Monthly Archives: July 2014

.small life.

words came as i walked the lane with you,
watched the swallows. thinking i will write
them down back home. leaned on the bridge a while
boatmen dancing.

where have the years gone?

words lost.

radio news .

gaza.

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again, the small things

it is the little things that excite, even
in the height of summer, low look
for seeds, small flowers studded
in hedgerows, dry stone walls here.

our lane remains dusty, unmade, plans
delayed a while to update. developers have
bought the big house, a nice place for holidays
and rabbits.

the stone lion is gone, due to health
and saftey, wobbly.

there is a small pool, to look
in for blessings , a reflection
on the day .

seeds
for the future.

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welsh

spoke to me in welsh,
i answered him in english,
gave him 10p change
eventually.

taught me to say,
four pound fifty, so
we shook hands.
i showed him my accent.

laughing, told me to
go to the devil, while
i blessed him in his
native tongue.

from Mostyn, been
to a funeral.

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w.n (1)

the time

seven minutes past six,
should it have passed,
the back bedroom?

sometimes it is earlier,
or later than this.

classic fm.

nine minutes past six,
their number is six,
eighteen twelve, for
those up early, need
a mention.

the piano plays.

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nails

early for work, so
cut my nails you know,
hoping it will make typing
more precise.

i bought the set in
glasgow, arcade, then
saw it cheaper on ebay.

it has lasted well.

nals look better,
typong still rubbish.

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brights

department store, bournemouth.

you were someone if you
shopped there, they said

then. now,
i expect it is gone.

we shopped there,
the cat’s whiskers,
bought our new
tv, stylee.

thirty five years .

it still works, sometimes,
it doesn’t.

television snow.

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. a difficulty .

been talking on language.

never understood before, now
meeting again have no idea .

he talks about.

my style has changed ?,

my whole life .

differs.
from here to there, not just
my hair.

least of it.

meeting , round the round table.

he speaks a different language.

raw stringy man

shall i prepare?

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pinc

it is another lanuage,
pinc, is welsh for pink.

small boys submit
digital, unlike the gate,
that glows rightly.

the touch of colour
is genius. some of us
are not, yet forge forward
with obsession, madness,
variety of colours.

there is another language.

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. the day starts .

the ftse 100 opens,

the sky falls, rain sings.

birds wait

for wonderland.

smell the air,

the tide has pooled.

mine was a boy soldier,

he did not

go to war.

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black butterfly

ginko and tulip tree,
along the path.

walk to clear the mind.

further, there are
stepping stones.

walk to the stone,
glimpse black butterfly.

farm to the right,
distant sound.

the gate is locked
at five.

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