there may be after effects
yet

nobody suggested a flock of pigeons

at 2pm that snowy afternoon

and that notes will be made

no one mentioned sleeping
later than usual

those chin tattoos
that come all beautiful
and trendy

no one thought that you will like one…

there are watermarks left, to be cleaned

in the spring.

the rain will come again.

the clouds waiting as you
say

there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff

becomes fact
a place one can recognise

have you walked the dunes

hollowed path, coconut gorse.

have you found contentment there?

you came again in auto fill

last evening sat alone



we still cannot understand

there is no explanation for that

nor what you did



you are a ghost to us now

fading



we watched it on tv

the power house reflected

elected

james?

will this all be for nothing

if you make no changes

yes james it is white stone
colour so pure you can feel it

slate looms large,

thrown unbalanced,

waiting for water

to start the slide.

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

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

the challenge is rain

and we had some

had looked at the writing and chose a small one though i do like the long one

about wet days on the hill…

talk of concrete in pretoria
thoughts on moths in wales.

there is only air between .

talk goes on all day, about the heat,
the rain and drizzle,
no thoughts on the shipping
forecast. words red, remembered.

the bird, the boy, the machine,
there is only air between.

Moving forward always there come other notations that bring  feelings, the Agnes Dei opens wounds and fears flood with salt.

i remember the implications, was told the facts later.

much later.

the war house & after.

now

we dig within for solidity, solidarity, power to continue

they used to be called siren suits here and were mainly designed to clothe children during the blitz I believe, and the fashion continued  after, though I never had one.

.was surfing the other moment and came across a heated garment, which sounded cosy and as for hands I have no idea.

.smiley face.

drawing lines

in paper, cutting,

bleeding the lead

into showers,

and explosive marks.

the power house rears its head again,

pouring images down

like rain.

a tragic happening when

history and the day collide

each taking care of their own

as we should

darker hours

still

the mind wanders

lawns are a thing
i watched the history
been to a museum in southport

pretty place that for a town
with council gardening you know
all neat and patterns with orange
usually

thankyou for trying

anyhow

i shall be content with imagination

usually copy and paste my images

for the forum

so it is midwinter  and though busy

am enjoying this moment

in this shortest  day

the air is clear and cold

on my skin

sun shines
yet the day has not warmed

stove is lit and the candles are ready
for a quiet reflective evening

while after reading an article on flight

from fear

know how fortunate i am

a different aspect

it was good to have the windows
the doors open
air circulating

is it all a dream, or facts
in reality, made of mind.


all stone residue haunting.
our life. will we very know
forever wandering?

.a happy picture of you indeed all balaclava’d and goggled dashing forth.

.maybe i will get a photograph?

.it has been dry and clear enough to be busy out of doors and there was not time to write because of it.

.i am about to reorganise the kinding store

having tidied the upper room of the outbuilding already and deleted  incorrect predicted commas here.

.washing is out and blowy  while pandemic ensues.

forge forward
with obsession

a
variety of colours

there is another language

small thing ragged who knows all of it pieces torn away

work along the coast with thread and diligence

gather wools layer carefully

we shall have warmth this winter

wind blows around our houses

water seeps

good to hear back from you yet sorry to hear about the difficulties.

.i were doing well with transport, using the buses and walking about.

.now we have the omicron creature here guess my leisure bus rides will be curtailed, essential travel only.

.it were a pleasant interlude encouraged by the grandson and another seasoned  traveller.

.so we move forward differently once again.

.while you and remain in mind.

.you with a balaclava now!

‘ you mean it were the settings that was wrong ‘

yes.

‘so it was all your imagination?’

yes.

before the cut were shadows

which

needed to be removed.

maybe it came across preachy

and was not intended so



it was the sound of the guns that startled

my day

then on being told that birds were the target
was sad



don’t mind what other folk eat at all

especially those on tug hill
over there



today i ate toast and honey that dripped

down my pyjamas



how are things?

maybe connections are missed the link dismissed.    

metaphors faint as my flimsy whispers  

symbols   do you deny me peace?   perhaps you utter the words constantly?  

look closely

turn & there

before you, before you

the flags have found you.

it is all a mystery

and those of us who eat carefully

do not criticise

hate the sound of guns in the bird field

suggest another way to earn a living

or stay poor with a clearer  mind

**

go at it deep

and now the storm has passed

here

go back to work

watching the marks come good, no dots
intended
yet they came
without warning

we continue with new white paint
and orange too

bought on my first solo day out by bus
this year

remembering not to touch anything.

maybe connections are missed the link dismissed. metaphors faint as my flimsy whispers symbols do you deny me peace?

perhaps you utter the words constantly? look closely

light is wonderful


lifts the brain and limbs
beyond


sparkles rain the morning


once again we have the repetition

he seemed surprised yesterday that i had completed the task


to ensure the proportions looked right for me


it is part of the job and if it is diaried must be done

now your name may be redeemed
your wanderings freed into new

adventures

or maybe you will still stay inside a while

inside the boundary lines

four fields

corona

liked when you talked about childhood

our childhood.

later i sighed

and

placed my cold hands over my face…

they  do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable



today i write of glass and ashes inspired before

then swept by other’s moments witnessed  the cleaning

stuck in  ice forewarned
by terms of reading

arctic exploration

it is warm and i worry
about the ice melting

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

day of freedom

had it all been different i may
have taken further education
you know.

tell you about the villages
close by yet still over the
mountain

where the good grub is
for midwinter

things change,
except they say, one.
changes come

squirrels and disarray.

river ebbs, flows, tidal,
otter marks erased, the lane

quiet now. locals walk, leaves stir.

in passing remember those.

speak those words, templar, that i cannot say.

another time, another place

nice to see you here

i see it was yesterday though I mainly check by in the morning
early

sometimes you know
i have no clue as to what
is occurring
here

or over there

find it challenging

and disappear

have been looking,
for my breaking heart,
boxed
for anniversaries,
and having a good day.

i find a note that says
i am a magician,
and how.

small thing  ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

work along the coast with thread and diligence

gather wools

layer carefully we shall have warmth this winter

bird in hand is drawn
rules to guide us

with stars above that have no points
at all
yet each one has a story

they did not know she had millions, neither did she. just collected one item at a time, cared fully for         each one of them.                                                                                                         catalogued in eternally.

words affect us deeply.   voices  come and go.                                           while the worlds spins with  people’s chaos and confusion.       yet.           above the noise of the day     they show me birds and insects          did you know they cross their fragile legs?