driving the land, the songs,
carry us along, to our place,
the constant places,
we think don’t change

pale words a clue in the breathing

the stone set left in barns

caught the words hopefully in burning hands thinking that the sky was clear

though in the past

never so far away

i need to move them into a place
of loose adjustment
of random offerings
and sketchy lines

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

day of freedom

all became a thing yesterday
regarding these marks of ours

and we finished
on this

i hope you do not mind

we look for sand

there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea

the sea that is rising

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable

unlike the landscape hereabouts yet only up the road

up the road where all comes beyond reality to help with reality

is all a pattern, that keeps us safely,        moves us

onward.

my quiet friends felt shaky

weary while getting back to

somethings

sometimes
a while in a box
will do nicely…

listen, repeat the
random insects.

stitch another way.

spread out as cotton threads

knotted

&

i will not mention the word

liking rags
i move on
with differing
music

the trial by glass

required for mending always

yesterday she explained to sew

the four holes in synchronicity

tight

on linen

yesterday the words came easily with labels

i think my work,

my soul

is in

my chest.

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

a darker green,
jasmine climbs the window,
storms brew, we are older now.

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

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

time is limited these days. those one admired in youth devastate us now.   can we know all things, we only went twice ?

you asked me to explain,

i did so lightly. the other said no one else

dare ask.

i tell you it is a full and complicated story

we can hear  the scratching

when dark comes

comes the scuttlings

flutterings  outside

best to be gentle with those and all other things…

new mathematics

the rooms were swept yesterday

bones hidden

teeth implied

yet the shape remains embedded

5
power house looms ahead. they pray for peace and family, their lovely homes and

salary. pigs. work for the people supposedly.

slipped sideways.

while all remains the same, something is different.

do not know everything

only my version

a fraction of the whole

blue sky thinking

here

mainly red,

comes a differing hue

with duck egg blue,

the ironmongers in town

at one seventy nine

pause like in breathing


I hope you don’t mind
and that is how it started

like gradually the markers came
maybe someone someday will
see them
suddenly

no words to describe the mass,

the danger of it all, the hate  that

rises.

the parallel,

power house.

bone house.

dark/ we painted it

all vaguely national

trust

blows ideas into our houses
messages bring connections.


a busy day with folk talking.

things will do for now
until it changes again

slightly

there was a gentle breeze going, then
the sun came through.

slower morning here today. the radio plays.

dove grey overcast sky. heavy they say.

maybe rain?

we need to concentrate on detail

to describe things properly

need to

go there each year a while

to retain to remain in memory

need to

care for  little things

doubly,
font and image.
to twice the normal extent
or degree.

things happen, we deal,
cards are set, dice thrown.

life moves on.

some folk don’t say much
some folk manage
quite well

really

being independent

now the days grow lighter, my head is

tied back on, and all seems well.

dark small cloud dropped rain.
still, the small birds sing

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around . no control

did i sit quietly thinking
then place a few
things together?

yes

we don’t use a teapot

but evidently many do,

and cosy up together.

we are survived.

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

stains the cup if left standing,

remember the hotel, 1964,

we used to scour them especially

round the handle, then the base.

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality

please come. i have the kettle on.    this is not the time

for hostility

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.

happy yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour.

is fading now
yet remains as the description