good name.

i often spell it worng,
ask him.

met on the station,
like a film, black and white.

kissed, discussed the world,
and poetry over coffee, in exhibition,
with fish n’ chips, recommended by
the locals, tasted like dripping, lovely.

visited an old house,i talked about
my old house, we discovered cures
for ghastly things with diagrams, all
spelled with ‘f’ s.

over tea, we turned black and
white again. decided,

any difference should make no difference,
the third word not allowed,
no more.

good name,
we are friends in colour.

sbm.

constantly wavering
staggering back and forth
pure grey wisps
lilting over liver spots
on a glinting crown.
after days spent vegetating
sedro woolley has let him go
under family escort.

the first seed
he ever sifted through his fingers
has led him here.
every acre planted
every berry blossomed
every cow cured
every milk pail filled.

now
he
constantly wavering
in the breeze
pure grey wisps
lilting over ferns and moss
under great cedars.
the first seeds
he ever sifted through his fingers
led us here.
he has grown acres of us.
now we stand tall against the wind
as he sifts through our fingers.

Your struggle , the pots
Blue oxide is inflexible
The grim reaper returns
On a note of savage trust.

The struggle is each day
And lingers to get it right
Then your spirit lifts lighter
The edges spread, smudge.

To Ian my painter friend.
Love Mary

I ate my dinner
with a big soup spoon , tis great
for stirring a cup of coffee!
Oh I do love the glisten of
a speck of sugar and if I
put lots of sugar together
tis just like a snowy day
making me want to wear
my Woolley hat and gloves
but it's only October
and the leaves are still
hanging softly slowly
by autumns breeze!
I wonder if winter
wears a fur coat and boots
surely no one can be so
cold and refuse a piece of
warm sunny light , now
I know why winter
seems to shoo the boo
when sweet spring comes
along in her yellow dress
and short yellow cardigan.
Tis a shame cause I think
winter could do with a little
warm cuddle here and there
Silly silly winter.

Woolley Bear did not like computers
For every time he put one on
He forgot what he had to do.

Love Mary