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

evolving gradually

while in the studio a series
commenced
marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic

it is overcast today

a slight breeze from the

window

wide

a slight hint of colour

bleeding from the patch below

wise words

indeed

i feel lighter this morning
which is more physical

than spiritual

this time of year serves as a reminder

a pause
then move forward

often a block buster is advertised
usually we prefer the other

quieter stuff

it was a small day yesterday

tucked in

covers heavy

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around . no control, no eating,   disorder abounds. watch the ornaments fly…..

i did not wish to go to sea

went just the once that I remembered
last evening

the crossing

it had been a longish day and cold
whilst managing fine here
i talked to others

felt the fear & sadness

james

later
gone tired
i remembered those early days in disbelief
with a longer sentence
here

wearied

left for bed
early

we don’t use a teapot

but evidently many do,

and cosy up together.

slate looms large,

thrown unbalanced,

waiting for water

to start the slide.

all is well here all is quiet

messages sent about including

it was too warm for a fire
yet we lit it anyways for company

to smell the wood
to hear the cracking
the tick of the stove

yesterday we sent out messages too
including

one hour spent
remembering
st agnes

in cornwall

while all around is trembling , we weave together

with dreams and possibilies.

there is not much more to add, it is lighter

now.                                       birds sing early.

once again we come back to ourselves.

a different aspect

it was good to have the windows
the doors open
air circulating

repeat

that

i don’t paint like you

or you

&

need to convince myself

that

that

is ok

my scope is limited now
yet it comes enough for
me

careful what you dream on a cusp of night. know that all stars are not the same

seen  through the net nightly

there is plenty of time to walk from town,

to give an opinion whenever requested.



there is time to talk, and receive gifts

little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable.

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what royalty is and he agreed and said
what is it then?

‘ you mean it were the settings that was wrong ‘

yes.

‘so it was all your imagination?’

yes.

maybe connections are missed the link dismissed.    

metaphors faint as my flimsy whispers  

symbols   do you deny me peace?   perhaps you utter the words constantly?  

look closely

the tree came down

so dinner waited an hour or so

already cooked went cold

and rubbery

the least of the worry

pleased to see that the flowers

remain standing still in bud

the lights went off then came back on

the words were said and meant

fervently

the forecast is better here today

still bad mid wales I am told

sadly some folk laughed at him called him names.

watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

we have such unimportant work
here, that needs not be done.

today, another power house installed,

i have to let some things go
now, yet the this remains.

slip away
we watched them slip away

the news came suddenly

undeniably tracing honesty in the air

with one finger

pointing.

it came clear later..

maybe you play chess  in bad weather
or another pastime

here they forecast an awful rain yesterday
yet it came quite warm and gentle and

i shared some nougat with the delivery man
after chatting about our days in children’s  homes

a coincidence
a distant memory

he also brought plants
and new pencils

i have a wounded finger
either from the drawing

or a whitlow with an h

we like a good rainy day come cosy

explicit blunderings, darkness descends

with out the need for words. pray for

forgiveness if you are so inclined.

on warm afternoons i sit on the terrace
in the sun reading

looking up to watch the washing move

trying to concentrate
on climbing

crampons heavy

we slowly move upward

while laundry dries nicely
on the line

not yesterday though
nor today for we have a storm with no name

and you guessed it Jim , I am aiming  for the summit  of

everest

James

some doubt climate change

despite the science

she says we shall have sunny spells

dark/ we painted it

all vaguely national

trust

may understand the red thing

enjoyed the film with the colours
yellow and gorse along
the path

days on the sands
skipping up through the tracks seeing
the adder

sticks are available and are free

here

wanting a little gate plus the entertainment factor

we sawed them up and tied them all with string

it is a prototype

a rickety stickety gate

bit wonky

perhaps the next one will be more better having practiced

well
maybe now while comfy here
and not fancying tea just coffee
downstairs
gently

it was a migraine yesterday
with a funny neck and things
went wrong

and the town has covid
a few miles away

i have kept away for a long time
a long long time

and have not missed it
though I did drive through
once to see the changes

there is a chap wrote a diatribe
in welsh with common sense
regarding the pandemic and

the facebook translation is
genius

while at the same time
not any good
and very funny james….

very very funny

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

stopped a while as the lightness started

round me they flew never touching
we laughed in delight
at this natural thing

there was no message from yesterday

perhaps you sat out on the sun like me

went down among the fruit trees
with shade and softer breezes

a different aspect

it was good to have the windows
the doors open
air circulating

the feel on my neck as the wind touched
lifted the hair

and a bee flew close .

over there in the hills the cuckoo called

yet I did not see my new little bird
not at all, not all day yesterday

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around . no control

paper covers history.

bent on layers
of time, pretending.

52.59.3.

two voices softly said


“yes”

they cannot
understand the numbers
nor find their families

*

the rose was gently pressed

between pages

an old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing

relaxing.

the hunted tried not to sleep

there

looks like you are drowning and

hope i am wrong. i can see the

struggle

the turn about in water.

maybe you will still stay inside a while

within the boundary lines



four fields

seven in a row all dead
is a real disaster

i like the white ones on farms
that hiss if one approaches near

we are liking birds to stay alive yet
sadly this is not so

if I say I went away

some think that  this  means

prison

those in america

conversation moved on to

pumpkins, these days, and

noises made by porcupines.

there is a chattering nearby

listen

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable

yesterdays reply came on the hill
and emotion took over
i blamed the wind
when i wiped my eyes
dry

large rocks

fenced off yet

maybe i will

creep through

and touch

one quiet day

one stone

one finger touch

a ritual

he had leaned toward me and commented

that i was getting old

and while that is correct i assumed from his

remark that he must be younger

time goes on and i am told that we are much

the same

crow bird,
pecks package.

hoping for a sandwich.

b.l.t.

move them into a place
of loose adjustment

random offerings

we shall have more paintings


i can see the marks & lines
pushing through

despite the weather


to spite
the storms

before the cut were shadows

which

needed to be removed.