Monthly Archives: March 2014

farm house

a puzzle, what to do with the
ficticious thing, the thing we
don’t have.

an idea.

with that in mind, we
plot and plan.

work on our identity.

a busy day,
which worked out well.

it was the obvious, that
they did not all see.

i bought seeds for the hawfinch.



hawfinch. day two.

was collected, may be sent
to london in the post. he will
have to declare the contents
of the box, as i declare
my work.

she is often startled
by those words, as we

all are sometimes.

soon the swallows come.
we shall go to stokesay.



another hawfinch

found in the graveyard,
the day of the ringing.

still warm, 316, plus a silver band.

taken gently to the garden
to observe, such a large beak.

friends came to see. report
the findings. this evening

the hawfinch is collected for tests
to see. the hawfinch cannot see,

the other fell
by my gate.



satie plays.

today the thoughts are changed,
each time, to see, what else to be.

to think without the culture, the nurture,
reborn to hear the news, to look anew.

we are not to blame,
it is the way of things.

seven thirteen monday morning.



off. stayed a while,
listening to the morning.

she said she had nothing to say,
yet her descriptions were thralling.

talk of allotments, sewing,
domestic days.

i like her letters.

i must write,
thank her for the book.

wild wales.


pretty place

there is a laybye , the field so pretty
to park by, the gate to lean.

will you report the fire?
no i stopped to admire.

had seen the stack before, the logs
laid neatly, all was ready then,

now your flames attract me, to
talk of lambs and springtimes.

it is from the storm , tinder dry,
too hot to stand by,
i can feel it from here.

on my return all was ash and steaming,

we waved.



as a child

as a child

come in dreams, the shape
of your face remaining.

there is a line now,

dreams and aspirations.

words and degradations.

lines deepen, water etched.

window open, birds sing.

mostly foggy here today.



133. soot.

looking down saw grubby fingers,
smuts from the fire, cleared early.

spit and hanky rub the mark away,
travel regardless. may be spring
that day.

cannot read your mind, sir, nor mind
the consequences of my stain.

i have sooty marks,the head is clear.

walk the canal path, eat cheese,
and softer figs.

oh my , these are the falling days,
the days of the life.




hear the trees come down,
see logs and timber.

hear about the taming,
hawfinches ringed.

caught in nets,
no stress intentended.

hear about the taming of all
things. pray it is not you.

stay with intention.