Monthly Archives: January 2015

. liberty bodice .

she implied that the buttoned ones,

were far superior to plain, some folks

folded newspaper to keep the chill at bay.

small girls wore thermogene, now

all is tee shirts, being chilly, but then

most have central heating, a few cling

to the coal fire, woodburners,

living flame.

proper vests were warm, tucked well in.

if you visit llandudno by the sea, you

still find these items, displayed quite

badly some may say, so we refer back to

those with buttons, which may be better.

it was such a lovely morning.



. the handy man .

so the lights are fused, upstairs only.

the lamps work, they are plugged

in sockets of course, so that is

a different matter.

unlike anti matter.

so we have a torch, and candles

in the bathroom, which light up

the place nicely. inspires photography.

some videos not shown yet.

the handy man comes once

a month, mostly on a tuesday,

nine thirty till four, he can turn

his hand to most things, as

can i.

yet teetering on a ladder, i have not

the energy to lug the fuses out.

so we wanders in the dark, it can

be a pleasant thing.

we are carefull not to fall the stairs,

having done that before.

wish not to repeat it, interesting

though it was.



. it was a green ribbon .

green ribbon,

to tie the fringe back, hair had grown,

no one did cut it. the girl was private.

hair bounced, shone, as they made

their way to town, down the hill.

it was a dark green, bottle green.

it may explain the love of ribbons




. into town .

so we nipped into town yesterday.

again, on proper business no slacking.

though i have to say that i did linger

with a friend, discussed the jewelled mirror,

the state of play with gifts and those bibelows,

. we talk of them again that day. meanwhile

life continues badly for some here, while others idly

shop. we discover cotton gloves, another time.

scrabble for the juniors, who make up their own

words, have a larger vocabulary than seven.

pink hanbag, not fit for any purpose than

delight and design.

we discussed correcting the till

error, decided it may just confuse, then

carried on our separate ways.

again.this is dolgellau.



. siop y hughes .

that is the welsh spelling, guess the english

is hughes shop, where they have many items

of use, substance, for some an entertainment.

various style pins, in various size boxes, folded

cotton handkerchieves, with a separate room

for night and underwear, where the lady will

serve the ladies.

she feels the cod, and he wears winter mittens.

windows are colour coordinated, the clothes

link arms, bed socks abound. fluffy.

this is a most useful place, where one can

buy traditional, hire hats for splendid weddings,

hats will last, with the marriage, time

will tell.

not visited, please do, it is next to roberts,

the coffee shop.

both splendid premises. dolgellau.



. in dreams .

i thought of you.

i saw the film, then.

in dreams i thought of you.

on waking, on listening, i think

i thought of you.

upstairs the lights have fused.



. the journal .

or should we say diary, notes

and conditions, terms and

editions. i wish it were so.

i wish it were stored safely,

that we hald each other tight

and out of harm’s way.

they say that patience is a virtue,

yet some times patients die.

shall you write this is the daily

blog, or lie?


. yesterday we wrote of rags .

another day of vinegar soaked


another play on keys, as we drift

through winter days.

curtains dragged across the gloom,

early, yet while light lingers later,

we wander to the snowdrop drift, hear

the last bird call.

hear the dog at pentre farm, barking.

later hear the water fall from

broken drain pipes.

soon it is february, lighter




. rags .

made of cloth, for bandages, curls.

ribbons as is the fashion now.

rags for bandages, cut finger, wrapped,

tied a knot.

rags rolled in the war, women who

lost their sons, their brothers, pinned.

the pins that did not mend.

rags of clothes worn in poverty,

and art.

remember the rag and bone man. some of you,

nothing wasted. i tie your gift.



. why does it enter here .

simple. yet the question

still asked so many times.

seeps under the door, through

the curtains, metaphorically. here

comes the spelling challenge,

the life of days.

here comes the wondering,

the question asked, ‘ why me’.

the reply comes. ‘why not?’,

and why all this