the sea is quiet as we have never seen it

sun as hot as it gets

like summer

they gloried in it

we shall have more paintings


i can see the marks & lines
pushing through

despite the weather


to spite
the storms

corona

a slightly better sounding word
than covid

and more readily in predicted

"Is art a box that you climb into?”

“Well, yes, I guess it is. I never thought of it like that”

“Are you compartmentalizing?”

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

tapering off into dots repeated
the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

i have the same,
usually, i felt like
a change today.

maybe

is was dark blue with a little red added

lasted two weeks and still prominent.

much has happened since

there came a faint whistle.

they looked the other way..

some was in code.

the numbers were senseless.

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

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

it will pool, deep and dark,

still, inviting.

deep waters to sooth pain,

black crow bird

pecks kitchen towel.

nest lining.

no one
is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of
the night.

we spin.

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.

it don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.

we now descend into darkness,
drawn into night,

mistakes crossed, all can see
the errors ,the blots,that soak
the skin, the stain within.

when she heard that i had been drilling fitfully,
she asked why but i could not explain really. so
i added the stop.

it seems that some like sticks, while others do
not.

there are a few of us, one of us is      leaving.

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it

today, a reminder of fragility.

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she

is in disguise
with different
hair

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

look at each gentle place,
to keep in a pocket
of love,for that rainy
day, you do not go.

tell you it is a full and complicated story

that may upset.

i wrote it quickly using shape,colour,

metaphor and symbol.

covered in wool against the cold.  bales taken down river , down to the harbour down

to the cob.

on boats .

life goes on
the mark remains

it was remarked that there is no hurry
that we have the rest of the winter

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

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

quiet slow and uneventful

it left lasting impressions

a simple drawing out

some of it did not work,
so added red , text, news
paper.

some of it did not work,
added bunting, torn
paper.

most of it works now,
memory plays a part,
when we look
to the mountain.

in blue writing
as if
it is important
you see

will watch the film on perception tomorrow alongside
another. red & white.  they say it will change my life.

meanwhile i **** boxes.

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

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

some thing is changing here,

so slight it can hardly be

noticed.

yet it has been.  a feeling,

came with the light rain .

the quietness

all things are changing

the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander
in memory

like birds we flew

splits into fragments, pieces

that don’t fit

it is all a puzzle

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

this time of morning i eat a bun maybe
or croissant which is french

drink coffee
watch the news

that seems to be mostly sport
so i idly look up  while writing

my blog

i have tried watching tennis
i like the clothes and think
of friends who enjoy it

there are no real spectators
due to the sick

then

sometimes i see the film reviews
with the nice presenter

i like him
I like films

i sip my coffee

rules come away. a differing

place,  turning in the year.

it came gently.

sat at the stones

by the water

the white one cracked open and I shall keep it as memory

of

how we prepare for fall

came from another country, you know,

quite some time ago. i lived in the jungle’



yes.



‘i have been here so long, i feel i belong’



yes.



‘ they call me an immigrant’

said the bear, sadly.

you notice small things too
and record them slightly

those touches, nuances
do you see the way they
glance, look aside…

was dark blue with a little red added
lasted two weeks and still prominent

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 this remains.

we look for sand.

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising

dusk


the road up over comes quiet

sheep stand in groups watching

cattle in a neighbouring field

moved higher due to predicted flooding


it is autumn now proper


some of us most of us

tucked inside

becoming paler


chattering

small white teeth

slate slides
mud slips
rain falls

seems higher this time
water expands to where i see
the edge

you like birds?

as do i

neither of us employed
&  i am vaguely idle

furlough ended &  was
invited back part time

you see i said no

& despite protestations
seem to enjoy

for now a bus ride
and coffee

for it is raining a little

james


8.30

his uncle grew golden rod
lived by the chapel, died a
few years ago

i thought him a quiet gentle man

no one

is looking, there is no one here. we are not afraid of

the night.

we spin.