Monthly Archives: June 2014

there was no sewing

there are no pins,
no easy way to fix
some things.

this time, we wait
to see the outcome.

mended plates aren’t funny,
scaffold a life.

don’t laugh, it may
happen to you.

listen, repeat the
random insects.

stitch another way.



well said

it was well said.

tired of all the rags and critisms?

listen to the artist, talk of
cumbria and cul de sacs.

listen to another, who follow stars,
cellular memory.

i have been a while here, now.
it may be time to leave, and find
the other way.



included in the price

as artists we go free,
yet included in the fee,
are coconuts and wrestling.

we travelled the path
again, he swarm followed
in revery.

the heron flew over.

while all the while we
danced and capered,
costumed and bustled,
women dressed as men,
men the women.

he held her on his knee

sigh on sigh,
they are in love,
them so beautiful,
down in the forest.

he held her on his knee

not bitten.



. the forest .

warm, a sudden breeze.

as you like it.

from the valleys they came,
to act, entertain, travelling

eye to eye, interaction, plenty
of action, and oh,
the costumes all pretty
in that green place,
with a hey
and a ho.

birds sang, ants crept.

we laughed, sang, danced the lane
forgetting the path.

it was, as we
like it.



. darker green .

late june, it is a darker green,
jasmine climbs the window,
storms brew, we are older now.

we have watched the house,
is he leaving now? is this that darker

plans for the forest fell apart, with apathy,
lack of repellant. we will try again,

it is a darker place.



. riding .

left the ring in procession,
silently walked the track.

dust rose, the distance grew.

out of sight , talked in code and rhythms.

a train passed, gulls flew the heat haze.

on return, no one spoke.



give things

to some one else,

will they fall upon flesh,
rip it, rearrange,
leave to sleep?
maybe it were their rags.

handle with care,
small eggs hold with love,
rearrange tenderly, add cake.

we saw hedd wyn, yesterday.


. four dogs .

a hot day at the mill,
fans cooled us, wool
sat heavy.

heat rose from the car park,
we busied.

made enough dogs.

i have no photograph,
the usual line.



it is not hard work really

writing stuff, not physically,
curled up in the big settee.

opened the window behind me,
talked to pretoria, prettily.

not hard work, packing stuff,
to go, unless big and unwieldy.

midsummer yesterday, it was
not difficult to see it through, warm
and sunny.

dreaming of war tired me.

yellow star houses.



. drove home .


passed the drawing studio, old general shop,
passed the chapel, you know who lives there.

passed the man outside his flat, sunbathing, pinkly

passed the lad, kicking d
ust under the railway.

days passed.