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

you know

wore the new yellow cardigan,
the blouse with spots.

yet there were still shadows

has beautiful spots james
while i like any pattern that includes spots
and any embellishment that is bows you
know
yet
i don’t know why
only as i say that
i think i may do
i guess that is a story for another morning
james

who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, rhyme or reason.
breaking of rules,        our hearts
open.                         split a season.

on spring,                 slight chance,
light            or prayers can change.
sons      move in a prouder stance,
yet others rage.

black bird sings   early
the same bird calls late.
sense that nearby
one year came straight.
spring slides. the
moon draws tides.

now i remember that you saw the night

properly

while here we wondered, got lost in our

head

looked up and found the morning had

come pink again

scattered light in particular places

the other in shade

black bird sings early, the same bird calls late.
new light drowns darkness, spring spins around.
black bird calls early, the same bird calls late.
sonnet sings ten beats to another’s spare sound.

who asks for word, who knows which hour it starts,
which minute, which rule of rhyme or reason.
making of lines , counting the breaks, our hearts
open. this is february, split season.
moon draws the tide, upper river pools
on spring, a note , a sonnet , a dance
where light or other prayers redeem fools,
those who rage the world sons may change perchance.

on spring we write in fourteen lines, to date,

black bird sings early, the same bird calls late.

spring is on its way,

the ants are in the kitchen.



they will leave by easter

whenever that is. he said

it should be on the same day



each year; he is learned,

pronounced as two bits.



it is nice to see them back

this year. see the snowdrops

too.

the cobwebs away, yet not all of them.


impossible, an old house. there would be

time, if it was national trust where all is

care and cleaning, though i have heard

they leave some now for authenticity.


I imagined it would cost forty five, yet it was sixty,

until the special offer.


we have washed and dusted,

spring cleaned, had time for the garden.


again.


it is a nice place

here.

ants in the kitchen will leave by easter. he said it should be on the same day each year; he is learned, pronounced as two bits.


do not fret, i know you worry, i will paint it over in the spring.

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that.

using the light spots,

neglecting the dark,

except the margins.

so we go

dear child moving

forward.

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,

with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

all is well here all is quiet

messages sent about including

it was too warm for a fire
yet we lit it anyways for company

to smell the wood
to hear the cracking
the tick of the stove

yesterday we sent out messages too
including

one hour spent
remembering
st agnes

in cornwall

rewritten, cannot write  the feeling,

feeling the rain              soak through.

hours, wandering                  the lanes,
finding the shore,     my independence.

watching the silversmith,  birds sing,

water

logged, lost,                                 happy
in the knowing.

winding we hurry

to reach the top

climbing to a



safe place with hope



often the stars  are reflected below

you know I thought she came to see me all those years ago

from the hospital

two buses changing at the square

came round the side of granny’s house
with the border of ferns and blue
hydrangeas

through the high side gate

yesterday while talking to you
i realised she may have come
to see her mother

and

i can’t remember the rest
can’t remember what happened next

concentration gone,
move now one
paragraph at a time.

water falls,
stains enamel.

some notice, yet
do not judge.

he may have
been
aquarius, yet
he is not

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

meanwhile james the seeds grow
and i gets smaller

stay safe

have meaning to write of it

since she told me that it moves

at four miles an hour


rumbling along

takes sixteen hours from here to shrewsbury

leaving early all standing up

and concentration



he says they don’t grumble if stuck behind a while

just take photographs


we hear it going on it’s way

to some event those days


these days locked down like the rest of us


used to hear it as a child come down the hill so ran to the gate to watch

or at road works the tar still hot and steamy

the smell being flattened by the thing

the chest beating with excitement

they waved and smiled
i watched the sewing
i watched the stars
the seating all arranged

we will not have blankets,

if there are none, take the old

rags, layer , stitch and stitch

by hand till fingers bleed.


work along the coast

with thread and diligence.


gather wools, layer carefully,

we shall have warmth this winter.


we will have quilts to share.

early morning i got bit

clearing up your mess .



i had thought that i could not manage,

it was  just all  in my head.



some one came and told me

that i could do it myself.



so i have and cleared up  your mess.

varying kinds
and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care

biscuit tins are useful

..blue sky..

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them
i never tell you much
nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in
yourselves

old story remembered  from the beach
that warm afternoon while all were playing

relaxing

the hunted tried not to sleep

there

for fear of being robbed or found

tell you it is a full and complicated story
that may upset.
i wrote it quickly using shape,colour,
metaphor and symbol.

seen in aberystwyth
lately, an other world.

away.

layers of paint,
wider crossings.

the man saw his father
in mirrors, helped
with tiny shoon,
helped with self
esteem.

it only took one
hour,
to blow
those cobwebs
away.

i met the story teller,
in the museum,
the street,
the place between.

she sat on

the kitchen chair out back

in the sunshine

dressed plain except the floral

pinafore

lips tight of concentration

she cut beans for dinner

runners from up the garden

i watched and remembered

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

intentions to change it all

then see what is already there and

carry on quietly
knowing the change will come

whether slowly or suddenly

james

dry he wore the white dress

his hair curled damply

we drew him

we painted him

he is taller now & remains

much the same

have a photo here of up the valley
where they used to stook the harvest


all the family out working the fields

in the evening it came cooler
for rest

the summer house is gone

destroyed some years back now due to health and safety fears from the new owner

who was opening the house back up for holidays

i suggested that i could relocate it

yet they burned it, the pretty thing with all the imagined memories

i have a modern one gone faded now

then i wonder if she wanted to see my brother instead

Shoreline would be more an exploration of the concept….shorelines more related to actual examples…..how about that?

sun came &
shadows lasted only a short time

we are survived.

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

you like birds?

as do i

neither of us employed
&  i am vaguely idle

is not any good really

just drawings. the little people appear as company

the day sounds similar.  gardening and  drove to the garage with their payment.

walked a good way then coincided with him so chatted a while.

 may have made a temporary potting bench yet not sure. watched a film with nervousness and had a generally nice day really.

hope your day goes well

we wonder who may arrive on paper today

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

as you know,
some of us work sundays,
unless we work on monday.

some times we have this
day off, to have a weekend
of slower time. we pinned
the thought of you, carefully
35 times. needing more, we
shall shop on monday.

small gold at 20p a bunch
not counted. so you are
safe. i have his number
reinstated. twice have stated.


this does not mean i love you.

i shall send them to america.



pins

lady on the bus told me her sister kept lots of soap and what did I think.

I says she sounds like me.

some doubt climate change

despite the science

she says we shall have sunny spells

mr blue coat man

walks early


mr water man works at dwr cymru


i have a long surname and usually

give my first name even having to spell that and hope that will suffice without the other ones

i hear it comes shorter in the village


some many many years ago

it started

and i remember them

the names


mrs wrap around apron

the falling boy


never said in public

a family language

was worried over the empty barn. .it  survives,
some
way.

they flew up so quickly i could not catch them

and the bus too far away

someone commented these sunny days that glare on the phone  obscures the subject anyhow

a case of point and shoot blindly

yet I saw the swallow yesterday
heard it had arrived on social

hengwrt posted

later I went down the estuary
to walk the wood

the tide was up  so wandered back to see the cowslips  and the photographer knelt in wet grass

a real camera

james

here they forecast an awful rain yesterday
yet it came quite warm and gentle and

i shared some nougat with the delivery man

mum gave us 3 d on wednesdays

for sweets or stuff.

we

went to the cafe  shop on the main road

for a ross puff candy

then back home placed on a saucer near the coal fire

to go melty.

on saturday last i  ate my first toasted marshmallow outside by the fire at bodnant gardens.

national trust.

asda man says he places melted marshmallow  between chocolate biscuits.

sandwich.

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

mild here with sun
shining on the lake and
hills beyond. we both
looked from the top deck
on the bus yesterday