sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

was noted that some folk aren’t bothered and carry on without looking
the difference is a thing

the mothth as collage.
a quiet ththing.

paper covers history.

bent on layers
of time, pretending.

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any other embellishment like bows

you know

he asked me who will be afraid of our ghosts
ghosts of humans
when we are gone

481.

no bus arrived the timetable lady was contacted and she explained the bus was due at 2.30 pm that my internet were wrong and no one was bothered what it said at bus stops

undeniably tracing honesty in the air
with one finger
pointing

it came clear later..

the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander
in memory

like birds we flew

that feeling that arrives with the name of the county
the memory of your home and closeted life
now eroding slowly
that sense of belonging to the land
it is that feeling

is overcast today
a slight breeze from the
window
wide
a slight hint of colour
bleeding from the patch below

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising

did not wish to go to sea
went just the few times

that I remembered
last evening

the crossing

it all a dream, or facts
in reality, made of mind.

all stone residue haunting.
our life. will we very know
forever wandering?

search hill

has been a long time coming, it lasted many years,
now is gone.

all of it, all the straight ideals and weathered work.

were the markers always there
left by some other
wanderer?

on paper
In the studio
that was so precise and quite particular

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

or is it the air changing?
mood settles, or is it the
time of year?

initially it was said
that secondly should be
second and initially
should be first

i was confused that
nobody said third
and comforted
by the sound of fourth
a
memory of moth

may understand the red thing

enjoyed the film with the colours
yellow and gorse along
the path
days on the sands
skipping up through the tracks seeing
the adder

sea fret  in by six.      today the sky has lifted early.

yet the days moved nicely. there were little troubles, nothing to diminish the beauty of it all.

you know
all neat and patterns with orange
usually

was worried over the empty barn. .it  survives,
some
way.

we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james
by the light of the phone….

large rocks
fenced off yet
maybe i will
creep through
and touch
one quiet day

one stone
one finger touch
a ritual

who knows what lies underneath
here the land goes up and down
water drains
into rivers

undeniably tracing honesty in the air
with one finger
pointing

it came clear later..

old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing.
the hunted tried not to sleep
there

grass
holds the sand.
sand holds
the grass.
have you walked the dunes
hollowed path, coconut gorse.
have you found contentment there?
have you sat the sun, black crow bird,
have you closed your eyes at that
within, enjoyed that
without?
the tin hut is still empty.

imagine you a pirate, with stripey trousers
and a large black patch.

on imagining things
sometimes scare myself silly

yesterday a sea fret, misted trees,
added edge ; visual delight.

i like this road to there.

driving the land, the songs,
carry us along, to our place,
the constant places,
we think don’t change,

pale words a clue in the breathing
the stone set left in barns

caught the words hopefully in burning hands thinking that the sky was clear

though in the past
never so far away

need to move them into a place
of loose adjustment
of random offerings
and sketchy lines

we went out on the chain ferry across to the beach
all sun sea gulls and possibilities
day of freedom

all became a thing yesterday
regarding these marks of ours
and we finished
on this
i hope you do not mind

we look for sand
there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising

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

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road
up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us
onward.

my quiet friends felt shaky
weary while getting back to
somethings

sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

listen, repeat the
random insects.
stitch another way.

spread out as cotton threads
knotted
&
i will not mention the word

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.