it is a profound thing,
the paper the string.
the wind blows, all is safe inside,
somewhat dry mainly. so we
place the bunting well.
she had rushed home, she
left the fish in the oven.
this is not a metaphor.
she gave me this. a new one.
it will not replace the old one,
yet will be loved.
as i loved you, and when i lost you,
kept it private, still do.
i miss you.
this is another gift.
the plate is lovely, slightly fade
into other places, where bears ride
bicycles, where no one eats brown food,
it is a gift to know what the other
likes, and to like it yourself. the wind
blew through our house, while the sky
the plate is larger than usual.
the bootlace came loose.
bending to tie, see the cow
the first lane to pentre.
the farmer , the calf.
all greet each other
then skip on the way.
some to the field, one down the back lane,
where water flows, where wild things grow.
it feels needed while sun shines, to see
all these things.
was possibly the turning point, that
changed a life, that emptied the cabinet.
be careful what you think, it may be horribly wrong,
then hearts will slide. so we sat in the window to watch
the world go by.
he said it was his first nose bleed, yet later found
that there had been others.
this looks like evidence.
down the back lane there are puddles,
huge amounts of water fell, flooded the abbey ruins.
branches blown , creaking twigs while rain
stays off a while. she is a new walking partner,
quite fast, no bother.
minds empty ,we look at each other,
at sheep a while, still moving forward.
there are some now, that do not come.
this is the back lane, still
much the same.
having learned , the days will come longer soon. the sounds
once the day is dawn, the door is open, face to the sky, all
comes well some days.
some days it does not, yet it still comes light. the falling
i have been invited to the village gathering this night.
i shall not go.
the honesty is still growing,
water seeps in, while small things shelter.
there is much to research, decide to believe
there are so many stories, re-enacted with
there are watermarks left, to be cleaned
in the spring.
the rain will come again.
some can be serious, full of good intent.
i understand this one is labelled, yet
some i have met are not sure about all
this any more. a few like little things,
will be happy with pins.
did you know that angels are born with
oh , the powers and dominions.
yet most were in april, searched for winter
find one will have to insert it. most days are busy,
i am the only one to do it, unless i pay.
searching for meaning, it may be there is none.
loving our homes, rituals and bad spellling
we carry on, carry one.