anyhow we done the draft

then turned it round about


a few more hours fiddling
and it may suffice
with a double eff

it comes a wider space, with mistakes and misgivings.

nothing in this world is perfect.

seems we have a similar taste, rather gathering than buying​
prefer reclamation than boutiques

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

and paint

today we deliver eggs to blaenau
the family

and travel by bus
a splendid route

you know

painted my outsides in happy yellow
drawn by the name not just the colour

and oh that name come true
on opening jim

is fading now
yet remains as the description

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring

explicit blunderings, darkness descends

with out the need for words. pray for

forgiveness if you are so inclined.

wild here this morning
wind in the chimney
rain on the glass

and talking of that
little lamp blew down outside


broke

never mind

sleep was rattled by weather
thoughts of war too hard to write

yet one day i will

i guess you know more than me

i don’t know what a tent shelter is

but I can imagine

so far few plans for a day unless it clears

james

feels necessary to hold onto memories
and to repeat myself

it may be a habit writing
here
each day

hearing your news

or maybe an act of solidarity james

while wondering

find there are possibly two
of us

me
and the one i was pretending
to be

here is a thing
in that
we trotted along nicely
back then

when no one
said nothing

we thought no one read here
and that was ok and we came
huddled in and private

possibly our way and the circumstances
you know, the virus and now the war

then folk here said they read it
while we were astonished and
though it rattled us

find

we miss you if you do not visit
a while

and we get all our tenses and lines
wrong and have to go back in a hurry

to amend


and self conscious of too many

ands

you see

wonder if i shall write serious,

tell thee all  hard stories that

don’t exist. i wonder if i shall stop,

when no one reads.

do you believe in omens?

james

pink sky
slight dampness
hanging

comes at night he said

the bleakness

some places we have only passed through
and if the history were told we may understand it different

than reality

these slower times I find more exploration yet only of the now with patches of this and that

there a little cloud with teardrops

a wash of shadowed grey

day of small things,

slowly steadily worked

as we rest the dust motes,


shine as gold.

some live

with ****** bombs

falling

here we only know fear

and hiding again it splits

in two

adrift, will the sky at last explode, or will this hate

continue pointlessly, for thousand thousands years.

numbers that cannot describe each particle of pain.

each ****** bomb that kills yet again.

no sighs.

they have forgotten us.        we have forgotten them.

are we  now the bones of what we were?

wrote of blood, yet did not share it much.

you may think we share our hidden thoughts,

yet some remain

did not tell no one,

that while out walking

thinking of you in ukraine

my feet tangled in debris and i fell flat.

my mind is broken yet my phone and glasses
remain intact

my knee bled. my hands to save me

scabbed. limped back to you.

you who bandaged

& fed me sweet things.

will continue to think of you in ukraine, to walk alone in solidarity.

having learned , the days  will come longer soon. the sounds

softer.

once the day is dawn, the door is open, face the sky, all

comes well some days.

some days it does not, yet it still comes light. the falling

days end.

speech

fails us.

simple notes. none rise higher than the one next.

to you, to me, this may not be

the acceptance

expected.

.quote.

they think they are right just because there are more of them

just stand and watch the season change, note the dew and separate ideas.  

remember that you stand alone. are not alone from                                                  criticism and contradiction.

liking rags
i move on
with differing
music

the trial by glass

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

gently gently make those little
amendments

make things interesting

move it about

found a new way to focus

block out the bad
the negative thought

not many liked it yet
I knew I had learned some thing
valuable

something to remember

little bits of paper

shredded

&

kept

until useful

sms

the air moves

on my face.

i turn

look past the curtain

i sometimes sit and think of this, sometimes   dream
in bed, often in yellow.

or blue which

covers the

land in places, my eyes           smarting.

said he didn’t watch it much while things are unsettled

over there


a poor choice of word maybe

perhaps not alarmist.


we asked if he referred to the war

which we consider affects us all


he nodded then sat down in his garden chair

into the wild wood

feet plant into earth

again

skin sharp with lingered  frost

dust motes sing my heart high

do we describe what we see or maybe
tell the tale inside

round the corner on the wall
are the bullet holes

yes

talked of this yesterday while walking
the neighbour on his bike, his mother
polish

my name from a refugee

the

trauma not shared
one is alone
&
it deepens

i take your words & use them

thankyou

numbers do have meaning

we now descend into darkness,
drawn into night,

mistakes crossed, all can see
the errors ,the blots,that soak
the skin, the stain within.

one slip is all, one step too far, the world turns around . no control, no eating,   disorder abounds. watch the ornaments fly…..

concentration gone,
move now one
paragraph at a time.

tidy beach

soft sand and honest stones
to be fortunate here

yet

some come to spoil things..

we find it when the rain stops,

light comes through.                       yesterday morning

looked nice.

the back road was
littered, rather blustery.

today
we have a darker day

ants in the kitchen will leave by easter. he said it should be on the same day each year; he is learned, pronounced as two bits.


do not fret, i know you worry, i will paint it over in the spring.

it is a long time since the sun shone in long and low like that.

see the softest looking clouds
wonder
if that is where that work came
from
and the joy of pink?


with gentle yellow

your words come different, while

with your question come forth

sense of

another world

metaphors, inuendos

a door into an other world

liked in potatoes called spuds

& maybe there was one

covering us

that wore away over years…

well never mind

they say and go get on with it

meanwhile I thought of you back then all those years ago

underlined

island.

island / n.1. a piece of land surrounded bywater

2. anything compared to an island,

especially being surrounded in some way

3. a detached or isolated thing

tangled affair
too many people talking at once

it is a messy affair
paint smudges and runs

eventually all comes clear
one having the final say

predictions come and go