has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any embellishment that is nice you
know

wind blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was the weekend with time
to spare

thankyou
for your offered help
and saying you care for my welfare
all very much appreciated
i thankyou and say it is only temporary

some photos show nothing
while paintings can come
more personal

is a simple thing,
to think sideways,
practice makes a hindrance
when others think straight.

look at the weathered walls
hear the song come random

no mention of gains or fortitude
some may look for the other one
some may find it

while the little people with their arms held high
dance in the sunlight with all that remains

you notice small things too
and record them slightly

those touches, nuances
do you see the way they
glance, look aside…

we miss you if you do not visit
a while
and we get all our tenses and lines
wrong and have to go back in a hurry
to amend

is a curious thread that
hold us together
while apart

some of us most of us
tucked inside
becoming whiter
chattering
small white teeth

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

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

during the evening after tea,

we wondered who had invented the chair

asked why i wanted it
i said that i did not know

he had a box in the room
to stand on
to see

we may all need one of those

the medicine works

though leaves the passages

dry

triggers sets me thinking of cowboys

we don’t have those here either

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

he stood like a dancer,
arms out.

he looked
and moved,
like a dancer.

when the smaller

people go into hiding

where will genius

raise its head again,

among the flat islands of regard?

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.

only  stone

set before

set like fire in empty barns

#readthat

the social worker was a ***** back then

#didyoureadthat?

he was worried over the empty barn. #metaphor .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..

an 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 the 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

i 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