red depleted.i use blue,
oh the darkness of it all,the surface tension,

primeval scream
hidden by centuries of crimson

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.

things come awry and we leave it so

the random nature of things

faintly corrupted

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.

feels like autumn now, cat is in, windows misted.

a challenge to describe   these trees as suggested

the gentle good,  dawel disgyn,  little time

left, nor funds for flying.


tiny things become intimate


you may put them in cases, or hang on pins

straight or safety, it becomes political

the choice is yours


bulldog clips


you are the curator.


maybe things are red with black

today

so the sky is pink, the window is open.



listen to the crow call, or is it a rook?



we have the memo.



‘it is cosy here this morning’, crooned the bear.

feel for the beautiful moments
that pass & not recorded here

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

concentrate, all comes into focus,
floating.

these are the warmer days, days of independance.

days to charm

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

it is a new little ribbon,

for you. i will tie here,

yet not too tight.



it has been a long time now.



yes, said the bear.

a long, long time.

you remember it perfectly
describe with accuracy

the colander metal and bent
for straining the peas and
other vegetables

potato masher

i have that too but may
have photographed the
wrong one

we shall see later

mummy’s hammer kept
in the third drawer down
even now

even now I have her fish slice
though I don’t eat fish

you know

you know
we have different memories about some things
different opinions on other matters

yet we think of her colander

both the same

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

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

it is simply.
not worth fretting.

down the centre of town
an avenue in fall

and the day came divine

light the darker days

of gloom and melancholia

born from intrusion

and swede.

this is quality,

a fortunate piece.

feeling my way
through the history of this place

or is it the air changing?

mood settles, or is it the
time of year?

we wonder how it will map
out

we have wondered before
when waking to a misted world

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

no words to describe the mass,

the danger of it all, the hate  that

rises.



the parallel,

the home, the black chair.



power house.

bone house.

told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister


we laughed and the wind blew things
away

so it was yet no one did anything

here

drew on experience

kept quiet

for no one

hears

they are dead

as deaf as a dodo

*

deaf as the man upstairs

dead as the designer now

the virus got them

they came with moustaches

all curly waxed

but it still got them

the day of the dead

sea swim
is saturdays at ten in the morning,


sundays later at eleven.


this too remembered in the bathroom.
we use the pool, mainly.

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

one way,
and  another.

up poole hill
or down.

you kissed me.

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

it has been warm
and sunshine here a few
days now

so much work achieved
outside
like

painting the studio
the wooden walls
outside

then preservation
on the summerhouse
and tidying that garden
round the back

this morning my hands feel rough

wind blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was the weekend with time
to spare

in some houses no one,
presses, steams and irons,
clothes, the inevitable linen,
no more.

busy days we are pressing words,
hanging out for all to see,
to disagree.

a private place, a box, there
are some you will never see.

secrets.

the british way, not mentioning
yarn, too much, repeating words,
where no longer necessary. wool
in abundance here, piled on wool
lorries, neatly balanced with

premium  acrylic.

it is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,
only just a theory, yet used
independantly, alongside
honest work

so you wake and hear the sound

then change your plans


arrow the tasks forward

then check the website and do not amend

accept the substitutes or refunds


move the car up

open the gate carefully so it does not break

again


these are little things


some of you out there are suffering

and how can I help?


the bear sighs and turns over

life goes on
the mark remains

it was remarked that there is no hurry
that we have the rest of the winter

:: numbers ::

did you see the fairy folk fluttering

moth mouths and mismatch


the day came clear with numbers

written backwards


did you know that or did you google to find out


touch lightly in case wings

disintegrate to dust


tread lightly my dears

count them

steadily

:: you know ::


five men


those men who desire

who speak in three voices


is all i will say here, you know who you are

*

time is upon us as he writes

the old way


dust from the fire

he weaves

remembering the beginning

of it all


ash escapes his brain

into solitude


days left

three voices

rise until just one

is heard

softer.

once the day is dawn, the door is open, face the sky, all

comes well some days.

always been a plain one,
no frills, tidy packaging.

went to liverpool, slowly,
rather slowly to be safe.

on arrival found art to
be inspired, enquired
about restrictions there,
the mirrors square.

on arrival found bling.wore bling.

on returning home ate liver. #apt.

varying kinds

and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care.

biscuit tins are useful

varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful

shades defining.

now I have to say that I usually like

the colour as items, yet maybe not

as entity.

I face the slate

grey

and bleed red

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

there seems to be an echoing a glitch in proceedings

so we came in the back way and exclaimed like blimey

there will probably be much of this with all this being

static like some caravans

and other mobile things

you notice small things too
and record them slightly

those touches, nuances

do you see the way they
glance, look aside

think i may like to travel to small places,

old and full of history. deep aged fabrics

stained with the words of time. to touch

days left,

three voices

rise, until just one is heard

there is always something
which is often nothing

to worry about

stressing over imagined happenings
which don’t  occur

she came worried about monkey pox
so made her ordinary  tea

the next day I travelled  up
walked the streets and saw

the stories there
for a change

the voices rise

looking up
see rainbows

the small plane still flies over
most days

one is down, string
broken.

remembering now
metal birds in comics,
one flew over low
yesterday.

i fail to describe
this place as it felt
saturday,

wet green, womb like.

it is a colder spring,
now with rain.





rain, rain

think the road is closed for people on bicycles

with a helicopter flying over

this morning while doing the garden in the heat got sweaty and allergic

sneezing with spotty rashes

i ate tinned gooseberries from the fridge in the cool corner of the cottage

and felt better

in time

i will leave you six

items,



like he said.



five you say you want,

one to mend some things.



the bear, the other bear,

the others plus

a pin.



encapsulated.

were the markers always there
left by some other
wanderer?

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