the name will be the title,
length an object.

all else is waxed and tied
as usual, making
it unusual. when i explained,
she asked why will you do
that?

because of the chained libaries,
burning books, the secrets
you see? no, I don’t
she replied.

we worked on quietly
together.

as he left the garden
he said they may be working nearer home now.

just stand and watch the season change, note the dew and separate ideas.  

remember that you stand alone. are not alone from                                                  criticism and contradiction.

partially due to the weather,

state of the roads.



these are not just closed

due to snow, some

as cars slide, cause a commotion.



it is a steep hill, the crimea,

some call it a mountain



steeped in history.



plans change, while

the bus windows remain *****.

slower morning here today. the radio plays.

dove grey overcast sky. heavy they say.

maybe rain?

perseverance came cheap they say

in the balance of things

cheap as sausages maybe

although not on offer at asda

come cheaper over at morrisons due next week

perseverance came lovely even the last seven minutes

beautiful like ballet landing softly

i ordered the sausages two packs for four pounds

no animal meat anywhere

meanwhile perseverance pays out

we move forward gently no longer quite so vulnerable

all are talking of numbers
constantly. three years that, 5 tears this,
no music plays on this computer now.

it plays in rooms, where darkness lingers,
where cloths are folded neatly, ready
to store, to air , mend, abide until required.

each day has a number, each a task.
i have drawn seven chairs, need to
do thirty three more,. this is a project.

thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

little bits of paper

shredded

&

kept

until useful

sms

it is warm and i worry
about the ice melting

large rocks
fenced off yet
maybe i will
creep through
and touch
one quiet day

one stone
one finger touch
a ritual

there may be after effects
yet

nobody suggested a flock of pigeons

at 2pm that snowy afternoon

and that notes will be made

no one mentioned sleeping
later than usual

those chin tattoos
that come all beautiful
and trendy

noticed the birds several days ago
i do like the flocks even murmurations

which happen more mid wales
by the pier

you know
i haven’t been there in such a while

matt hancock

i have been staying at home now

11 months

in total

the clouds waiting as you
say

there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff

becomes fact
a place one can recognise

is fine here too this morning
a pinkish tinge with fluffy clouds

only I guess they ain’t fluff when you get up there
and no angels with harps sitting

for they would fall through
and fly or splat down

is like stars have no points really
is all a drawn out myth

mistake

the nicest thing about lighter evenings
is that I can lie in bed and see the big
old planes fly down the estuary and if
lucky

back inland again

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.

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,
with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

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

or any day. do not wish to hide

do not wish to run

to take the boat and steer

to take the hiatus i fear


it crossed so many times

each time delivering

some time sinking

while we are shouting that

we do not wish to die


my son



wrote of it before

the last crossing

having paid the price we hope to be delivered

knowing that in depth we drown



the island blessed

sandy tracks to wander

in memory


like birds we flew


now it comes commercial

no crossing

small thing  ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

or

is it a moth here in the dark?

triangles bring mystery

a new mathematics



the rooms were swept yesterday

bones hidden

teeth implied



yet the shape remains embedded

stood steady in wonder

watched the dark bleed

across the sky

watch birds scatter

my beetle, dead, not buried. i keep them, yet it fell to the floor, mysteriously lost. we try to turn disasters round, here, knowing it will be found, some time. my dear sweet sexton, the burying kind.

i learn about sub soil, all things growing,

the logistics of death.

just stand and watch the season change, note the dew and separate ideas.   remember that you stand alone. are not alone from                                                  criticism and contradiction.

beetles here turn over, legs waving, we turn them back, then, it is all repeated.    empathy kicks in for all small folk who suffer,                                                    who cry in dark corners.

yet i have mislaid  the black beetle too.

it was some time ago we lost.the sexton.

that feeling, that .

arrives unexpected from darkness, some winters’ mornings,

opening the door to the sound of one black bran bird calling.

track four repeated. that

comes on waking finding peace and comfort bound in clean
linen.

arises with perfume, an uncertain memory.

it may be chemicals, peptides in the brain as love, what
ever the germ or warfare

I find no word to describe, no random feather nor dust on
my plate. pass a finger.

that feeling of trimmed nails upon the keys pounding
words and silences.

while music plays. that feeling. that.

syrup stings my tongue.

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

hesitate again
look down

regret my first sentence
now

maybe will say it some other time
now

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

can you fly from the window up into the hills where the trees are sawn down now

or maybe they used the machine

he was correct you know about the work along the estuary being drainage

the cut is ready
ditch is deep
mud banked

do you become tiny
walk there in mind

find the chosen pathways
watch the birds and wild
flowers grow

below the scene plays out
the dead
with wildlife as punctuation

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

used to be in wales, now all shropshire,
borders. a small town with plenty to do.

qubed gallery quoted poetry, refinely
drawn. one man left standing, my face
collected.

salt in abundance, ready for the pigs
head, he really was making brawn,
ear stuck from the saucepan, with
plans for brains on toast for tea.

i lost earth and heaven,
read greengage summer instead.

rummer godden.

(or the timetable)

some places there is an order
of service
a timetable

it was cold in the night so we
all huddled in like it was a single
bed

when it is double

we make a nest
and warm up

i have a pet fly now

whose name is almond
so I call him marc
as an endearment

yesterday google said he
will live for 0.8 years
this morning she said two weeks

i have not seen him today
perhaps he is still to sleep?

the bear will cry out at 11pm……

sadly

i find
the memories are not as you may think.
i have new ones.

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour. smiling slightly

converse in lowered tones.



nijinski.

a whisper from you came

a good idea

to stop those dreams and headaches

the moon came bright with yet another name

who knows what lies underneath

here the land goes up and down

water drains

into rivers

becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.

meeting
in the chapel,
house to pray on
small birds, charcoal
drifts. in air, in words.

symbols of poetry,
cut and pasted.

literally.

naturally .

the talk
came back to electrics
and ironing, side effect of
the tabernacle machynlleth.

drawing.

decide which
petulant shadow hides
integrity.

honesty abounds yet the flags
will find us.

black crow bird

sits on fence

#resting

when sprayed
with cosmetic fixative
glow pink

some make mistakes

i do and avoid the capitals

main thing is to weather the storms
and visit daily

i too lean slightly

thankyou for the prompt, the questions.

some times there is no answer, no words to describe.

yesterday i went alone to hold those feelings private

there was joy in the small things

chips from the shop the first for two years

ate in the sun under the particular trees

the absence of red soap and the joy of seeing the garden again, the galvanised cold frames

and wondering why only eight of her children were carved in the church recess when she bore ten

yet I tell you this

it were a lovely day with new surprises

and confirmation that I never wish to win

nothing

high, mountain track,
scattered trees, country
road.

spend the day , waterlogged
moor, black rooted, bring it home.

bert is no name for a storm, more like a neighbour in green road that time back, or the uncle  i was told of yet never met.

grey flannels with braces and maybe a moustache.  growing vegetables down the back and interested in  pigeons.

even a foster parent  playing the guitar to make one feel comfortable

while feeding you a kipper  for supper.

perhaps then an apt name after all

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

is a pretty thing especially today with the backdrop being darker

did you find a pin there, did you pick it up and stick it?   did you stay safe, wrap the shawl around and hold    it   close?        did you see my life breaking, bring me pins for mending? …

drawing lines

in paper, cutting,

bleeding the lead

into showers,

and explosive marks.

the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

there seems to be a satisfying nature
in sawing and chopping wood

providing warmth and safety

for oneself
for family

i like sawing a lot

the action
watching the dust fall

laughing as it cuts through

a piece falls to the ground
to be gathered later

for whatever task is intended

we have a metal incinerator in the garden
as you know and only burned garden stuff

not used so much now the recycling centre

is back open
with organisation and printed labels

so very pleasing for some
a chore for others

they recycle most things
except the plastic bags

they go elsewhere

we have orange juice sometimes
instead of elderflower

all things refreshing

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she
is in disguise
with different
hair

we miss you if you do not visit
a while

and we get all our tenses and lines
wrong and have to go back in a hurry

to amend

this is a little model.

it may be full of
metaphor.

tides are higher now, flooding the paths. he walked the mud, bringing the footsteps back to us