it is as nothing
a small breath of wind passing

even that is complained on by someone

my goodness

i made a piece on censorship of language
the welsh not

accepted & rejoiced by some
rejected and removed by others

censoring the image of censorship
some things come ironic

tomorrow it will be gone
another issue put in place

by others

these places are kitchens

you may remember i left once
persuaded to return to ignore

their bleatings

you see I fly alone

here

here is a thing
in that
we trotted along nicely
back then

when no one
said nothing

we thought no one read here
and that was ok and we came
huddled in and private

possibly our way and the circumstances
you know, the virus and now the war

then folk here said they read it
while we were astonished and
though it rattled us

find

we miss you if you do not visit
a while

and we get all our tenses and lines
wrong and have to go back in a hurry

to amend


and self conscious of too many

ands

you see

she asked about our winter food and i guess it comes from childhood and the seasonal benefits

i thinks it is less chilled salads and shiny fruit

more them tasty pies and gravies

with winter greens or orange carrots

or sausages with mash done with butter

warm, satisfying no meat involved

the neighbour remarked that it is a crime to **** people

yet we do **** other creatures then eat them

differing ideas

yet we all have our winter foods

there is no reaching the summit here
the story changed

an avalanche of news
and wet weather

dampened the spirit
so we nipped out between the storms

to post the letters
and that was all

which previously i called a small holding

provided us with murdered birds

heads bitten off

saved mum a job there

and when they sold it along with the old cottages set back

the bricklayers came and while  low down in their building

i ran round the back of our house despite her warning

fell

broke my head open

those brick layers took me to the hospital in their van

a towel wrapped round

two stitches

i bear the scar still

and they built bungalows

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

liking rags
i move on
with differing
music

the trial by glass

we can hear  the scratching

when dark comes

comes the scuttlings

flutterings  outside

our work
our soul
is in
our chest

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any other embellishment like bows

you know

white bird

sits on dovey bridge

#apt

some ask if the routine of working is missed

it is noted that another took it’s

place

moving lightly room to room in winter

from one hour to the next

differing activities

moving out into the landscape
differing thoughts with exercise

added

on hearing rain early
delay the start of it

did you know he asked me my materials

the list got long and

could have been longer

even boring for some

so I stopped

some times I feel I may get found out
&
james, sometimes I am

with a comma.

codes and reasons

hope all came delivered and nicely packaged maybe cardboard 


i save old card for drawing on and bending about all messy


charcoal gets everywhere and causes coughing 
so have been neater recently and careful with that whitlow which remains covered


up


the road they are painting too

a heavenly blue

no mention of gains or fortitude
some may look for the other one
some may find it

while the little people with their arms held high
dance in the sunlight with all that remains

this word came, was forgotten & reappeared suddenly this morning

he is my aide memoir when mine does fail when we have troubles

here

he helps now & then between sleep or just sat looking

it is now a simpler life and these new interruptions come surprising

single house
little house
with
pale pink

honest marks and lines different from the immediate gratification of a photograph. though with the latter enjoys the  creativity of editing, layering ; drawing in on the original idea.

time passes, passes. mind  so focussed that world outside own  skin forgotten.

for those that follow here

the gravel has not come

it will be delivered another day

meanwhile it all came lovely

unlike the noise of traffic and emergency sirens

she said they were heading for the coast while we hide as always

no, not a covid isolation thing

a wanting to be away from it thing

over the years

she said the garden looks opened up while I wait for it to grow lush around me again

we have two news visitors recently

tabby

&

ginger

wind blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was the weekend with time
to spare

sea fret  in by six.      today the sky has lifted early.

there is this one tree


planted early came slightly weedy


planted by the town with a little

fence around


the danger that it may come vandalized

& die


even then some may paint it white , add lights

in the cities green may be required

among the stone and lingering

youth

she said there is a feeling of

impending doom

and on researching we find this

is true for many reasons

i appreciate your excitement
and remember my first adult bike
in a nice shade of blue
from the shop by peter’s hill

i guess I rode it home..

then out and through the lanes
up over the hills finding freedom
a while

until the stuff crowded back

sensibly it was used to go to work
all responsible and occasionally miserable

though whizzing along those feelings fled

you know

i still have that bike in store
and I think it cost seventeen

pounds

like the greys and shadow.

i like when the cars go by,

the lights go across the walls’

yes

‘ i do not think i will like very black

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.                 slow.


grey.

wind blows ideas into our houses

messages bring connections

a busy day with folk talking

it was the weekend with time
to spare

yet so many came tiring
alongside the wind blowing

the leaves are ready
to be gathered today

unless the wind is blowing

the bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

each one an individual even when
the wind blows

my mum used liquid paraffin
on the boys hair fortunately
nothing on mine

she slicked theirs flat with a severe
parting

until one had a crew cut and got into
trouble for it at grammar school

there was a hell of a fuss

i remember

talking of which she would send us
up the garage for pink paraffin from
the pump

next door the tv shop where we watched
the programmes through glass

later mum rented one from radio rentals
in winton

she rode her bike up there
sometimes stopping at the
bakery for a cream slice

james

picture this
the plastic skirt guard

we walk your district quietly.
wait in the shelter.

I will
quite like a wild rumpus here some time.

she calls it her bicyclette
with a parisian accent though

she lives mid wales

she sees the beauty all around
travels on her vehicle and takes
photographs

writes words of wonder
underneath
and cries

some people don’t like her
and gossip

as folks do

it is a shame

some photos show nothing
while paintings can come
more personal

i had not thought that way yet when i do
that fearful memory comes to mind with
words I cannot say
here today

let us move forward and learn

to change things about kindly
to place items carefully
with purpose and peace

to observe

there comes five beings
with verve and caring

no wings to show
should we listen james?

little tiny cheeses
come with wax to be
removed

what to do then

first we make funny lips
and make a photograph

to be shared with family

then it is wrapped precisely
in waste paper for kindling

saves that chopping

looks like crackers sitting
there on the logs so tidy

so unlike the ones that mum
made, then me, then her

mum could not afford that
cheese and I guess it is a
fairly current snack

she bought edam
i found it fascinating

i still make the concertina
type sometimes or buy

those waxy things from the farmers shop

an avalanche of news
and wet weather
dampened the spirit


so we nipped out between the storms
to post the letters


and that was all

the sun came &

shadows lasted only a short time

i like flags that are decorative
or bunting that represents a

happy time

i dislike borders
representations of separation

small changes are coming

having an action twenty times
equals an habit she says

a hundred or more may
be that too

gently gently make those little
amendments

make things interesting

move it about
and dance fast

then dance sultry

stand with the music
look beyond the border

i had some beans at supper
left over from the day before

was not keen no more

gran said they were junk
only she did not use that

word

she baked them herself
did not buy tinned

oh we talked gravel yesterday


how they sent a substitute

that I had not ordered the wrong colour


explained I quite like things come random

that all was well with the path


yet not the politics


it is suggested i don’t go down that road

nor a few others


unlike you who can’t be bothered

you see occasionally you slip into mind

yet that does not mean I like you

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

now i remember that you saw the night
properly
while here we wondered, got lost in our
head
looked up and found the morning had
come pink again
scattered light in particular places
the other in shade

some small birds have failed and gone.
the others sound just the same.

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

ragged poem because it’s not focused. the concept is lost in the wrapping.

liking rags
i move on
with differing
music

the trial by glass

when you say gray, do you mean grey, as in lady jane or earl as in tea. when you say grey, do you mean gray, as in mary, my friend? do you mean that we all come from different countries.

a curious thread that
holds us together
while apart

good to hear that all are delivered safely
all are back home
again

interior days
come as comfort

rain soaking the neighbourhood about

ash left as reminder

then I think of him tidying
forgetting time in the
action

down the lane the wild wood
comes naked
a world of it’s own
the rocks show hollow

and no one comes no more

i think this must be winter
again

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.
while gavin bryars plays
on and on
repeated.

the bear is quietly political

drinks tea

does not answer the phone

drew quietly
my thing


while she also
at her house
drew pastel clouds


i sent photographs
for inspiration yet
continued to draw

refer to the notion that there is no looking back
as in the circle

the circular form
then sometimes no title

it all does not matter
though it became like a book to dip into
here and there

things will do for now
until it changes again

slightly

seems we have a night collection of soap here
new and unused plus
old

some comes dried cracked and faded
other precious still unwrapped

we have scheduled the task today of
sorting and storing it
some still gift boxed
some from the hotel

some has the queens crest on it
told she was indeed a lizard and

laughed

the second episode is tuesday afternoon
was cut short yesterday as the asda man

went to the wrong address
so out on the rain we brought
him in to land here safely

wok in hand

there is a list of chores yet
I remember only one right now

breeze