do not know everything

only my version.

a fraction of the whole

blue sky thinking

here

tiny things become intimate

you may put them in cases, or hang on pins

straight or safety, it becomes political

the choice is yours

bulldog clips

my scope is limited now
yet it comes enough for
me

you make speeches, you rally while i remember my mother.

dermott.jpg

notes:-

q.
and the little ‘blue bag’ of whitener?


a.


mum did not use those, the cost i expect. gran did though .i remember it in her scullery. i have one for remembrance.

was
the dream

the cloud
the quarry

water flows down this valley

wind blows round our houses

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

i too fly solo
&
enjoy the flight

when the day clears
i look up at the others

the clouds waiting as you
say

there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff

becomes fact
a place one can recognise

see the softest looking clouds
wonder
if that is where that work came
from


with gentle grey

the clouds waiting as you
say

there are many to fascinate
give them names and fluff

becomes fact
a place one can recognise

some thing is changing here,

so slight it can hardly be

noticed.

yet it has been.  a feeling,

came after light rain .

deep holes,
cut grass and wiping stones.
there is a place.

there was no message from you yesterday

perhaps you went visiting like me

perhaps you went over the back amongst the slate

and bright green ferns growing new

along the track we always use when I am there

down the ***** that scared  me
and my hand was held kindly

we looked in the camp
the clues then moved on

there was a beetle and passers by
who made space

and the recommended book
was never opened

perhaps you did something like that too?

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

the sea that is rising

along the edge, the edge
of season. the coast with
slow limits.

the glass anomaly
swept the edges
golden, in proportion.

google brings strange memories.

my friends talk of the coat hanger
effect. hanging our wares on each others’
shoulders, bearing us all down with the weight.

share it out they say, with friends and family,
loose and flowing, mind your engine does
not pink, we must have finer fuel. not feeling

our true self can be an infliction, the grave digger
reminds us of our years, our sense of humour.

we stare at icons, hope for a better price,
i went to the market yesterday.



notes ** maybe place in cupboards,
boxes, close the door, the lid,
carry on, carry.

some ask if the routine of working is missed

it is noted that another took it’s

place

moving lightly room to room in winter

from one hour to the next

differing activities

moving out into the landscape
differing thoughts with exercise

added

on hearing rain early
delay the start of it

did you know he asked me my materials

the list got long and

could have been longer

even boring for some

so I stopped

some times I feel I may get found out
&
james, sometimes I am

with a comma.

codes and reasons

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….

the drawing

went wrong from the beginning


i thought and on the wrong paper too

i thought


had ordered card from asda

got a substitution of a colouring book

more suitable for the house next door with children

i thought so donated it over


there


saw their puppy


then continued on the wrong paper

i thought

only things worked out

cojoined twins

colder yesterday though possibly not as cold
as your experience over there

the greenhouse rearrangement came lovely
instigated by the accidental dropping of plants

growing from seeds gathered on walks
the wildlife garden

today the tiny things will be salvaged
nurtured in the warm

meanwhile i am constantly on leaf duty
while the terraces are cleared
the lower lawn is deep in golden
layers

a little each day
is just the ticket

alongside household chores and drawing

did not wish to go to sea

went just a few times

that I remembered
last evening

the crossing

i found you stranded.



held you , hugged you.



felt the weight of your body.



felt your fin.



there.



i took you to the water

and lay there with you



hoping it would save your life.

the mothth as collage.
a quiet ththing.

the hair looks like a cockatoo
with no fancy phrases

they used orange a lot
with some yellow

combed it fancy mainly
upwards

sprayed all over for style
and protection

he went walking with her
held her hand and laughed

i watched from the bus stop
now colour challenged

good plan and hope things work out

one way or other

it has been known here to utilise
the power of thought and circumstance

to escape the box

and while you ride the rail bed
i walk the track for it is a differing

language

your vests are not ours
nor your tank tops

and while I wear neither
have the most magnificent

combinations in my collection
hanging on the bathroom door

maybe you had your own money
not the exact amount  handed

to my brothers
with prime instructions

and no looking at the
forbidden places

nor loitering by the cafe

or

bought by mother
independently
as a gift

where were  the choices

you seemed to have

not here, not here.

james

these are the warmer days, days of independance.

days to charm

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.

seems there may be some connection

some call it a trigger

some things leave us cold and wondering

seems there may be some connection
some call it a trigger
some things leave us cold and wondering

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

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.
this one remained bright,
even glaring

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

blind man’s buff.

wherein the word buff is use
d in its older sense of a small
push.

the game later also became known
as “blind man’s bluff”; it is possible
that this name is a linguistic corruption.

again.

it,

blinded those that could not see

the love and idle artefacts, each one

a statement of nothing in particular.

phased those that drove the cwm

in site of home, that stopped, saw

nothing.

water that seeps, insidiously into mind,

spoils all things.

things that can be mended.

he said that most people throw broken plates away.

thank you.

wrote a continental seven automatically

as always

then afterwards wondered if it may

be mistaken for a four.



things turned out fine

and the next day

did not get blown off the bridge.



high winds.

from yesterday, the conversation and your enquiry


the remembrance is that it was mainly brown and beige when we moved in


distemper


cold and metal windows

condensation caused black

damp

plus steam from the kitchen


colour crept in gradually despite protestations


yet we shall not talk of it further

there are no photographs


we had no impetuous to record

yet it seems we remember

spoke to others yesterday about
banning the word coping as a negative
thing, said with sympathy
head to one side.

it feels a frail word and does not apply

corona

a slightly better sounding word
than covid

and more readily in predicted

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

yet it was taken all serious with a need to always be correct

to talk about quality

black crow bird
pecks road ****.

pheasant.

haute cuisine.

crow bird,
pecks package.

hoping for a sandwich.

b.l.t.

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.

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.

i don’t use a teapot
but evidently many do,
and cosy up together.

they don’t squish teabags, have leaves,
and stewing on the gas ring,
like mother, reducing it to
poison on my tongue.

i like the leaves to look at,
smell, like the small packet
we used to have, paper lined
in those days.

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

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

courage to walk away
from objects that irritate
our eyes, to eat another way,
with snakes and camphor oil.

you know what i mean

cover the place with whiteness.
pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.

eight thirty  till five.   it could have been easy, yet there were issues of the electronic kind   meaning wasting time with wires and connections.

cover the surface.   it takes time.