the tree came down in two parts with great noise and  excitement  yet only from me


i guess the guys are dead cool and used to it all


an early sapling showed, once overshadowed

a new view , quite acceptable


a noisy  day so I went and drew pictures

broke

shattered

broken reflections

of a former life

smashed

honest marks and lines different from the immediate gratification of a photograph. though with the latter enjoys the  creativity of editing, layering ; drawing in on the original idea.

time passes, passes. mind  so focussed that world outside own  skin forgotten.

we lerned how to play,
one letter at a time or
they gets stuck.

badly.

Keith.

Thankyou for popping by again. Good to see you here.

Yes the noise goes on all day when they strim. There are three graveyards here and there are usually two working together.

They start in the lower, town council. Then the middle, village council, then the churchyard.

I am sad to say **** killer is employed for the edges as if there is not enough death already Keith.

we touch the wall
where the car crashed
that time back
remember how it was


how my friend tried to
help

what a wonderful thing
to have

plus all that ongoing information
to talk about

tell me

is it a one story house or two

there is a need to know
for worry in retrospect

it sounds a dangerous task
with all the snow and ice about

i ate the last little chocolate
this morning and shall miss that
routine each day

at midday he video called me in error
and we both freaked out

the air moves

on my skin.

i turn

look past the curtain

see the face again.


framed.

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

spread out as cotton threads
knotted
&
i will not mention the word

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around .

it was dark and even with

the emergency light could

not see

so texted the farmer and he

brought it up for me

he may make a sign noting

that his is the wrong shed

stopped a while as the lightness started

round me they flew never touching
we laughed in delight
at this natural thing

.quote.

they think they are right just because there are more of them

liked in potatoes called spuds

& maybe there was one

covering us

that wore away over years…

well never mind

they say and go get on with it

meanwhile I thought of you back then all those years ago

underlined

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

there was thing

to write about

yet

i forgot

it

do not wish to hide
do not wish to run
to take the boat and steer
to take the hiatus i fear

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

we should look after things
better. i wrote a thing a while
back. it filled my head with
pictures.

yes i am inclined to agree; it will be an uphill journey
for us both.
to learn, to grow

we here hope things there

are more settled than yesterday

yesterday in trying to say the right things

whilst also saying things

wished

possibly uttered the wrong things

wishing you well while realising that it is not at all well

the carpet is cleaner

done with a soapy cloth


i see there are gadgets

indeed I have some


my mum taught me this

not knowingly

i just watched and remembered


later started the ivy clearing

that on the ground then

after coffee opened the door

to do some more and found

it was raining hard


i went to the studio and drew

myself walking

the things I saw

how it felt

on monday which was mayday bank holiday only may day was saturday with monday being the third already

i drew pictures on scraps left over from the other pictures i had cut round carefully

all day it rained hard, drumming

a little world here of characters and stories none of them famous nor commendable

it was mentioned that some people don’t know what whitsun is and he agreed and said

what is it then?

varying kinds

and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care.

biscuit tins are useful

drawing the child with found fabrics
watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

a touch of red
suggested at dinner, to make
a photograph splendid, i noticed
the same in paintings at exhibition.

looking out, the grave yard, noticed
a touch of colour by the white.

is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,only just a theory,

yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

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

the mountains here

a home, a refuge plain

and simple things, the ordinary

become as sacred in our life

it comes a wider space, with mistakes and misgivings.

nothing in this world is perfect.

putting words in my mouth
like sweet sultanas in chocolate

they come in twos

feels necessary to hold onto memories
and to repeat myself

yet i will rather say that all things are

on a spectrum

of colours & ideas

nothing is one colour only,      as decided

in invented rules.  for we are all different

some places we have only passed through
and if the history were told we may understand it different

than reality

these slower times I find more exploration yet only of the now with patches of this and that

that all are temporary measures
temporary structures
and collage

so we can move things about

change things as we like

there is this one tree


planted early came slightly weedy


planted by the town with a little

fence around


the danger that it may come vandalized

& die


even then some may paint it white , add lights

in the cities green may be required

among the stone and lingering

youth

she said there is a feeling of

impending doom

and on researching we find this

is true for many reasons

a curious thread that
hold us together
while apart

don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.

it don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.

required for mending always

yesterday she explained to sew

the four holes in synchronicity

tight

on linen

yesterday the words came easily with labels

it is a new little ribbon,

for you. i will tie here,

yet not too tight.



it has been a long time now.



yes, said the bear.

a long, long time.

listen, repeat the
random insects.
stitch another way.

careful what you dream on a cusp of night. know that all stars are not the same.

seen  through the net nightly.

there is nothing quite like changing stuff,

you see he always came on tuesday, but then

we started writing that day, so he will come

on thursday each month.

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

as i rose,

a pink mist descended.

it was actually already there,

i like the sound of the action here.

i thought the window misted,

my glassses steamed,

walked room to room,

and from the windows saw,

the softest steam morning

on the mountain,

through the trees.

the promise of another

day in wonderland.

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

he asked about the father
the answers came in language of that time
the terminology of the fifties

words that indicate dislike

not of choice

a mantra
remembered correctly

transfer of ideas

later unpicked to my delight
into another story
edges left bare

there is a box with papers
snippets and tickets

are these the codes and reasons
are these the stories of their lives?

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