trawsfynydd, we forgot the buzzing,
only heard the wind, for
wind there was this time.

the sky predominant, a gap
for the light to pass

whisper from you came
a good idea
to stop those dreams and headaches

the moon came bright with yet another name

so flimsy it is hardly there.
so worn, it is almost dead.

recreate the dying in your head.

so small it is hardly there.
so cheap it is almost dead.

draw it. recreate the scene in your head.

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

it was at the bus stop where the buses converge

transfer the passengers

where everyone talks though

not about that, nothing like that.

she came from dolgellau, said hello and talked about all those things, no fuss, just honestly ,

on the way to berlin.

shades defining.
now I have to say that I usually like
the colour as items, yet maybe not
as entity.
I face the slate
grey
and bleed red

no words to describe the mass,
the danger of it all, the hate  that
rises.
the parallel,
the home, the black chair.

power house.
bone house.

Good morning.

All nice here. Excellent morning yesterday in Corwen and although the Vintage Emporium was unexpectedly closed due to a power outage a nice time was enjoyed.

Poked about town and looked at the Coy carp in their shop and the old run down hotel is now community owned and has a pop up shop.

Went to the Welsh cafe for coffee, which is as hot as lava, a local told me.

No cooked meat available this Saturday in the butchers though the conversations  there are always good.

red depleted.i use blue,


oh the darkness of it all,the surface tension,primeval scream
hidden by centuries of crimson

a touch of red
suggested at dinner, to make
a photograph splendid, i noticed
the same in paintings at exhibition.

looking out, the grave yard, noticed
a touch of colour by the white.

cutting,
bleeding the lead
into showers,
and explosive marks.
the power house rears its head again,
pouring images down
like rain.

when she heard that i had been drilling fitfully,
she asked why but i could not explain really. so
i added the stop.

it seems that some like sticks, while others do
not.

there are a few of us, one of us is      leaving.

much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.

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

Having spelt my name wrong, Bob , I wonder.

Everyone is separate, even with the same programme.

think i may like to travel to small places,
old and full of history. deep aged fabrics
stained with the words of time. to touch

we have such unimportant work
here, that needs not be done.

today, another power house installed,

i have to let some things go
now, yet this remains.

one seventy nine

=

one pound seventy nine

or

one pound and seventy nine pence.

is how we says it
here

walk the rooms in horror,
see genius in corners,
there.

realise that he may cry
all the tears of life.

mum gave us 3 d on wednesdays

for sweets or stuff.

we

went to the cafe  shop on the main road

for a ross puff candy

then back home placed on a saucer near the coal fire

to go melty.

on saturday last i  ate my first toasted marshmallow outside by the fire at bodnant gardens.

national trust.

asda man says he places melted marshmallow  between chocolate biscuits.

sandwich.

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

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

just now on you tube  saw

a photo of douglas bader

you know

the pilot

& you know

was surprised he looked nothing like

kenneth more

we shall never know
for there is no microscope
here
moving on i feel it was a flashback
to the girl who wished for quiet and
can remember  in detail

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

bert is no name for a storm, more like a neighbour in green road that time back, or the uncle  i was told of yet never met.

grey flannels with braces and maybe a moustache.  growing vegetables down the back and interested in  pigeons.

even a foster parent  playing the guitar to make one feel comfortable

while feeding you a kipper  for supper.

perhaps then an apt name after all

such is the change of time
i have been around for  an
hour
extra

may reappear.

whatever reason,

comfort for some that there are recognitions.

early yet
I have to tell you
that
i went a different way
to avoid the usual

and maybe, and probably
i cannot fix it
so will look after it
admire it daily
unless it rains

james

comes a differing hue
with duck egg blue

the ironmongers in town
at one seventy nine

we dig our selves into the hillside

the time you talk about unremembered.

perhaps I was never there

or unaware

so have dug into this hillside

placed tidily in awareness

of all that is happened,

happening

my heart sank when the water stopped draining

from the kitchen sink.

it is a soakaway

not a mains drain.

the rod broke and stuck there

though after  much upheaval, with slight swearing of a normal nature,

something shifted.

drawing the child with found fabrics
watching the marks come good, no dots
intended


yet they came
without warning

asked me who will be afraid of our ghosts
ghosts of humans
when we are gone

sun came &
shadows lasted only a short time

you feel like two people
that one is split in two

that the other one does
look a bit like you
only more so

now is small stuff on paper
as who cares anyhow
we just carries on
regardless

see exhibitions
quiet slow and uneventful
& lasting impressions

a simple drawing out
no fuss
and sometimes late in the evening
think of it
leave the house
and return to the simple line drawing

told you, no one will listen if we are quiet,
they have all lost interest’

yes.

‘do they only listen to loud folk , those that  shout
and remonstrate’

seems so.

added bits and embellishments which caused remark
while the space between lines was so immense my head came heavy with drowsy
fell off
&
i did not return

at tea.

traces remain hidden for the most part
only to come out on particular
occasions
without  warning

she said it without  warning
& i was horrified

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

and oh that name come true
on opening

jim

while it was, he said

he knew things I didn’t.

and i advised i knew stuff also that he did not.

his reply was that he did not watch the news, nor have a radio for that made him sad.

i do, so who is the witness here?

painting it white

found

the former looked cream after thirty years in air

and wondered a while if it was actually cream initially

&

not white?

bought her tea set gently in parts
each week from woolworths and i still have
some of it

the roads here are winding, the leaves are changing.

best not to bang the teapot down on serving, best
to tell the truth.

on looking at todays work
i see the spots are appearing

research is kind, we have tried many colours.


we ate the cake, yet not wishing to appear
greedy left a crumb.
for a bird.

like flags that are decorative
or bunting that represents a
happy time

dislike borders
representations of separation