having chatted to an other
about seeing  stuff that
becomes personal when

alone

reminding him is not odd
at all

endearingly different
to the hub

and we love those
that fly solo
these days

the difference is a thing

snakes figure a bit here since

i saw that one in the

famous old painting with a egg

in its mouth

she said she liked the stories

except I did not tell them

i never tell you much

nor all of it

there are bits left to fill in

yourselves

there have been a couple
of incidents but now she

is in disguise
with different
hair

friend came on the trip
yesterday
and we enjoyed it yet

i am used to going alone.

after she was all enthusiastic
and suggested more and more

i am used to  going alone….

understanding

&

our bus broke down
in gellilydan

we sat
chatted
waited
laughed for 40 minutes

then another bus came

arrived home to notice
the car had a puncture

breakdown cover
covered  that

good here in that alone
is not lonely

she was drawn again yesterday with her sibling

though it did not look quite right so

shall i tear the sister off?

having swiped away those unwanted pages
and moved the car from the church car park
with it being sunday

come to read your message regarding bicycles

like and yesterday

a cyclist stopped before a bend in the road
to allow the bus to pass
except the driver couldn’t see

and words were exchanged
a fist raised

while I looked at the flowers

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


yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

seems that you are trouble, is that correct?

yes.

it seems you need to let the birds sing

became slightly nervous looking up
at it
retreated to the studio

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


yet used independently,
alongside honest work,
for mending.

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.

told them about joan and they said they had to go, get home

later I heard they liked her despite the startled look

she was drawn again yesterday

so joan will be
revered

if the pencil slips
she will remain
ignored

day of small things,

slowly steadily worked

as we rest the dust motes,

shine as gold.

the air moves

on my skin.

i turn

look past the curtain

see the face again.


framed.

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

yet when

she said my friend looked pretty

&

that I smelled nice

I sagged a little.

later that day

i found a message

request

from a soldier in the usa

holding a puppy & a rose

calling me a beauty

the world outside the window commented on . as a child .
tell us things, take us without consent. there are no records

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it

today, a reminder of fragility.

he had leaned toward me and commented

that i was getting old

and while that is correct i assumed from his

remark that he must be younger

time goes on and i am told that we are much

the same

carefully we drew her out

all tidy with reason, wearing

us down

putting words in my mouth
like sweet sultanas in chocolate


they come in twos

while out on a longer walk,

met him and he explained to me,

about walking there and back again

is your head clear today, loose limbs, while mild air floats above.   will you go the other way, as you did yesterday?

that all are temporary measures
temporary structures
and collage

so we can move things about

change things as we like

thankyou and say it is only temporary

balanced or tied with string

though overnight decided to use the glue gun

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

they screamed that there was an accident waiting to happen on the stairs

handbag, not fit for any purpose than

delight and design.

while the world is turning there is a small hope to always return home

Main Entry: niche
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: place all one’s own

:: niche ::

i gave the words away.

wrote them,

published them

shredded and pickled them,

and gave them away.

left in a niche.

yet, still they rattle,

and will always

be a part of me.

my words

small village, mayhap a hamlet, named,
one forgets the rules with all that has happened.


nice to be out, to see the neighbours’ houses,
to see what has changed while i have been working

duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town

at three seventy nine

we can walk there and back or there

and bus back you see

slate slides
mud slips
rain falls

seems higher this time
water expands to where i see
the edge

stains the cup if left standing,

remember the hotel, 1964,

we used to scour them especially

round the handle, then the base.

like to be quiet,speaking
only
when you asked the question.

not sure why i came.
i think you invited me?

she came worried about monkey pox
so made her ordinary  tea

the next day I travelled  up
walked the streets and saw
the stories there
for a change

the voices rise

can you clamber
through the rocks
slipping into water
oily boots leaking?

can you stride out
over dewy moors
peat bogged
with no direction?

will you come with me
to these places
my spaces
and make history?

will you sit a while
amid the berried hedges,
sheltering,
remembering?

will we shout at the wind,
running, laughing
knowing
that this is ours
for the taking

or

will you stay home,
stay safe

and bleed?

they say that manners maketh man,

yet boys in pyjamas

use them to be polite , asking for quality

behaviour.

did the breeze come
late last night, or did
some one slip into the room.

you were sleeping.

was there some one in the house
creeping
down the stairs. looking,
another time for thinking.

did the breeze come
late last night, or did
some one slip into the room.

you were sleeping.

was there some one in the house
creeping
down the stairs. looking,
another time for thinking.

sea swim
is saturdays at ten in the morning,


sundays later at eleven.


this too remembered in the bathroom.
we use the pool, mainly.

nicely

sometimes I have toast

and sometimes insert one comma

breaking cups    spilling tea will abuse the hospitality

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

for hostility

now i beg forgiveness

we are little things

that dance in the mornings

james

in the light of the phone

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

google when back at home, read about
people, and know we may after all
be twins.

lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it

today, a reminder of fragility.