the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander
in memory

like birds we flew

who knows what lies underneath

here the land goes up and down

water drains

into rivers

is a pretty thing especially today with the backdrop being darker

the coffee affair with pods and seasons is recordable
into a small book, a journal of morning feelings while


i use a spoon for instant gratification . the modern
is much improved on the old ways

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.

softer.

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

comes well some days.

is a simple thing,
to think sideways,
practice makes a hindrance
when others think straight.

hope to revert to an earlier
idea of smudge and carbonate

james

you see
there is no control
only that we think we have
which is probably all imagined

hiding did not work
for was caught up with
in the lane
asked to explain

talked randomly about slate fences
and temporary miniatures

slate slides
mud slips
rain falls

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

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

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

moving on i feel it was a flashback
to the girl who wished for quiet and
can remember  in detail

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

going quiet sometimes, not knowing why.

being smaller with the year almost gone.

marvelling at the looseness of the rediscovered vest

forget the leg moisturiser,

therefore fail as a modern being.

days left,

three voices

rise, until just one is heard

there is always something
which is often nothing

to worry about

stressing over imagined happenings
which don’t  occur

she came worried about monkey pox
so made her ordinary  tea

the next day I travelled  up
walked the streets and saw

the stories there
for a change

the voices rise

life goes on
the mark remains

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

wild here this morning
wind in the chimney
rain on the glass

and talking of that
little lamp blew down outside


broke

never mind

sleep was rattled by weather
thoughts of war too hard to write

yet one day i will

i guess you know more than me

i don’t know what a tent shelter is

but I can imagine

so far few plans for a day unless it clears

james

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

asked why i wanted it
i said that i did not know

he had a box in the room
to stand on
to see

we may all need one of those

varying kinds

and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care.

biscuit tins are useful

think i may like to travel to small places,

old and full of history. deep aged fabrics

stained with the words of time. to touch

we were friends’

more than that with promises that faded into silence.

i woke this morning the same

you notice small things too
and record them slightly

those touches, nuances

do you see the way they
glance, look aside

feel for the beautiful moments
that pass & not recorded here

do not wish to hide

do not wish to run

to take the boat and steer

to take the hiatus i fear

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

we shall have more drawings
i can see the marks & lines
pushing through
despite the weather

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

little bits of paper

shredded

&

kept

until useful

sms

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

do not know everything
only my version
a fraction of the whole
blue sky thinking
here

fear of falling,
breaking,
and losing
the soft words
of my life

when the painting was finished

the green house door fell off

so laughing we propped it on the chair inside

a donation

he suggested white nasturtiums quieter than the hot colours

i have ordered some via cashback

to come by post like the chocolate egg yesterday

or was that a trick?

once he suggested one hundred blue bells

they are growing too

i thinks of these things while watching monty don this morning

with coffee early

told him when he asked about dinner
with his sister


we laughed and the wind blew things
away

said old people fold notes
&
i felt insulted.

she said it bothered her a lot
when she counted them.

we should keep them flat
&
others may agree

your time will come

i will wait politely here until the time
and hope predicted don’t change
nothing

no more

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

rain comes here in waves
reflecting feelings

sometimes i can smell the sea
though some miles from the shore

the sounds

softer.

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

comes well some days.

fear
of this and that
of nothing in particular
that no one else  will
understand

some are wizards


some come predicted


while in bristol working

she asked the relationship because he liked

stuff of mine


on reflection see that she noted these things a lot

where

others would not have noticed


then a decision was made

by one party agreement by the other


parted


frying potatoes  for tea

skins gone crispy


clean the cooker  top


some draw

while others draw out


tick eater

robot is both

a wood block
some stickers

you know how it goes

then batteries are a thing
with their unexpected deletions

or should we mean depletion

i imagine is nice out cycling
with another

sharing experiences

look at the weathered walls

hear the song come random

with words true for us with no argument

and our insides curl

with these feelings

light came, we saw the green ness of it all.                          we live in the country.

thankyou and say it is only temporary

balanced or tied with string

though overnight decided to use the glue gun

"Is art a box that you climb into?”

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

“Are you compartmentalizing?”

hope to revert to an earlier
idea of smudge and carbonate
james
you see
there is no control
only that we think we have
which is probably all imagined

time is limited these days.

those one admired in youth

devastate us now.

can we know all things, we

only went twice ?

a tragic happening when

history and the day collide

each taking care of their own

as we should

darker hours

still

the mind wanders