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.

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

find the chosen pathways
watch the birds and wild
flowers grow

below the scene plays out

with wildlife as punctuation

seems we gets busy here and there
yet cannot verbally explained why we write
and paint

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home

putting words in my mouth
like sweet sultanas in chocolate


they come in twos

listen
to the divine air now


we are starting to breathe
a little

ideas ,
allelujas of creativity.

let the change come slowly,


join the group.

what is in that bag in the car?

you mean the brown paper bag from the bakers?

yes.

well there are his clean pants and his socks.

and

the leaflet about the manchester ship canal

you wanted.

also is a light bulb.

do you remember the electrician advised her of the peculiar property

of bulbs, well

she gave me a bag of the discarded ones

which all worked.

anyhow, one is a small ***** in and does not fit my lights here.

it will do for the light in my bedroom at yours.

thankyou. i will put it in the bedside drawer.

yes. that is what i thought too.

i hope you get to go on the manchester

ship canal.

.so we move forward differently once again.

.while you remain in mind.

island.

island / n.1. a piece of land surrounded bywater

2. anything compared to an island,

especially being surrounded in some way

3. a detached or isolated thing

early

mist and greyness alongside a nice breeze through the window brings joy

builder is getting on fine and though the roof is mended it looks just the same only tidy

there is


one particular tile that looks quite divine.


i will hang out the window sometime to take a photograph for you



the interview felt dull, yet I will persist. 

with punctuation

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

wind blows around our houses

water seeps

i think my work,
my soul
is in
my chest.

my plans change
for the bus company

suggests we don’t go today
go on wednesday

not even tomorrow
unless it’s urgent

been busy though early
under the tree

no shoes at all, my delight

the neighbour gone looking for boots
you know

the shop up town soon closing

not this town
up blaenau…


13.55

you feel like two people
that one is split in two

that the other one does
look a bit like you
only more so

we shall never know
for there is no microscope

here

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

all became a thing yesterday
regarding these marks of ours
and we finished
on this
i hope you do not mind

need to move them into a place
of loose adjustment
of random offerings
and sketchy lines

we are survived.
light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.

they have gone now, we rise, heavy.
air comes clean and you accompany me.
it is a pretty place, with rain we become wet…

had the words ready.

a twist of logic.



you explained it all

to me. then the radio

stopped.



you wind the thread backward,

while some move forward.



i saw your picture again.



it means nothing.

i looked for your work, your writing

with a comma , and would have copied and saved for you

yet it is gone for me too

should I move myself into that other space where folk may be more polite

genteel

or carry on regardless

james?

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality
please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time
for hostility

day of small things,
slowly steadily worked
as we rest the dust motes,
shine as gold.

spread out as cotton threads
knotted
&
i will not mention the word

:: line drawing ::

watched it twice those days when we could travel

see exhibitions


quiet slow and uneventful

it left lasting impressions

a simple drawing out


no fuss


and sometimes late in the evening

think of it


leave the house

and return to the simple line drawing

taught as required for copying  so we all looked the same
though some added bits and embellishments which caused remark


while the space between lines was so immense

did you find a pin there, did you pick it up and stick it?   did you stay safe, wrap the shawl around and hold    it   close?        did you see my life breaking, bring me pins for mending? …

they  do not know the darkness
how the light can fade into latin
& all things unreasonable

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

some of us manage
to be vulnerable as naked
in private

some need holding up
in sight from my window

it comes as no suprise.

often ill they die.



it is the way.

it is not sad.



we are sensed

with  loss.



that includes you.

no more.

care for small things

to be tired after it all
to sleep soundly

carelessly

the day yesterday

carefully we drew her out

all tidy with reason, wearing

us down

so,

must we write about it before we forget,

before  people come and disagree?

they have small waists and a  national costume

was good to be away a while to see different shapes and reds to greens

i saw

i skimmed slates that bounced about

is noted that a conversation started on the original comment

with thoughts such as mine which is interesting

yet the first remark darted

and as you may know that we have come to know ourselves better since the isolation so have hidden

comment that there was a wish for more participants which comes ironic

for now there is one less

while the day was imbolc

so we walked the country paths

noted new green growth and those with country habits

i go rake wet leaves

some may be disappointed

that the terror remains

like in some 1950s film

or tv show

so while out on a longer walk,
met him and he explained to me,
about walking there and back again

no words to describe the mass,

the danger of it all, the hate  that

rises.

the parallel,

power house.

bone house.

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.

becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.

damp washing
on radiator.

aroma reminds
of
pudding cloths

do not fret, i know you worry, i will paint it over in the spring.

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that.

have a sort of family member
lives in texas you know

it is a long story
and though interesting
not to be written of
so maybe should not have mentioned it really

in my tiny world of work
do not write of family nor friends

and though I explained that he seemed paranoid
thought it was all about him
in abundance

need less to say that some of it is truth while the rest is imagination

as are the drawings

a differing light
shades and all that surrounds
i drew them later
my way

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home


later I heard they liked her despite the startled look


she was drawn again yesterday

started as early as possible

while the sun stayed out

before the traffic came up the lane

failed on both intentions

as did the cat

we tried the shears and the loppers

found the seceteurs worked well

cutting the top leaves in bunches

and dropping them into the bag

for collection

we thought about the things my brother

said about the tea plantations

in india

he does a big trip somewhere each each year

except last year and probably this year too