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

he said the flames

came over the trees.

behind the buildings.

bombed the buildings.

it may be a habit writing
here
each day

hearing your news

or maybe an act of solidarity james

liking the format, liking the days
that come natural now without
no planning

evolving gradually

it is a junction

the old railway track

the road to the farm there

tidy and organised

they saw me coming, waited and said hello

said they were coming so we waited to see

them come running the quad bike behind herding

all excited and we laughed to see

the calves run out into the field the first time ever

with their mothers

old story remembered  from the beach
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing


the hunted tried not to sleep
there
for fear of being robbed or found

black crow bird
pecks road ****.

pheasant.

haute cuisine.

we lerned how to play,
one letter at a time or
they gets stuck.

badly.

is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us

onward.

our work
our soul
is in
our chest

went to blaenau in the rain
you may google that so best
add ffestiniog to the name

liking rags
i move on
with differing
music

the trial by glass

brock.



the badger was dead by the side

of the road.





walking,

i passed the other side.





returning on that side i stopped to look.



it did not smell.



it was just dead.



brock.

so far we have read the rules
in black and white
in print

meanwhile others translate them in different colours

i read your poetry in the rain

the news has changed

here

while one I don’t know
who is friends with one I do
has been vaccinated

mid wales

she is a carer and they say it is bad there

a backwater

for some reason it has come so in wales
hence more restrictions

messaged to see if all are ok with this
of course , came the reply
and offered me random oats

having a liking for porridge of a morning
with cream and syrup I accepted

nicely

sometimes I have toast

and sometimes insert one comma

you can pull them out one by one,

they will not grow again.



leaves a gap.



you can pull them out one by one

they will grow back and

fill the gap.

let us look at things, differently.

often, we do things, no one ever sees.

that is you and me. two of us
dancing in the dark. it came
and went,

quickly.

thinking of you and all the others that fly solo in these odd times under today’s cultural pressures.

we must fly higher.

repeat

that

i don’t paint like you

or you

&

need to convince myself

yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour
and oh that name come true
on opening jim

is fading now
yet remains as the description

today is apricot

a new jar opened easily


my mum would buy a large tin and decant

there were five of us, one had left earlier


seems trivial to write of preserves during pandemic

yet it is a treat this morning with a croissant in bed

cosy


we have all sorts in the pantry with little gingham caps

held on with rubber bands

i have a pack somewhere in a rainbow of colours

yet often use those dropped by the postman

wide in brown


also have sandwich spread

more as savoury

alongside asda’s own marmite

such a treat yet not for breakfast


nearly a year now

have stopped waving

and carry on

in contentment

some things just stop us in wonder

here

with tears

unexpected

it seems there may be some connection

some call it a trigger

some things leave us cold and wondering what all the excitement

is about

unlike the thing in cairo yesterday


obviously I have no photographs

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

or maybe you will still stay inside a while

inside the boundary lines

four fields

corona

the sounds
softer.
once the day is dawn, the door is open, face the sky, all
comes well some days.

do not know everything
only my version

a fraction of the whole
blue sky thinking
here

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

it was boiling water them days

plates and cutlery dipped

hands minded in industrial gloves

pink rubber

scalding dishcloths and sinks

down on knees blindly scrubbing floors

through insults and watery fears

we are a team , shouted regularly

while we took the comments seriously cowed with blisters from cold water on the other hand

a world of extremes

or maybe the contradictions

were dreamed

who knows what lies underneath

here the land goes up and down

water drains

into rivers

comes a differing hue

with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town

at one seventy nine

mild here with sun
shining on the lake and
hills beyond. we both
looked from the top deck
on the bus yesterday

the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander

in memory.



like birds we flew

they forecast it,
we do not listen any more,
just check the window.

the radio is old, retro,
gift for a birthday,
arrived late we did not say,
not
wishing to upset.

headlights flash, sheep
on the road,
the pheasant run, a pleasant
run, minding squirrels, other odd
furry things on the road.

hurt no living thing.

it rained all day, new
dress on the line, still wet.

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

i find this true to a point when all is comfy


was used to the other colour once

wanting to be noticed?

looking for a friend then

wear your interest where it can be seen easily and maybe smile

meanwhile

as predicted

some don’t care….

early morning i got bit

clearing up your mess .



i had thought that i could not manage,

it was  just all  in my head.



some one came and told me

that i could do it myself.



so i have and cleared up  your mess.

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

or maybe you will still stay inside a while

inside the boundary lines

four fields

corona

you have been holding on a long time
hemmed in with printed lines


enhanced with ink

blobs


now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures


or maybe you will still stay inside a while

inside the boundary lines


four fields


corona

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.

decide which

petulant shadow hides

integrity.

honesty abounds yet the flags

will find us.

broke

shattered

broken reflections

of a former life

smashed as it hit the floor

this is what i was like at the beginning before all that happened which now is past

this is what I am like now , back to that beginning and maybe a differing shape outside

no one does nothing

substantial

even after all this time .

watching all the crime.

the list is long  & unbelievable,

then longer and extra unbelievable.

each day.

yet no one seems to do anything.

i says this out loud to mine &  can do nothing

substantial.

only shaking.

feels necessary to hold onto memories
and to repeat myself

some of us most of us
tucked inside
becoming whiter
chattering
small white teeth

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

powers and dominions,
virtues

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 ticked off when finished

 
the sham crow bird was rearranged for it was too high  to look good


later in the studio the work that had continued the same so long made a change
with a sigh of relief 


thankyou

sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

there on the road ahead.

looking toward me with dead eyes.

mouth open.



i could not stop

nor swerve

for sunday traffic.



slowing i gently made sure the body

was not touched by wheels.



straddling.



as did the car behind

me.



after i stopped to post a letter

and stayed a while to look

at the fields around

me.

a world of extremes

or maybe the contradictions

were dreamed