he said that we will die,
as all things will die,
go back to nature.

i agreed.

he will remember me.

the whole family,
returned in the evening
cooler, cleared the hay
from the graveyard.

it was hot, so
i layed a cold
flannel on
his head.

if I had been a boy
would I have looked like him

worn corduroy?

if you had been a boy
would you have looked like him

and we wonder
at the likeness

there.

the gallery who sacked me for such a thing and other reasons

i don’t know

i bake bread and eat it

four slices.



she brought him four slices, butter

on white, fairly thick. he piled it high

with breakfast ingredients, and chips.



an hefty lad, avec  workmates.



she asked if i will like toast or bread

and butter.



the latter and let it be white.



the coffee was milky.

oh.

it is decided after talking to the bear
and eating bread ends
that indeed you may take
what you wish as it is
not only ours

we want to help too
all of us one human heart

the bear noted it is a little
in these circumstances

thankyou

hopefully the bear may sleep a while

now

broke

shattered

broken reflections

of a former life

smashed as it hit the floor

the voices rather quiet. we have had a life time
of listening, yet not understanding really.

so let us go forward and compare

nicely

sometimes I have toast

and sometimes insert one comma

the news has changed

here

while one I don’t know
who is friends with one I do
has been vaccinated

mid wales

she is a carer and they say it is bad there

a backwater

for some reason it has come so in wales
hence more restrictions

messaged to see if all are ok with this
of course , came the reply
and offered me random oats

having a liking for porridge of a morning
with cream and syrup I accepted

nicely

sometimes I have toast

and sometimes insert one comma

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

soon we stand outside
faces up toward the sun

we will enjoy the natural warmth
set aside the stove for late afternoon
&
evenings

soon the light will stay
with us
longer

my wood store is a plenty
now with variety
of kiln dried
natural
&
eco briquettes

which burn hot
my lovely

though soon
we shall stand in the natural warmth

and breathe

jim

-1°
in dolgellau

becomes part of the
pattern
a mark on the horizon

could change it for another yet it has become
a mantra

a pause like in breathing

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

I says she sounds like me.

seems we have a night collection of soap here
new and unused plus
old

some comes dried cracked and faded
other precious still unwrapped

we have scheduled the task today of
sorting and storing it
some still gift boxed
some from the hotel

some has the queens crest on it
told she was indeed a lizard and

laughed

the second episode is tuesday afternoon
was cut short yesterday as the asda man

went to the wrong address
so out on the rain we brought
him in to land here safely

wok in hand

there is a list of chores yet
I remember only one right now

breeze

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

we should look after things
better. i wrote a thing a while

back. it filled my head with
pictures.

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring

more down the middle

now, not touching the sides

so much.



limbs hang looser, hardly tied.



it is a soothing thing apart from string,

to walk the higher road.



this is not a metaphor.

it leads to llanfachreth.

brock.



the badger was dead by the side

of the road.





walking,

i passed the other side.





returning on that side i stopped to look.



it did not smell.



it was just dead.



brock.

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable



today i write of glass and ashes inspired before

then swept by other’s moments witnessed  the cleaning

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality
please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time
for hostility

she goes up early these days,

as if she is involved.

jumping the stairs

and laying head down,

eyes swimming,

brown.


does she know,

does she miss him too,

is that why.

she goes up early,

before me,

and i visit.


until thinking of her there,

i join her

my head down,

eyes

brown

too,

brown eyes too

one way,

and  another.

up poole hill

or down.

you kissed me.

no words to describe the mass,

the danger of it all, the hate  that

rises.



the parallel,

the home, the black chair.



power house.

bone house.

may be as well if two buckets are bought

at the same time

not to keep them

one

inside

the other

for  length of times..

saw them on the way to montgomery by bus

& finding them cheaper than elsewhere  bought them on the way home

popped them in the shed  where they melded together well

heat and sheer determination eventually prised them apart

two buckets

well indeed, what a pretty picture except maybe the trilby hat.


i imagine them to be blue and green you know.


we went into town yesterday and wanted cake.

quite a kerfuffle at the hotel as i asked for the menu  to look at cake so we were sat in the luncheon area which of course was incorrect especially as they had no cake

not even a teabun

walk the rooms in horror,
see genius in corners,
there.

realise that he may cry
all the tears of life.

the kitchen is quite dark without the light on as is slightly below ground, the graveyard behind

used to leave a lamp on yet with energy prices hike, now follow her lead and wait until entry

tiny things become intimate

you may put them in cases, or hang on pins
straight or safety, it becomes political

the choice is yours

bulldog clips

while nothing is like usual no more

fires burning with evacuations

this global thing and the other things

glad i saw the old houses,
wintering, wood smoked,
perfumed. glad i smelled
the oak burning, turning

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

busy day
much achieved
yet
no one will
notice

but me

and i will check it all

tomorrow
and beautify


18.32

here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

so here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

looking back i see

the island changed.

perhaps i like familiarity.

here on the night watch,
all is quiet , no birds sing.

touched by the small thing,
softly, we drew together,
with words, and gestures
in air, in mind.

required for mending always
yesterday she explained to sew
the four holes in synchronicity
tight
on linen
yesterday the words came easily with labels

we ate cake, chocolate cake
with thick chocolate icing on

top
plus the usual buns
with one left ready
for today with coffee

there were four candles
each a different colour
bright

which I have saved
&
washed the little white
holders

all stashed in the proper place
in that dish on the kitchen shelf
above the table

i tidied it all a few weeks back

yesterday I won a writing challenge
&
did not mean to
I just wanted to tell it
how it is
really

later I attempted to trim
the hazel tree and succeeded

do not dignify the challenges. tread sweetly,

move on.

it is simply.

not worth fretting.

while in the studio a series
commenced

marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic

thankyou
we are all looking after ourselves
carefully here as you suggested

family, few friends too

as I hope you are too

there is a routine come natural
with walking peering
and poking with sticks

there is drawing as you know
and they come as magic for company

the red especially

thick and covering the plainess

i give them cardigans with buttons
and sometimes dots

i looked out yesterday at the raining
on and off all day

washing in and out

then cotton bits ironed for i like the feel of it

you look after yourselves too

they are all animals even cows and sheep

and horses

she ate them

except the horse as she did not fancy that

she only ate those she was used to

we went out on the chain ferry across to the beach
all sun sea gulls and possibilities

day of freedom

some days come lovely
despite the weather

mornings come darker with
quiet walks in the lanes

contemplating

all that surrounds

one branch moves
creaking on the others

sheep stand quiet waiting
while we apologise

further down the water runs
where the straw was laid

the foot and mouth epidemic
those years back

on our way down south we

were diverted
a road block and all that

entailed

not crossing the line

never crossing the straw

we didn’t
not once

some are already sleeping
some stay gathering to be

ready

while I do much the same james

so we placed the work on censorship.



little boats,  welsh not, #bandaged

books and what nots.



they had been there

some time, yet were not noticed

i guess.



it may have been nose bleed that done

it. she censored it all, shoved in

a drawer, even the refugees

crossing.



i go to the ship now, and

i hear she threw the jazz band out



too.

rain comes here in waves
reflecting feelings

sometimes i can smell the sea
though some miles from the shore

rain comes here in waves
reflecting feelings

sometimes i can smell the sea
though some miles from the shore

the challenge is rain

and we had some

had looked at the writing and chose a small one though i do like the long one

about wet days on the hill…

while in the studio a series
commenced
marching in time
across the board

at dusk the view magnetic