so i googled it,
and this is probably
as good as it
gets today.
i shall be sketchy
a few days.
slightly offline
maybe.

is round, and

round  the table,

the few.



spoke in tongues

of age and wisdom.



smiled the crease

of ages.



so while all is flung apart,

we watched, waited.



we were near the sea.

nothing felt right yesterday

not large stuff
nor small
and though like you to bed early

it rattled my brain until two
yet this morning awake as usual

surrounded in soft cotton
sheets

the duvet is white
and we huddle comfy

hope for a settled day

that is all

james

-6°
overcast

warning of snow and ice

being early, we can write a while,
unstressed by the ticking of the
clock, keeping words in order
in lines, of no principle. all the

photos were hazy, must have
been the walking, smartly
before the opening time,
the lay line, arthur’s stone.

is at the mill.

eight thirty  till five.   it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning wasting time with wires and connections.

cover the surface.   it takes time.

looking up
see rainbows

the small plane still flies over
most days

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

take note of the numbers,
especially those with 9, as
in 29.

the page is speckled,
left unread mostly these days,

:: you know ::


five men


those men who desire

who speak in three voices


is all i will say here, you know who you are

*

time is upon us as he writes

the old way


dust from the fire

he weaves

remembering the beginning

of it all


ash escapes his brain

into solitude


days left

three voices

rise until just one

is heard

too much chatter to think

on the books i read.



remember the mix and match

of a scattered life.



i too remember wonderland.



not all is as it seems in hay

on wye.



he lost his wife.

earth and heaven.

any number
will be sent despite blood
from bulbs, stranded fingers,
picked, plucked at rags, thead.

and filaments.

it seems the work is cupboards.

cabinet makers.

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

the back road was
littered, rather blustery.

today
we have a darker day

so while out on a longer walk,
met him and he explained to me,
about walking there and back again

added bits and embellishments which caused remark
while the space between lines was so immense my head came heavy with drowsy
fell off
&
i did not return

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

pink may be required

among the stone and lingering

youth

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any other embellishment like bows

you know

let us look at things, differently.

often, we do things, no one ever sees.

that is you and me. two of us
dancing in the dark. it came
and went,

quickly.

adrift, will the sky at last explode, or will this hate
continue pointlessly, for  thousand thousands years.
numbers that cannot describe each particle of pain.

it would be an adventure
like in a film of survival or
explorers

paddling against the flow

later going with it
in a new boat especially

bought as a treat
the two of you

together

we looked up the word we
thought she meant
and it became unnegated

the true meanings get forgotten
while cultural attitudes kick in

remember animal life

i reckon to go get it
and later you may find the other one

and then

buy another one

jim

4°
mostly cloudy

he said the flames

came over the trees.

behind the buildings.

bombed the buildings.

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable

no words to describe the mass,

the danger of it all, the hate  that

rises.

the parallel,

power house.

bone house.

you feel like two people
that one is split in two

that the other one does
look a bit like you
only more so

some comes shocking and hard

to bear

james.

fighting the predictions

while some are better than others

with brick paths and woollen sweaters

most come happy

some with old regional accents and a love of vegetables

all to remind of pleasant days up the back sitting on upturned buckets in the sun

we are starting a new episode having done the training

it came as a pandemic and not a choice

yet some of it worked out lovely

varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful

difficult knowing what to say

or whether to say anything

so bear whispers in my head

regarding the injustices, the

things not said

that he is now on a fifty pound note and being praised years on and no one mentions that he was treated like ****

ahem

that those coming here in fear will be treated like ****

ahem

what happened to the mantra on the sociables

to be kind

ahem

bear is ashamed to be of this country

prefers a different tribe

wonder if i shall write serious,

tell thee all  hard stories that

don’t exist. i wonder if i shall stop,

when no one reads.

it is a tangled affair
too many people talking at once

it is a messy affair
paint smudges and runs

eventually all comes clear
one having the final say on board

predictions come and disappear
quickly as the local planes

sometimes heard
not seen
here

there is a small airfield up along
the coast

once the airship came
we drove to watch

it go over

heavy

days of our life

james

days of our lives

i slept late

due to the covers

have been looking,
for my breaking heart,
boxed
for anniversaries,
and having a good day.

i find a note that says
i am a magician,
and how.

should that dot be approved
and how about the predicted?

we came here early with many thoughts and remnants of the dream

walking further put up a heron
and while watching saw the
white egret
and a double decker bus

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

do you ever dream of a place
where you were so unhappy

that you have to go back
forcibly

do you ever wake up late
your neck hurting

like heck

do you console yourself that it
is winter

dark and to be expected
occasionally

do you still feel guilty
anyhow

some do

some are glad it was just a dream

ideas ,
allelujas of creativity.

let the change come slowly,


join the group.

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

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

( notes on darkness) more fairy lights is all that is needed, radio music, and padding about really….

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring

slight insertion of trees
with green
then the area comes more profound

the air cleaner

into the wild wood

feet plant into earth

again

skin sharp with lingered  frost

dust motes sing my heart high

the word came involuntarily,
others were stuck, yet i knew
them to be beautiful, and
so they are.

powers and dominions,
virtues

initially, crossed the  sea to the land, from one to another, then, talking. crossed the narrow bridge spoke of the past, you know what i mean.                                                                    

  courage to walk

away

speak those words, templar, that i cannot say.

another time, another place

maybe I should write beautiful

lilting stuff again with rhymes and things

like people seem to like


or tragic dark long stories

of dreadful deaths

and mourning

as before


today will say it would have been

an anniversary

for what that is worth


he asked me the year

and surprised that i remembered


of course i miss them

just pretending to be a hard *****

an old story remembered
that warm afternoon while all were playing
relaxing
the hunted tried not to sleep
there

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.