Monthly Archives: January 2014

littled skull

do you remember i wrote
about the hawfinch, dead

at my gate? i have the skull
to wonder at the big beak.

such a big beak. a man
came yesterday, explained
yew berries, the outer shell
and kernel. none in the drive

no berries left, these trees,
there are no hawfinch here,
today, sir.

yes, you may photograph.

this skull.



no fabric left, well
just a tad, not as much as
expected, hoped.

no garments found,
weave named after
the area. in town

made flannel for shirt
underthrift for jacket.

oh how we love a long coat
all sunday best on monday.

with what we have we may
make place mats, or send them
to the other mill, still noisy.

dust in air.

dust in air.



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.




how much is the book today,
ten pounds to you. there

were more all sold. the old
dealer did a moonlight flit.

how much is the book today,
fifteen pounds, simple pictures,
will you take a bottle?

a ledger clerk, i balanced well.

then remembered him. aproned, legless
ruling lines.

the book binder.



the call

finding the last call,
now know it will all
start up again.

the unbound book.

the pages,
the words.

from you they will
come, any of you.

you just need to do it.

a book about death.



wrong turning

the wrong way?

follow your heart,
high, mountain track,
scattered trees, country

spend the day , waterlogged
moor, black rooted, bring it home.

the memory , the heart, of
all that there is. turn

your face to the wind,
rain, snow, feel the bite.

take it home.


the clear water

ran cold, constant
sound of wind and heaven.

streamed the house with sound,
music of the years, laughing,
singing. into
the house next door, whistling.

i explained, he came and
fixed the washer.

he is the gas man.




it was ivy, dead, that flapped,
strangled wire. this wind, this winter.

now these are labelled,
tidied, and wiped clean,
cloth. damped
in warm water. he came

from nantlle valley,
pretty place, gritty place
on the way to snowdon.

he talked, we watched dust,mote
imagined words, saw
the butterfly, it was the
thirteenth of this month



did you notice the different weaves,
the names, the celtic not. have you

heard the language, problems arising,
too long spent driving. two of them
work well, one is new paper
that will not ash the flame.

will you remember them, narcussus,
small people who suffer?

i will send their photograph.