Monthly Archives: July 2015

fencing

maybe not such a good idea,
it may feel fenced in, surrounded.

yet we lean on it, dicuss the time of day,
avoiding price on fish.

i learn about sub soil, all things growing,

the logistics of burying. he borrows electricity
a while, while i tidy up, hang out washing.

i miss my company, went out walking.

no one came this time.

sbm.

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binding

may be the contrast here,
the national library stairs.

guided to the cupboard,
the collection dusted, labelled,
named as important. emptied, it
is the proof that nothing can be
rare.

nothing is now something, quality
of non existence, held us in a
moment, then we moved on blindly
looking for something,

as we are bound.

sbm.
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three friends

did you know that
i am scared of reading,
in public.

i pretend to be
famous, it does not work.

i tell you i stand here
before you, shaking, you
who encouraged me.

i like to be quiet, only
spoke
when you asked the question.

not sure why i came.
i think you invited me?

sbm.

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undeniable

it happens to most of us,
some times, other times,
seem good, almost boring.

it knocks us sideways,
even assunder. i asked you
to carry me.

yet, you left me outside
in the rain. it has been
like this for days. wet.

most of us get over it.

use an umbrella.

sbm.

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layers

learning designers, two yesterday,
alongside history of weaving,
scouring the wool or fulling?

we have many questions. we
have the excitement about the
wool museum, pleasure for the chair
given secretly.

i was at work.

it is a gift, we say this over.

i think of middle mill, the field
and flowers.

we all think of many things, best
to write some down carefully.

sbm.

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. gathering seeds .

warm day, dry . we need to post
the letters. wander down among
the houses. well kept, small front
gardens.

this is new look, how long has
it been there. i know about this,

look, i am right.

it is a good scooter. i will
watch you and
gather grass seeds, as i did
when i was small.

i am still not very big.

sbm.
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morning

there is a mist, a cloth, hanging,
while i have seen so much. i forgot

to ask about your trip. i had driven
the mountain to see you, parked
nicely, kissed your cheek, talked

about the issues, seen the art work.

this morning is like autumn, though
still in july, softness lowering.

i am so sorry, i forgot to ask
about your trip.

sbm.

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bridges

i was asked a couple of weeks,
ago if i looked out for the lorries,
would i describe.

no, not any more.

yet, the bridge is small and narrow,
seems room for two to pass.

looked up, saw everyone watching
the big blue lorry stuck. still.

time passed, onlookers lost interest,
while gradually the lorry moved.

left the bridge. a coach came next.

a narrow bridge. there is another
in machynlleth.

sbm.
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the flowers grow

we have been there while it is open.

we went there when it was closed. when
no one tidied, while the apples grew.

we sat the geat chairs in all weathers.

now it is open again, and all the flowers
grow.

cywain

sbm.

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cutting grass

is therapeutic, some say. depends on the
size and bumps.

there was a gentle breeze going, then
the sun came through.

saw it shine, move into the hedge,
we stopped mowing to watch.

found the wheelbarrow bound
with weeds, cleaned and rescued.

the robin came. we thought of
how quickly you died.

there is rain today.

sbm.

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