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.

from the windows saw,

the softest steam morning

on the mountain.

the promise of another

day in wonderland.

gently gently make those little
amendments

make things interesting

move it about

a touch of red
suggested at dinner, to make
a photograph splendid, i noticed
the same in paintings at exhibition.

looking out, the grave yard, noticed
a touch of colour by the white.

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

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour.

light the darker days

of gloom and melancholia

born from intrusion

and swede.

this is quality,

a fortunate piece.

skimmed slates that bounced about

unlike the pebbles that grow on our banks here

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road

up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

i thinks it’s a mouse in the bathroom

moving the old soap into odd places

and leaving bits about

for the cleaner to sweep.

this morning early we pinned that soap onto the bath board

where is the power house,
metal books he said.

concrete palaces for those
that prey.

he grew it plant like,
fought it,
numbered it
thirteen.

comes a wider space, with mistakes and misgivings.

nothing in this world is perfect. it is raining today.

the anxiety failed later in the day


a more comfortable place as i
watched other peoples ways and
opinions

we saw the lights in the village

a handy hint is the furthest place,
people like to be near. people may prefer
moving forwards, not looking back too much.

things go round, rebound. it is a lovely
journey, through the mountain range, glory
for writing,

travel journals, while all the while, we think
we travel the other way.

so we did.

maybe some do not plunge right in
just dabble on the surface

flick in puddles
like little birds

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

they flew up so quickly i could not catch them

and the bus too far away

someone commented these sunny days that glare on the phone  obscures the subject anyhow

a case of point and shoot blindly

yet I saw the swallow yesterday
heard it had arrived on social

hengwrt posted

later I went down the estuary
to walk the wood

the tide was up  so wandered back to see the cowslips  and the photographer knelt in wet grass

a real camera

james

he was still laying down and mumbling.



‘why have you not shared that one

about belief ?’



i think i forgot.



‘did anyone read it?’



i don’t know.



the bear slipped back to sleep

holding the rags.

the mothth as collage.
a quiet ththing.

becomes part of the
pattern
a mark on the horizon


could change it for another yet it has become
a mantra


a pause like in breathing

see the softest looking clouds
wonder
if that is where that work came
from


with gentle grey

early yet
I have to tell you
that
i went a different way
to avoid the usual

research is kind, we have tried many colours.


we ate the cake, yet not wishing to appear
greedy left a crumb.
for a bird.

he stood like a dancer,
arms out.

he looked
and moved,
like a dancer.

.a happy picture of you indeed all balaclava’d and goggled dashing forth.

.maybe i will get a photograph?

.it has been dry and clear enough to be busy out of doors and there was not time to write because of it.

.i am about to reorganise the kinding store

having tidied the upper room of the outbuilding already and deleted  incorrect predicted commas here.

.washing is out and blowy  while pandemic ensues.

said he didn’t watch it much while things are unsettled

over there


a poor choice of word maybe

perhaps not alarmist.


we asked if he referred to the war

which we consider affects us all


he nodded then sat down in his garden chair

we lifted the soakaway cover rusty after years

saw a slow worm sleepy while ants ran about

placed the first in the ferns and waved to the others

drain rods functioned with a little resistance

distance calculated ,wiped and put away


indoors the sink runs clear

while i am educated

don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.

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

maybe

is was dark blue with a little red added

lasted two weeks and still prominent.

much has happened since

i told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister

we laughed and the wind blew things
away

differing light

shades and all that surrounds

i drew them later
my way

the miracle of modern fabric,

when the door eventually opened,

i found not red runny,

nor shrunken woolly,

but just  clean washing…..

the miracles of modernity.

deep holes,

cut grass and wiping stones.

there is a place.

all became a thing yesterday
regarding these marks of ours

a bit of a collaboration
on twitter and we finished
on this

i hope you do not mind

it is a topic here and a memory

the privet

that is why it is labelled now

belonging to a social media group

with memories of where i lived

growing up

saw a photo of privet road, the corner

with a comma here

halfway up the hill was the coal and seed merchants and I used to go in with mum

cole and son

i guess she ordered coal not seed as there were five of us and not much time for gardening though gran’s mr palmer did next door

along the wall in tubs were the seeds to dip into , to feel

with permission and samples of the differing fuels

coal, coke, briquettes and nutty slack

i liked our visits there very much and had forgotten what was around the corner

saved the photo and sent it to my brother who replied and sent a current google view by return

he said he preferred the photograph which was nice as he does not always reply

i still like coal and seeds

some things don’t change

dark/ we painted it
all vaguely national
trust

so in the mist of memory my 15 minutes passed  without concentration and went indoors after

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

did not tell no one,

that while out walking

thinking of you in ukraine

my feet tangled in debris and i fell flat.

my mind is broken yet my phone and glasses
remain intact

my knee bled. my hands to save me

scabbed. limped back to you.

you who bandaged

& fed me sweet things.

will continue to think of you in ukraine, to walk alone in solidarity.

the drawing

went wrong from the beginning


i thought and on the wrong paper too

i thought


had ordered card from asda

got a substitution of a colouring book

more suitable for the house next door with children

i thought so donated it over


there


saw their puppy


then continued on the wrong paper

i thought

only things worked out

cojoined twins

in having found a book to read

in the corner chair by the curtain

hiding


delivered free by the library in town


the excitement in finding the place ready

facing the fire

the weather steady outside

a while


the fabric rich and heavy

safe from the arctic storm

while waiting and through the *****

left saw one golden tree

autumn cameo

each little thing

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

light is wonderful


lifts the brain and  limbs

beyond


sparkles   rain  the morning


once again we have the repetition

of words


shapes fly

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring

trawsfynydd, we forgot the buzzing,

only heard the wind, for

wind there was this time.

the sky predominant, a gap

for the light to pass

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.

the wood louse died and feel it was natural not ****** or an accident

a lot of this event here

an old house

feeling sad about it we remembered reading that the energy does not disappear

that it changes form

we smiled when we knew that and placed the tiny body in the compost

later that day we saw art from materials placed in compost

and smiled

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

you know

eight thirty  till five.   it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning wasting time with wires and connections.

cover the surface.   it takes time.