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

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

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.

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

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

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

maybe it came across preachy

and was not intended so



it was the sound of the guns that startled

my day

then on being told that birds were the target
was sad



don’t mind what other folk eat at all

especially those on tug hill
over there



today i ate toast and honey that dripped

down my pyjamas



how are things?

we listen to the rain early

with mixed feelings

there may not be gardening done today

there may be drawings

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

satisfactory arrangement
on the surface

as we know there is much below

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

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

she said it without  warning
& i was horrified

said to come to bed quick

lay down and rest

the warm blanket cosy


make a nest

a bit ******* round

and hopefully it will all go away


i said to the bear, i said that

the washing was left out and I had not washed up yet


dear bear said it did not matter

that care will be taken

and we will not tell the little ones

for fear of worrying them


we watched the sun go down together

stains the cup if left standing,

remember the hotel, 1964,

we used to scour them especially

round the handle, then the base.

high, mountain track,
scattered trees, country
road.
spend the day , waterlogged
moor, black rooted, bring it home.

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road
up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

pause like in breathing


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

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

with friends.

lawns are a thing
i watched the history
been to a museum in southport

pretty place that for a town
with council gardening you know
all neat and patterns with orange
usually

here it is left longer for the wild things
to live and hide

then mowed much later
in the summer with grit
and determination

i have a real old green one
hand pushed yet I keep it safe
and use the electric mower
carefully

was the bike delivered safely?

carefully we drew her out

all tidy with reason, wearing

us down

fail softly with a sloping line
tapering off into dots repeated
the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

"Is art a box that you climb into?”

“Well, yes, I guess it is. I never thought of it like that”

“Are you compartmentalizing?”

ideas ,
allelujas of creativity.

let the change come slowly,

join the group.

reading the line, moved the line
into a place of hedges, rural
contemplation.

not understanding the word,
we google and discuss.

so many connections, so
much came from nothing,
god particle, if god
is the word to use.

reading the line, we move
into a place of hedges, where
the wild things grow.

there the wild things grow.

we were friends

more than that with promises that faded into silence.

i woke this morning the same

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

came shiny
lovely at 45 degree angle

oh no
he said
this is the wrong one

she goes up early these days,

as if she is involved.

jumping the stairs

and laying head down,

eyes swimming,

brown.


does she know,

does she miss him too,

is that why.

she goes up early,

before me,

and i visit.


until thinking of her there,

i join her

my head down,

eyes

brown

too,

brown eyes too

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

write of parlay

we chatted over manners and harboured edges. these things … moved the line into a place of rural contemplation.

want to draw that image

to keep it in my brain
to come out some other way

take on all the things on our arms
our shoulders

the coat hanger effect

i noted his oversized coat
and was admonished for

assuming judgement on
appearance

no no no it is about remembrance
and the drawing out later
when all is quiet james

it is that time of year for memorials
eighteen days yet

perhaps someone will come to measure the depth

calculate the timeline

:: tides are higher now, flooding the paths. he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us ::

so flimsy it is hardly there.
so worn, it is almost dead.

recreate the dying in your head.

so small it is hardly there.
so cheap it is almost dead.

draw it. recreate the scene in your head.

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

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

it was at the bus stop where the buses converge

transfer the passengers

where everyone talks though

not about that, nothing like that.

she came from dolgellau, said hello and talked about all those things, no fuss, just honestly ,

on the way to berlin.

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.

like flags that are decorative
or bunting that represents a

happy time

i dislike borders
representations of separation

two voices, softly said,
“yes” they cannot
understand the numbers
nor find their families.

dry he wore the white dress
though
his hair curled damply

we drew him
we painted him

he is taller now & remains
much the same

nige.

you showed me your first car with the glove compartment

i
sat and thought about my situation

felt I could live in a car

decades later
learned that you did

the thing desired some years back

is

now offered

& now

no longer required

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

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

the kitchen is quite dark without the light on as is slightly below ground, the graveyard behind

used to leave a lamp on yet with energy prices hike, now follow her lead and wait until entry

the cobwebs away, yet not all of them.


impossible, an old house. there would be

time, if it was national trust where all is

care and cleaning, though i have heard

they leave some now for authenticity.


I imagined it would cost forty five, yet it was sixty,

until the special offer.


we have washed and dusted,

spring cleaned, had time for the garden.


again.


it is a nice place

here.

charcoal.

yes

a soft substance

easily crushed,

manipulated.

must ensure,

i am not.

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.

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.

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising