is the key. yet it has not been done .
maybe it has, look back in history,
use the links below. that will be
so we set a task indoors with help,
and all comes new and tidy. there
are trees down up the road,
he told me. we are family.
today, later, i will write of rain,
ignoring the words i wrote before.
friday can be thirteen,
or something else entirely.
is it memory, history,
he titled it profanity, the
so we write, critique,
move dots and numbers.
deal with the outcrops,
note the faith.
friday can be thirteen,
or something else
seems i have reinvented
everything quieter than before.
wet autumn days or is it winter,
the change comes
i dreamed a cloud of
falling leaves, awake to find it is so.
it is so very quiet here today.
this critic is awkward,
sees the good, feels the grace.
how to say it, that the
mind wanders, that filth
detracts from the everyday.
that stitching can be rhythmic, and
never mind the capitals.
clever words confound,
googling interupts the flow
whilst dots are alaways
i have never done this before.
shall we go way to reinvent ourselves,
come back angry, writing
bitter words of discontent,
expecting other’s understanding.
shall we write vile words about
our fellows, to them , hidiing in profile,
masking internet. complaining
widely rather than deal, as we are dealt.
shall lines deepen, etched in glorious
bitterness, or shall we return quietly, remain
just the same?
i wrote one hundred words, exactly.
did i say much? i cannot tell .
i can tell you a it may be a sad tale
of death, and collection, of folk gathering
by the gate. by my gate it fell.
squirm with fear and emotion, at what is written.
freeze at the next sentence, it has nothing to
do with you.
laugh yet is it with nervousness?
these are new remarks, a new way to learn.
a group of friends here, it is one’s own feelings
that cause discomfort.
the price of coffe is reduced,
all in lower case.
yet we ran out, and no butter too.
it will be a daily thing, now the grass is cut,
now the leaves fall. have you seen the path,
a newer colour, gold. it is the lilac leaves
the plan is made this year, so each day,
a little while, we will rake and gather.
bag the leaves tidy, yet still hope
the wind will come and blow some
it was a full day’s work yesterday.
fog and mist are very slow to clear,
affecting roads and visibility.
no affection here, no one is moving yet.
we hear mansel davies, see the lights,
they are working men, as are we.
some just start later.
he bet me that i did not do a good days work,
i won, just come and watch me.
RE: . pdf .
sonja benskin mesher
I wake to find the internet is fixed,
so have read the document file.
as time is short, and the fact that
it all looks very well. I did like my odd spacing,
yet the dots are there.Let us go ahead and
both have a very nice day. I thank you
for all your work on this, and at
the weekend too.
i am very pleased, a little excited.
yes shall we refer to it as the journal.