when was I anything,
when was I brave.

we are all mostly frightened,

all much the same.

have a photo here of up the valley
where they used to stook the harvest


all the family out working the fields

in the evening it came cooler
for rest

those days we went each year
watched them drive through the
village first

oh the excitement
waving

only they did not come last year
of course and i guess they will

not again this year

i would not mix with a crowd now

would you james?

when I was a kid the elephants
came by train and there was a
procession from the station
through town with performers

all waving

i was scared of the lions and other
creatures

not the elephants nor the clowns
james

i loved them both
and still do

1°
overcast

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

it seems you need to let the birds sing

some photos show nothing
while paintings can come
more personal

numbers


they add some for emergency


dreaming nothing works

becomes seedy like rubber buttons


stitched on particular

wear


they come at us with knives


power houses

talking with tongues

with nowhere else to go


no one else to torment


i laugh at them talking in metaphors

yet I do the same


there are raindrops on the window


while I die

of laughing

it came shiny
lovely at 45 degree angle

oh no
he said
this is the wrong one

traces remain hidden for the most part
only to come out on particular
occasions
without  warning

she said it without  warning
& i was horrified

pool of fear,
the fright of interrogation,
guilt,
i hear.
from where comes the mourning,
late afternoon,
and evening…

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 #

fear

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

do not wish to hide
do not wish to run
to take the boat and steer
to take the hiatus i fear

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

the challenge is rain

and we had some

had looked at the writing and chose a small one though i do like the long one

about wet days on the hill…

while out on a longer walk,

met him and he explained to me,

about walking there and back again

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

knew he was coming near. said hello.

we stood together quiet, he turned.

i went to the bridge as always,
down along the river
bank
and back.

he had waited at the gate.
i looked at his legs so long,
held her up to see.

they seemed to like each other too.

we all stood quietly together.

up the road the bus burned black.

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

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

i don’t mind it
being private

though I do dispute wiki having
opinions

i know it to be fact
and rightly so

those sell by dates are guidance
those some things live longer

we agreed to disagree only
never verbalised as such

we are still in lock down
and are locked in

metaphorically

gently

you ask for the menu yet we do not know what you mean

please speak plain

☆☆☆

you may have

giblet soup with sherry

scrag of mutton

****** of burnet with parsley

the consistency of good cream

& fried breadcrumbs

☆☆☆

then

a melange of blancemange, yet

we mostly make woollen cloth

it would be an adventure
like in a film of survival or
explorers

paddling against the flow

later going with it
in a new boat especially

bought as a treat
the two of you

together

we looked up the word we
thought she meant
and it became unnegated

the true meanings get forgotten
while cultural attitudes kick in

remember animal life

i reckon to go get it
and later you may find the other one

and then

buy another one

jim

4°
mostly cloudy

it was
the dream

the cloud
the quarry

water flows down this valley

wind blows round our houses

what is it?

how will they know for thinking
comes silent inside our heads
unless we utter

the village remembered

there were blue skies

we went by bus

i spend thirty days writing

one eye closed, storm building.


you never know what goes on

behind the scenes.


there are pictures each day

some seem similar

some seem a memory now.


a daily challenge

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

while all around is trembling , we weave together
with dreams and possibilies.

there is not much more to add, it is lighter
now.                                       birds sing early.

once again we come back to ourselves.

did i sit quietly thinking
then place a few
things together?

yes

looked out last evening toward the grave

yard

saw the light

the machine making a place

it used to be manual
i know the method

bob told me back then
know the depth

he has retired
since the covid came

said he is seventy now and aches a bit
i heard

i smiled after what he said to me
after he touched my arm

he often did that

once he kissed my cheek

buried my husband

to talk of food

each day we check and diary
for there is no popping into
the shops just now

we see on social which shops
are closed for decontamination

say deep clean again

and those gone sick

it comes from kimnel bay
the asda van and we use
it carefully

the basement is now a store
with a label
and categories

as is the outbuilding
amongst other things

part of the day is pleasant
in the kitchen chopping
preparing

boogie wonderland
ha

lots of nuts

james

briefly

early

think i heard a night jar

up the valley here.

it was a quiet night except

for that.

we have the window open now.

did the breeze come
late last night, or did
some one slip into the room.

you were sleeping.

was there some one in the house
creeping
down the stairs. looking,
another time for thinking.

you were sleeping. now waking
wonder at the blessed company
of mindful thinking.

tidy the curtain.

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

related to weight & gravity

like a

black ink line ruled sharply down

ending with an abrupt grand splatter

cover the place with whiteness.
pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

‘isn’t the sun warm?’  said the bear, ‘and look i speak in italics’



yes, it makes me feel better.



‘which the warmth or the format?’

tell you it is a full and complicated story
that may upset.
i wrote it quickly using shape,colour,
metaphor and symbol.

wonder if i shall write serious,

tell thee all  hard stories that

don’t exist. i wonder if i shall stop,

when no one reads.

such is the change of time
i have been around for  an
hour
extra

oil pond mirrors the darkness the november
day                  sun draws white against the grey
this       leaf  lays on earth

it has come warmer here
lately

so me and him cut the saplings
ropes pulling away from the wire

below the ivy threads the surface
to be pulled today as I tested the
method


which worked

plans are set
though news news ain’t good
any which way i look

i read about the dependency
he described
and thought he was more than that

we are not our issues nor experiences
we are more than that

each person a unique being

slipped sideways.
while all remains the same, something is different.

sometimes we say gosh or my goodness
a phrase used much in subtitled korean dramas

which what I like

they say it ain’t seemly to cuss
at this age and present gender

though I really like
******
as a little word

they say it is safer out of doors
that it does fade after a few days
though he thought it lived forever

blimey

the second visitor in a while

later the top were sawn off
tidy

ready to balance the collected
stone

james

being corrected
being predicted

each morning, each morning write to you
as if you are here

still

as if talking to you still

look to the window , see the grass is cut again
flowers gone

still wonder

where you are

or nowhere?

look out again , see green cherries on the tree

wrote a continental seven automatically

as always

then afterwards wondered if it may

be mistaken for a four.



things turned out fine

and the next day

did not get blown off the bridge.



high winds.

well hello

you see I did write back to you

in

a different format

more like a letter now

careful what you dream on a cusp of night. know that all stars are not the same.

seen  through the net nightly.

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

you came again in auto fill

last evening sat alone

we still cannot understand

there is no explanation for that

nor what you did

you are a ghost to us now

fading

we watched it on tv

whisper from you came
a good idea
to stop those dreams and headaches

the moon came bright with yet another name