pause like in breathing

I hope you don’t mind
and that is how it started

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.

skimmed slates that bounced about

unlike the pebbles that grow on our banks here

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road

up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

she normally goes earlier
though being later yesterday

we met again
and chatted

her daughter also walks daily
with her friend and the dog

we talked about the track
and other  little things

like the mileage
and her knee

you know

then the warden came
and i thanked him for the garden

the wildlife garden

was good to be away a while to see different shapes and reds to greens

i saw

i skimmed slates that bounced about

was cool there,
we learned about protection,
quiet spaces.

there is an hierarchy, yet
some words remain faultless.

some need to be remembered

numbers came suddenly soon after one.

imagine all this in pictures
and get it wrong as I have

no idea really

and find it does not matter

the music came sadly on the film
at dusk and I felt it as I glanced at
the view at the window

i think it was an oboe though not entirely
sure
yet it sure did hit the mark

today I need to write ekphrastic
and have just finished my winter
shopping order

with winter pies and puddings
for december

i remember when only rich folk had
groceries delivered

we walked up to winton and went
shop to shop

those days

liptons, maypole and the home and
colonial

and quite a few more
i liked the coal merchant on peters hill
who also sold seed

to run your hands through with permissions

james

my father was seen up there with the other woman
she limped I was told

my brothers were told not to acknowledge him
I am told

coal and seed merchant at the top

by the turning before the fire

station

on the left going up

opposite where my brother worked on saturdays

in the fishmongers

both places had a particular aroma

you may just imagine

he brought home crab claws for tea and i did not like them

liked the seed merchant, allowed to feel and hold unlike the coal that too had names

nutty slack, briquettes and smokeless

while others remain unremembered

google reminds

&

late afternoon light beams the cabinet & mind wonders

think of granny and her ham tea with thick white fat and orange edging.

the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.

this is a little model.
of how it was then.

it may be full of
metaphor.

the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

while gavin bryars plays

on and on

repeated.

the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

while gavin bryars plays

on and on

repeated.

there is not much more to add, it is lighter

now.                                       birds sing early.

once again we come back to ourselves.

metaphor.

it is all a mystery

and those of us who eat carefully

do not criticise

hate the sound of guns in the bird field

suggest another way to earn a living

or stay poor with a clearer  mind

**

go at it deep

and now the storm has passed

here

go back to work

started as early as possible

while the sun stayed out

before the traffic came up the lane

failed on both intentions

as did the cat

we tried the shears and the loppers

found the seceteurs worked well

cutting the top leaves in bunches

and dropping them into the bag

for collection

we thought about the things my brother

said about the tea plantations

in india

he does a big trip somewhere each each year

except last year and probably this year too

splits into fragments, pieces

that don’t fit

it is all a puzzle

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

your time will come

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

no more

we wonder for the phone is like a
little tablet
the tablet just a big phone
with no phone and a torch

so an half an hour spent
on ebay looking at those

to light the way

you see
we think we have a future here

do you
too?

a pinky glow

she said that it was the coldest night for years

and I forget how many

seems we gets busy here and there
yet cannot verbally explain why we write
and paint

..adding pink..

oh unsuitable paint you
covered lovely with no
comments as all are at
home

their house was
down by the stream that
ran the side of the road

i thinks it’s a mouse in the bathroom

moving the old soap into odd places

and leaving bits about

for the cleaner to sweep.

this morning early we pinned that soap onto the bath board

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? …

they did not know she had millions, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                         catalogued in eternally.

words affect us deeply.   voices  come and go.                                           while the worlds spins with  people’s chaos and confusion.       yet.           above the noise of the day     they show me birds and insects          did you know they cross their fragile legs?

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? …

imagine you a pirate, with stripey trousers
and a large black patch.

on imagining things
sometimes scare myself silly

imagine you a pirate, with stripey trousers
and a large black patch

on imagining things
sometimes scare myself silly

an icicle from your nose
drip down your pyjamas
traditional with stripes

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour.

feeling my way
through the history of this place

the clouds waiting as you
say
there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff
becomes fact
a place one can recognise

the clouds waiting as you
say


there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff
becomes fact


a place one can recognise

you asked me to explain,

i did so lightly. the other said no one else

dare ask.

i tell you it is a full and complicated story

tell you it is a full and complicated story

that may upset.

i wrote it quickly using shape,colour,

metaphor and symbol.

felt the cold inside me
lately

as i told you before

it came so yesterday
while my bones ached
to stay indoors

and did so
gently

things worked out pleasantly
while he watched the cricket

i spoke to the hub
and was conveyed

forward

planning can often work

the fire burned all day
from early

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 *****.

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

while wondering

find there are possibly two
of us

me
and the one i was pretending
to be

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

so far we have read the rules
in black and white
in print
meanwhile others translate them in different colours
i read your poetry in the rain

undeniably tracing honesty in the air
with one finger
pointing

it came clear later..

they talk about the news

current affairs

and i wonder if it is their anger

that keeps them going james

while i drink tea and look at birds

daily

was scared of the lions and other
creatures

not the elephants nor the clowns
james

i loved them both
and still do

they will not swim in the tidal pool
no

nor their families nor them before that

we do and the little fishes come
we do
we are a different family

one way,
and  another.

up poole hill
or down.

you kissed me.

liking the format, liking the days
that come natural now without
no planning

evolving gradually

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

our work
our soul
is in
our chest

carefully we drew her out

all tidy with reason, wearing

us down