no sighs.

they have forgotten us.        we have forgotten them.

are we  now the bones of what we were?

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

have been looking,
for my breaking heart,
boxed
for anniversaries,
and having a good day.

i find a note that says
i am a magician,
and how.

dreamed of devastation,           flew miles        low

over concrete .   skeletons,      bones of the thing.

all is dust, as dust we have become.

a world of extremes

or maybe the contradictions

were dreamed

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

comes a differing hue

with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town

at one seventy nine

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

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

speak those words, templar, that i cannot say.

another time, another place

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

is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows,

do not know everything
only my version

a fraction of the whole
blue sky thinking
here

tangled affair
too many people talking at once

it is a messy affair
paint smudges and runs

eventually all comes clear
one having the final say

predictions come and go

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….

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

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

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them

i never tell you much

nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in

yourselves

leaves are turning slowly daily

except at the turning
maentwrog

they go first always
and suddenly

this time of year

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

powers and dominions,
virtues

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.

black crow bird
pecks road ****.

pheasant.

haute cuisine.

stuck in  ice forewarned
by terms of reading

arctic exploration

like to be quiet,speaking
only
when you asked the question.

not sure why i came.
i think you invited me?

now i beg forgiveness
we are little things
that dance in the mornings
james

in the light from the phone

sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

it may be a habit writing
here
each day

hearing your news

or maybe an act of solidarity james

sometimes you know
i have no clue as to what
is occurring
here

or over there

find it challenging

and disappear

while wondering

find there are possibly two
of us

me
and the one i was pretending
to be

the thread does not show here
nor the subject matter

and it is missed

am presently writing my reply
whilst composing a letter in my head

which will change my life

james

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

decide which

petulant shadow hides

integrity.

honesty abounds yet the flags

will find us.

my goodness

such a thing to see while out
and about

such a high up place to be

shall we rescue the drowning where we can ;
record the names?

lady on the bus told me her sister kept lots of soap and what did I think.

I says she sounds like me.

we are little things

that dance in the mornings

james

by the light of the phone….

was gone some time

past tense can be horribly traumatic

nice to see you here

i see it was yesterday though I mainly check by in the morning
early

sometimes you know
i have no clue as to what
is occurring
here

or over there

find it challenging

and disappear

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable

we have new bird boxes up
ready for the spring
meanwhile autumn comes gentle

one breath of leaves across the way

it is a tiny garden out back
overlooking the grave yard

where the men mowed the grass
stopping a while
leaning on rakes

watching the weather

having learned , the days  will come longer soon. the sounds

softer.

once the day is dawn, the door is open, face the sky, all

comes well some days.

some days it does not, yet it still comes light. the falling

days end.

i used to go to oxford

get off the coach outside the museum

and go in

spend some time there

then go round town a while before

going back

could have stayed in there all day

yet is good to get out in the air

after so long on the bus

it stops there for some hours on the way home from london

where I saw tutankhamun and some miserables not at the same time though

now we can go nowhere really except 5 miles local

did that monday and the car broke down

now i can’t go nowhere again

i miss oxford and visiting museums

have you walked the dunes

hollowed path, coconut gorse.

have you found contentment there?

i sometimes sit and think of this, sometimes   dream
in bed, often in yellow.

or blue which

covers the

land in places, my eyes           smarting.

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

they did not know she had millions, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                         catalogued in eternally.

words affect us deeply.   voices  come and go.                                           while the worlds spins with  people’s chaos and confusion.       yet.           above the noise of the day     they show me birds and insects          did you know they cross their fragile legs?

handbag, not fit for any purpose than
delight and design.

along the edge, the edge
of season. the coast with
slow limits.

the glass anomaly
swept the edges
golden, in proportion.

added bits and embellishments which caused remark

while the space between lines was so immense my head came heavy with drowsy

fell off

&

i did not return

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