save old card for drawing on and bending about all messy

charcoal gets everywhere and causes coughing
so have been neater recently and careful

should like to see that
do you have a photograph?

i have a drier and have noticed a touch of rust
and a clunky sound though

i don’t use it  much with having the washing
line in the garden

and a clothes horse in the outbuilding
and the other thing above
the name forgotten

occasionally I will finish off a few things on
the little toy airer by the radiator

a gift from my friend jim who lives abroad now

he is a hairdresser

you know

.it is the blue tie and orange
top that looks distinctive..

..today..

the event that left one bereft

left and

then worked upon with thought and patience

may in time become something

something

useful

saw you fallen

&

photographed you

yet could not save you

nor

any of them

you are a metaphor

a pinky glow

she said that it was the coldest night for years

and I forget how many

he seemed surprised yesterday that i had completed the task

to ensure the proportions looked right for me

it is part of the job and if it is diaried must be done

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

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

on a break b4 the t5

&

it is proper autumn.

the verges cut and me in socks and a chemise!

and outerwear of course.

ludlow was lovely. of course.

that was a different bus.

fail softly with a sloping line

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

life moves on.

no time to double check,
change things before

is set in time , in memory.

two times,
in two ways

we multiply.

they waved and smiled
i watched the sewing
i watched the stars
the seating all arranged

in blue writing

as if

it is important

you see

do you remember
the pause
between words?

do they remember
the place on spine
where water dropped.

bone.

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

i don’t use a teapot
but evidently many do,
and cosy up together.

they don’t squish teabags, have leaves,
and stewing on the gas ring,
like mother, reducing it to
poison on my tongue.

i like the leaves to look at,
smell, like the small packet
we used to have, paper lined
in those days.

cutting,

bleeding the lead

into showers,

and explosive marks.

the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

some comes shocking and hard

to bear

james.

fighting the predictions

it is a new twist

on traditional workwear


at ten times the cost

or more

it is fashion


talk of the year as if it

a living thing with feelings


did you know that wishing

doesn’t change stuff possibly


he said it did in that film yesterday

netflix

like gradually the markers came
maybe someone someday will
see them
suddenly

were the markers always there
left by some other
wanderer?

on paper
In the studio
that was so precise and quite particular

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

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

painting it white

found

the former looked cream after thirty years in air

and wondered a while if it was actually cream initially

&

not white?

i

remember privet road down in winton

those days after the war

the second world war that is


though it feels like folk are at war

always somewhere

maybe we should look after things

and our people


anyway there is a privet plant in the corner of the garden

down by the water pumping station


they want it cut and i want it tidy

so we comprise as i love the smell

of the small white flower come annually


i shall rake the leaves and have made a sign ready

privet corner

it is not a hedge like my grandma had

just a privet plant

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low
over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.
all is dust, as dust we have become.                 slow.
grey.

new mathematics

the rooms were swept yesterday
bones hidden
teeth implied

yet the shape remains embedded

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

spoke to others yesterday about
banning the word coping as a negative
thing, said with sympathy
head to one side.

it feels a frail word and does not apply

find pieces of jigsaw

everywhere here,

and they

don’t fit

together.

if i try

they make

the wrong picture

was noted that same folk aren’t bothered and carry on without looking

the difference is a thing

your words come different, while

with your question come forth

sense of

another world

metaphors, inuendos

a door into an other world

normal
is what you are told
it is
until
you realise
it is
not

we named it best eleven.        dark the day,          we are survived.

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

from the archive.

google when back at home, read about
people, and know we may after all
be twins.

kept in a box, precious.

lifted down for those to see,
that care.

did the understanding come,
the idea that all old things
are wanted, needed for their story.

not discarded on higher ground,
where dust and moth abound.

the lesser garment became prefered,
as the last shall become the first.

we shall look at the photographs.

yes i am inclined to agree; it will be an uphill journey
for us both.
to learn, to grow

another visit here
how pleasant

we don’t have many now
during pandemic and

darker wetter days

went out yesterday
to port

looked out the cafe window
like a hopper painting

with wet leaves
and

bread and butter pudding

a curious thread that
hold us together
while apart

wore the new yellow cardigan,
the blouse with spots.

yet there were still shadows

he set up camp elsewhere

required the internet

i liked the paintings of tents done in dull colours

remember the teacher who disliked the bolder hues

who bakes bread now and posts on facebook

is with the gallery who sacked me for such a thing and other reasons

i don’t know

i bake bread and eat it

darkness descends
with out the need for words. pray for
forgiveness if you are so inclined.

comes at night he said

the bleakness

there was no fanfare,
no procession, no proclamation,
as we hit the button, no exclaimation

with the change as if no one
noticed, and if i am right, they
probably didn’t until later

didn’t see as we drove the valley,
didn’t protest, or speak in tongues,
did not see the little things



we bought winter food



it came late early

we are in transition



drew the curtians last eve

while waiting and through the *****

left saw one golden tree

autumn cameo



each little thing

while some things break

painted my face again

like i powdered yours,

coty alabaster.



made you white

and sickly.



sweety child.



i took the face again,

painted it white

and full

with the ghost of a tear.

a drop that welled

red

and fell.

minimal
on the same paper
as before
i understand

james

it don’t seem to work as well
in email

comes alongside shopping
cash back and ebay notices

gets lost


we like things in place
in categories where it

can be dealt with neatly
in an order of service

and though I miss it james
maybe it was time

and I wonder still

why you left

imagine you a pirate, with stripey trousers
and a large black patch.

on imagining things
sometimes scare myself silly

some of us manage

to be vulnerable as naked

in private

some need holding up

in sight from our window

it all a dream, or facts
in reality, made of mind.

all stone residue haunting.
our life. will we very know
forever wandering?

search hill