there are bits of us everywhere,
shed as we move, as we live.
most of it held together with skin.
no way to clear the debris daily,
it remains .boil the hankies then,
do your best to keep it neat and tidy.
spend the day in the warm, with plenty
to do, keep cheerful.
maybe watch the national theatre of brent.
comes easy if you practice,
if you gather leaves, drive the roads
flatten paper, hope it tears
slightly, obtain a drifting
look with tissue.
white on white always
works to give a ghostly effect.
it may be you just use envelopes.
yet some find that packets with
string are more romantic.
always thought i was, yet do
not join into one, i remain separate.
is that an awful thing?
is history. isn’t history fascinating ?
now with google, wikipedia it is all there
for the taking. books from the library
can be heavy, yet
free and cosy to read in bed.
this is a rabbit gift, given on an anniversary,
reading. the book is wuthering heights, one version.
on dvd, there are several versions.
a classic story, yet not history.
is there some thing in your eye,
did you see it properly or maybe
it is in the mind. yesterday
some of us weren’t talking, then
we did, yet some still don’t.
is this boring? this is
the stuff of life today, random,
when life is soft, nothing precious
to worry of.
and now the snowdrops are out in the garden.
in the cold, frozen, the code will not work,
nor will the counting with interuptions, all
things moved about.
there is a discount, on top the discount, so
a discussion ensued on buttons,
roman costumes, whether egyptians
used starch back then.
my mother did, mixed it, dissolved
the lumps in a bowl ready. stiffened the chairbacks
pinned them in place tidy.
we hoped it was not a plastic sheet that covered
the bed shining, glad to see it
was mostly sateen.
it is a new store,the chapel architecture
restored. i remember the day they cleaned
the stone, noisy. i was opposite with cofffee,
trying to chat. he did not seem to notice
they have candles, subtle shades, non drip,
yet have sold out of ragged ribbon,
a big disappointment.
i commented on the perfume downstairs, told
it was new furniture and cleaning, that is all.
checking ebay later found reams of the distressed cotton
tape i had wanted, had a minor spending spree
at seven pounds fifty.
went yesterday, there were floods by the cob,
seems the sheep were safe. quiet in the stores,
people still stuiffed, including me, aren’t
we lucky, fortunate in our lot. saw the lad from
the theatre, had a hug.
the next store, just round the corner
sparrows outside bathing in puddles.
bought our sticks, some ribbon of course
I like hopping, it is a gift.
after twenty years, the backs need dusting,
the new one to be hung.
it is a little drawing, done with conentration
we drive the valley, a new venue,
visit the pictures, there is no reduction
for being old, so we choose the best seats.
new years day.
what can i say, except happy.
mine started after the solstice really,
it seemed to make more sense, yet
i will go along with the rest today, say happy.
we should say happy everyday.
i think it is a thread that runs level,
while the bad and joyous stuff, is
another, you know like those
graphs we did at school.
anyway, enough of the philosophy,
whille wind blows clear
happy new year.