talk goes on all day, about the heat,
the rain and drizzle,
no thoughts on the shipping
forecast. words red, remembered.


the bird, the boy, the machine,
there is only air between.

a challenge to describe   these trees as suggested


the gentle good,  dawel disgyn,  little time
left, nor funds for flying.

so we move forward differently once again.


.while you remain in mind.

some thing is changing here,
so slight it can hardly be
noticed.

yet it has been.  a feeling,
came with the light rain .

the quietness

all things are changing,

while in the studio a series
commenced
marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic

sometimes you know
i have no clue as to what
is occurring
here
or over there


find it challenging
and disappear

( notes on darkness) more fairy lights is all that is needed, radio music, and padding about really….

changed my status,

worked out my age

and noticed my memories are mainly places

did you find a pin there, did you pick it up and stick it?  

did you stay safe, wrap the shawl around and hold    it   close?    

   did you see my life breaking, bring me pins for mending? …

drawing the child with found fabrics
watching the marks come good, no dots
intended


yet they came
without warning

they waved and smiled

i watched the sewing
i watched the stars
the seating all arranged

fear
of this and that
of nothing in particular
that no one else  will
understand

as he left the garden
he said they may be working nearer home now.

dry he wore the white dress
though
his hair curled damply

we drew him
we painted him

he is taller now & remains
much the same

lady on the bus told me her sister kept lots of soap and what did I think.

I says she sounds like me.

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,
with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

you thought we were broken
yet we watch you solidly, bravely like joan
with just one comma throughout

snakes figure a bit here since
i saw that one in the
famous old painting with an egg
in its mouth

..blue sky..

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them
i never tell you much
nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in
yourselves

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she
is in disguise
with different
hair

little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable.

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what royalty is and he agreed and said
what is it then?

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

seems that you are trouble, is that correct?
yes.

it seems you need to let the birds sing

became slightly nervous looking up
at it


retreated to the studio

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

the ******* the bus had some, in blue though,

and i admired them while thinking that they will be fine for a more senior person.

then before the film that monday I visited the market, bought some much the same in red.

found some suitable socks and wore them to town

all comfy  and overwhelming in their newness.

yet I guess no one noticed, only me.

oh.

day of small things,
slowly steadily worked
as we rest the dust motes,
shine as gold.

their house was
down by the stream that
ran the side of the road

nice little house.

who knows what goes on there.

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

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.

young man shouting at the elders

the high street

that they are waving those flags yet not saying anything

shouted and shouted like anything

while some of us got bored

left and bought a second hand marvel tee shirt in black

others stayed behind and filmed

save the children #

bob

.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

may be as well if two buckets are bought

at the same time

not to keep them

one

inside

the other

for  length of times..

saw them on the way to montgomery by bus

& finding them cheaper than elsewhere  bought them on the way home

popped them in the shed  where they melded together well

heat and sheer determination eventually prised them apart

two buckets

so while out on a longer walk,
met him and he explained to me,
about walking there and back again

how small
how white the child
skin rinsed with tears

salt in the wind

fail softly with a sloping line
tapering off into dots repeated
the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

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.

we were there early

and so were the others

with snacks and extreme tiredness

from shopping,

unused to,

we live in the country.

dropped crumbs

impossible not to

snacks all crunchy for mouth satisfaction.

after we left, when all went quiet, the mouse came

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

duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see