your time will come

i will wait politely here until the day
and hope predicted don’t change
nothing
no more

bought her tea set gently in parts
each week from woolworths and i still have
some of it

is it acceptable to think in phrases, believe the attrocities yet do not share them

with friends.

well hello

you see I did write back to you

in

a different format

more like a letter now

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

satisfactory arrangement
on the surface

as we know there is much below

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

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

you know how you can hear me,

when i am thinking. ‘yes that is because

i came from the forest, it is quiet there,

we can hear everything’

yes.

‘where have you been all day?’

here and there and felt the air

on my cheeks.

‘ so i hope the blanket of sadness

is lifting?’

yes. thank you bear.

small village, mayhap a hamlet, named,
one forgets the rules with all that has happened.


nice to be out, to see the neighbours’ houses,
to see what has changed while i have been working

let us look at things, differently.
often, we do things, no one ever sees.
that is you and me. two of us
dancing on the sand.

it came
and went,
quickly.

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

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.

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

seen  through the net nightly.

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

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

we listen to the rain early

with mixed feelings

there may not be gardening done today

there may be drawings

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

small thing  ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

work along the coast with thread and diligence

gather wools

layer carefully we shall have warmth this winter

think i heard a night jar

up the valley here.

it was a quiet night except

for that.

we have the window open now.

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

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

like flags that are decorative
or bunting that represents a

happy time

i dislike borders
representations of separation

came shiny
lovely at 45 degree angle

oh no
he said
this is the wrong one

we were friends

more than that with promises that faded into silence.

i woke this morning the same

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

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.

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

stains the cup if left standing,

remember the hotel, 1964,

we used to scour them especially

round the handle, then the base.

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

charcoal.

yes

a soft substance

easily crushed,

manipulated.

must ensure,

i am not.

has been a long time coming, it lasted many years,

now is gone.

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

serendipidy
all is honesty
i have a witness.

evidence produced.

pause like in breathing


I hope you don’t mind
and that is how it started

there may be after effects
yet

nobody suggested a flock of pigeons

at 2pm that snowy afternoon

and that notes will be made

no one mentioned sleeping
later than usual

those chin tattoos
that come all beautiful
and trendy

no one thought that you will like one…

their house was
down by the stream that
ran the side of the road

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

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

as you know,
some of us work sundays,
unless we work on monday.

some times we have this
day off, to have a weekend
of slower time. we pinned
the thought of you, carefully
35 times. needing more, we
shall shop on monday.

small gold at 20p a bunch
not counted. so you are
safe. i have his number
reinstated. twice have stated.


this does not mean i love you.

i shall send them to america.



pins

the thing desired some years back

is

now offered

& now

no longer required

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

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.

we thought about the things he
said about the tea plantations
in india
he does a big trip somewhere each each year
except last year and probably this year too

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

she said it without  warning
& i was horrified

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

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 #

12.37 pm.

.a mild day here with light cloudings.

.after chores and a quiet walk around the lanes watching the birds and other gentle creatures, went into town to the half price sale in the charity, i believe you say thrift .

.a repro can, gender based on gentlemen and a badge for John’s jacket which is deeply embellished already.

.chatted to Ianto on duty at the art place then bought boxes at Clive’s to hold the new paints tidy.

.lit stove and now a couple of hours painting.

.a photograph will follow.

ideas ,
allelujas of creativity.

let the change come slowly,

join the group.

black bird sings early, the same bird calls late.
new light drowns darkness, spring spins around.
black bird calls early, the same bird calls late.
sonnet sings ten beats to another’s spare sound.

who asks for word, who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, which rule of rhyme or reason.
making of lines , counting the breaks, our hearts
open. this is february, split season.
moon draws the tide, upper river pools
on spring, a note , a sonnet , a dance
where light or other prayers redeem fools,
those who rage the world sons may change perchance.

on spring we write in fourteen lines, to date,

black bird sings early, the same bird calls late.

on monday which was mayday bank holiday only may day was saturday with monday being the third already

i drew pictures on scraps left over from the other pictures i had cut round carefully

all day it rained hard, drumming

a little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what whitsun is and he agreed and said

what is it then?

ran out yesterday

lost you completely with the pattern in the sky

the leaves on the oak

on the mountain.       i lost you





you left the group

took off and flew



flight was not sustained

hovering over past demeanours

faltered

landed carefully



in disappointment hugging

affirming it did not matter

we wonder how it will map
out

we have wondered before
when waking to a misted world