Monthly Archives: May 2015

waterfall

talk about chucking it down,

we wondered what the noise

was.

heard gwil running in , no time

to stop for logs. the cat came

streaming.

rushed to the window, to take

photographs.

talk about chucking it down.

sbm.

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the company of snails

friends come in differing sizes.

come with shells, black feathers

and fur. some come

bearing gifts.

some in paper, come unseen,

a feeling.

did you realise that

the wrapping was part

of the gift?

sbm.

snail

young wales

notice the gorse growing,

the quarry redundant, is all

zip wires and bounce below.

i have a new photograph,

you look very sweet and handsome.

you were not at home,

so i chatted to your mother.

used to vist that quarry

you and I to watch the train.

tourists come.

45337

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. 43 .

there are many numbers,

most are broken, a few retained.

i have 43. crushed the others

while walking.

heard the cuckoo call, louder and

louder, felt the sun, thought of africa,

from where they come.

there is a new path, around the lake,

by the power house. it may hum,

yet it is a gentle place.

we kicked about there all day.

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. hot water .

we has an immersion, switched on for just half an hour,

we has hot water. enough for a bath. left on longer it gurgles,

heard downstairs.

all night it goes quiet, and i could bathe, clean the house,

wash the socks,

and have change left over.

a red light. while we are used to it, others may wish for better.

winter fires. the back boiler kicks in.

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. soft grass .

so tired that you could

fall gently onto soft grass

and sleep?

that nothing seems sensible any more,

no space exists around you?

will your legs still carry you along?

sometimes is best to stop a while,

think on the situations of others.

listen to the words of history, the stories.

then up from the lawn, to wonder.

sbm.

note –
wherewithal
ˈwɛːwɪðɔːl/

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the challenge

little red sailed
schooner, anchors late.

when i saw this word,
mast, for some obscure
reason, i imagined some one
tied to it, hair blowing
with the wind.

i must be tired
or delirious.

sbm

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the little pathways

cut deep, while others are sleeping.

we tread the way, from here to there,

leaving a trail. you may follow.

cut round the cowslips, leave the twigs.

step this way, it leads to the old apple tree,

cookers. step that way

plum blossom.

nothng is straight, nothing planned.

later we watched chelsea .

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the query

winding wool is mindless

she said, well maybe madam,

yet look at the lovely machine,

all red and cream plastic, that

winds in a way we cannot do

by hand.

look at my work which evolves

while working this and thinking.

i folded her goods tidily, packed in a

nice paper bag, said nothing

except mere politeness and niceties.

then got on with winding.

mindfully.

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conwy in conwy

it is a pleasant place, along the valley.

the hill stands proud as always,

green, blessed with blue bells.

park by the castle, walk through the station,

early.

meeting, small kisses, food with

friends.

conwy is in conwy.

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