the british way, not mentioning
yarn, too much, repeating words,
where no longer necessary. wool
in abundance here, piled on wool
lorries, neatly balanced with

premium  acrylic.

it is a fine line we walk,
gently avoiding peptides,
only just a theory, yet used
independantly, alongside
honest work, for mending.

your birthday at the zoo.
while
we were at the national
library of wales, aberystwyth.

high ceilings, automatic doors.
trod carefully the red carpet,
saw the landscapes quiety.

film maker in residence.

webmakers in conference.

tape tied book, reminds
me, silent face a memory.

i will return to the
national library of wales,
aberystwyth.

no photos allowed.

met a friend for lunch and tea?

done the wrapping, sticking
and packing, most work has gone,
some has been hung, so i am left
with paper and bits below, new work
coming in.

the bottles are up for sale, and
am drawing an erasure with all
my might.

have you seen my writing site?

yes, we had kippers on toast, tasty.

autumn apples, gone from
the tree, a few this year.

coxes then , singly in the florist,
basketed among the flowers.

lunch at 20p, rattle the pips
to make sure. slice neatly white,while
watching the wind strip the leaves.

this is an autumn apple. break time
in the staff room. only the pips are left.
to grow again.

there have been and are more,
waiting. we wish for less, yet
they will come all our lives.

so many together, not such
a good idea. asked and recieved.

the festival continued, we miss
the procession, kept on time.

the circle turns.



caladrius

through blaenau, orange now,
bracken competing with slate,
winning a while, as leaves
fall.

to conwy, the road
rising above the flow,
one tree remembered.

two calves run down
to the others. on arrival

admire the quality of
bunting hung here, cotton,
with spots. there is a festival.

we had a meeting.
nine circles.

300.

he says vehicle
where others say car,
he avoids the
paparazzi, he
likes the same
twigs.

titanic.