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

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

doubly,
font and image.
to twice the normal extent
or degree.
things happen, we deal,
cards are set, dice thrown.
life moves on.

goes where it leads me, a kind of conversation between me and the work, but drawing on what is in mind.

“kind of a diary?”

crow bird,
pecks package.

hoping for a sandwich.

b.l.t.

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

the glass anomaly
swept the edges
golden, in proportion.

the pattern remains the same,
the sentences longer. this is not an issue, and is
accepted gratefully.

they say that the latter will bring immense relief,
to try it consciously.

sadly some folk laughed at him called him names.

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

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

were built where the chickens did live

where the old cottages were and some time back a photo occurred to remind.

bungalows

seemed modern to me, then the Shirley’s came, Mr and Mrs, with two boys in short trousers.

brian and the other one

they had wallpaper with galleons on while we had distemper  that was best not to lean on

my mum looked after those boys and once took them to grans

think it was Brian who slipped on the glass roof he climbed and split his leg open

next to them were a lady who had a baby born and showed me how to breastfeed with a rubber **** and me a child under 8

i think there were three bungalows in all

them days mother did not shop at coop,  nor did her mother  either, something regarding dividends

so,
must we write about it before we forget,
before  people come and disagree?

they have small waists and a  national costume

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?

undeniably tracing honesty in the air

with one finger

pointing.

it came clear later..

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

a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,


yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

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

seen  through the net nightly

my scope is limited now
yet it comes enough for
me

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

some was in code.

the numbers were senseless.

whatever was wrong yesterday is gone today, yet there is still that buzzing in the ears.

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

cut deep,   while others are sleeping.

we tread the way, from here to there,

leaving a trail.             you may follow.

cut round the cowslips, leave the twigs.

step this way, it leads to the old apple tree,

cookers. step that way

plum blossom.

nothing is straight, nothing planned.

later we watched chelsea .

have you been to the wild wood?

not the one down the lane here
that is private and inaccessible

now

the one down the road by the estuary
is all mossy and twisty paths

which requires a lot of watching the step
and with that comes the discovery of

certain twigs of the right colour and design

during lockup we only saw ours
now come many varieties
to enjoy and at a later day

gather

for now we learn the paths
watch the ways of the wood

while opposite

the wood
men

balance carefully
in orange vehicles

gathering

crows

clack

their

platitudes.

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

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

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

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

i told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister
we laughed and the wind blew things
away

yes.



i am sixty years older than you, think on that.



my mother’s name was madge, her mother

magdeleine, your grand grand parents.



it is said that i have learned more than you,

yet today   you come  wiser than i.



boy.

some doubt climate change

despite the science

she says we shall have sunny spells

duck egg blue
the ironmongers in town
at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there
and bus back you see

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

she sat on

the kitchen chair out back

in the sunshine

dressed plain except the floral

pinafore

lips tight of concentration

she cut beans for dinner

runners from up the garden

i watched and remembered

shades defining.
now I have to say that I usually like
the colour as items, yet maybe not
as entity.
I face the slate
grey
and bleed red

yet when
she said my friend looked pretty
&
that I smelled nice
I sagged a little.

later that day
i found a message
request
from a soldier in the usa
holding a puppy & a rose
calling me a beauty

when sprayed
with cosmetic fixative
glow pink

dark/ we painted it

all vaguely national

trust

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

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

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

paper covers history.

bent on layers
of time, pretending.

drawing the child with found fabrics

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

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

stopped a while as the lightness started

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

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

481.

no bus arrived the timetable lady was contacted and she explained the bus was due at 2.30 pm that my internet were wrong and no one was bothered what it said at bus stops

an old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing

relaxing.

the hunted tried not to sleep

there