Monthly Archives: July 2017

an installation

hear the news. say yes. make sure the full stop

is there, inserted carefully. #apt.

when she heard that i had been drilling fitfully,

she asked why but i could not explain really. so

i added the stop.

it seems that some like sticks, while others do

not.

there are a few of us, one of us is leaving.

after a while i was left alone, no need to agree

or punctuate.

sbm.

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there is no title

sad in private, folk will think that no one cares.

here.

should we write on social media a lot. is this the same writing

here?

a quiet face, simple place.

the air is damp and humid, teeth

grip skin.

in the garden.

we are private here,

as before.

sbm.

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a village affair

what was there before the nettles?

stung, the memory creases with

the look of bones.

left in air.

who was here to write the words

on stone, the plaque.

burnished.

there is a flower festival, white. altar

snow.

did anyone come yesterday?

sbm.

#andrewbellon

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andrew

some thing passed the window.

air hangs heavy here. word came.

nest intact despite the storms, despite

the news of every thing.

checked, she still sits, eyes shining, waiting

on the future.

four blue eggs.

there is no photograph

sbm.

#andrewbellon

.. an tique kent toothbrush*..

:: :: :: :: :: …

ways to infuse paper are free. perhaps the soaking

will work, after the hand drill & sanding. ways to

make haste are unecessary

sometimes, one achievement

a day is enough.

you bought your home, possibly. the largest

amount spent. ,more than those shoes, they are

in dollars.

this is enough. some days.

are meant to be easy, to drill and reflect. look

back there is a comma in the wrong place.

the world is infused with abbreveation

&.

punctuation.

sbm.

*the only company to repace your bristles

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reading daily

seems the punishment is cancelled.

pat says some folk paid the price

already.

we hope he is right. what benefit is

suffering?

there are leaflets to explain. in the

cathedral

&

other power houses.

i visit regular without no ticket.

the formal compaint has not yet

been realised.

it was well over a week ago.

i read daily.

sbm.

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in passing

i often drop in when i am passing on my way

up northish. the conwy valley. he always asks

if i am surviving.

i try to say just yes, while thinking of the titanic.

or thinking that

i do not make it for money, and have several

pensions.

i just say yes,

i am surviving.

they are nice lads, work hard to survive.

#titanic.

sbm

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the sky has lifted early

a garden in regret yesterday before the mist cleared.

leeks in bundles while a lone robin sat her eggs, soft

in moss.

sun came, so we went up to see the churchyard cleared

ready.

a flower festival.

sea fret in by six. today the sky has lifted early.

sbm.

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memorial

most of the books are gone, to children

or to charity. there are watches settled

in dust.

few of the stylish garments left, kept for

best.

an installation.

there is a cabinet, of course, with two catapults,

one bought, one home made.

kept with all the papers.

david & goliath.

sbm.

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