warning

fell

broke my head open

those brick layers took me to the hospital in their van

a towel wrapped round

two stitches

i bear the scar still

and they built bungalows

this is a little model.

it may be full of
metaphor.

it is warm and i worry
about the ice melting

spoke to others yesterday about
banning the word coping as a negative
thing, said with sympathy
head to one side.

it feels a frail word and does not apply

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine
we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see
he said folk get used to anything

i find
the memories are not as you may think.
i have new ones.

time is limited these days.
those one admired in youth
devastate us now.

can we know all things .we
only went twice ?

keeping things entirely to oneself is usual yet conflicting with the need to identify happenings

taught as required for copying  so we all looked the same
though some added bits and embellishments, which caused remark
while the space between lines was so immense

find the place overwhelming and claustrophobic, yet as you say some bits are interesting if i can stand the first bits.

met the tank man when i was there who talked lots.

knows all about tanks.

says he is in the pub if I want to chat.

they captured him because they could,

then told him he was free to go.

as he walked away

they shot his face off.

intentions to change it all
then see what is already there and
carry on quietly
knowing the change will come
whether slowly or suddenly
james

mentioning that, please note, it is only

certain elements that startle.

the fear of falling mentioned before, yet i stride out confident and all the while my brain is in-flight with dizziness and disconnect

on pavements.

though, there is a softer sound,

on earth or grass am capable

whilst oft i fly….

told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister


we laughed and the wind blew things
away

wrote the other day about the coal man falling

being brought into our kitchen

the memories

the marks

mother preparing the chicken killed by the fox in the small holding next door and donated

five of us and are asked to watch

i look away

the table is wood and wide

our gas stove grey with little legs,white door, a downward handle,

space under

where the cat hides

near christmas, she washes the dried fruit and puts under a tea towel on the side

we eat bits

we think she will not know

guess she does and how we laugh when the ginger beer blows up in the larder

i wonder when he eats a whole swiss roll….he dies some weeks after.

my brother..

i don’t like walking in snow

laugh at them talking in metaphors
yet I do the same

laugh at them talking in metaphors
yet I do the same

came shiny
lovely at 45 degree angle

oh no
he said
this is the wrong one

sadly some folk laughed at him called him names.

it is the blue tie and orange
top that looks distinctive..

..today..

ideas ,
allelujas of creativity.

let the change come slowly,

join the group.

using the light spots,
neglecting the dark,
except the margins.

so we go
dear child moving
forward.

these are the warmer days, days of independance.

days to charm

listen
to the divine air now
we are starting to breath
a little

no one
is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of
the night.

we spin.

coal and seed merchant at the top

by the turning before the fire

station

on the left going up

opposite where my brother worked on saturdays

in the fishmongers

both places had a particular aroma

you may just imagine

he brought home crab claws for tea and i did not like them

liked the seed merchant, allowed to feel and hold unlike the coal that too had names

nutty slack, briquettes and smokeless

while others remain unremembered

google reminds

&

late afternoon light beams the cabinet & mind wonders

think of granny and her ham tea with thick white fat and orange edging.

do not dignify the challenges. tread sweetly,
move on.

it is simply.
not worth fretting.

what is it?

how will they know for thinking
comes silent inside our heads
unless we utter

think of you, who made it special

and we leaped with the preparations, little folk.

he came round the back of the house, my beautiful

the coal house next to the toilet by our back door

once he fell and mother brought him in and his hands went to the walls and surfaces for support, making marks

i

fancy mother made him tea, with sugar

we moved house not so beautiful, my beautiful

upstairs, it was carried upstairs by the front door prepared with newspaper wads to stop the dust and me parked behind to count the bags.

always correct, failing the story of short loads and money on the side

now my beautiful, is delivered to the bunker outside and the delivery note put through the letter box for me

beautiful house for me yet

one never forgot the first

my beautiful.

varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful

becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.

maybe

is was dark blue with a little red added

lasted two weeks and still prominent.

much has happened since

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.