Monthly Archives: November 2018

.the walk.

do you like the feeling, walking ahead quickly, moving forward, loosening limbs. pushing

through wind, through water, rain slanting. shouting, counting the rams, shadowing

shepherd. wee mouse on the path, beady eyed. these are the hopeful days, weak sun

aching

3.

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.

lean on the fence to look over a steep drop to the river

tears well as we speak of it openly

4.

to break the cut a pheasant comes comely all collars & spectacles walks sedately to the edge, leans forward, ambles down.

the walk.

.i watched you.

clocks flip early

switch back while i was thinking

another hour falling

i

watched you in the meanwhile and made porridge

syrup depleted

i watched you back to back

life in the wild

.if they played the same tune.

if they played the same tune
over, will despondancy ensue?

life is full of multiplicities, other
hard spellings, lessons to drench a life.

whilst in the midst, the struggle, we fall
and grow.

these things do happen,
to most people.

except some seem immune to
harm.

who are the chosen ones?

the radio plays the same tune,
faintly upstairs.

sbm.

.the question.

can be a difficulty

to say that we do not know

the answer.

that we have to count

check

count again.

that we get distracted

disturbed by other matters

then

come back. miscount

again.

it is not some thing we can google

so we have lists lines and rulers.

when all is done we sign and date

admit we do not know the answer

maybe start again.

sbm.

..underground..

bone of the soul

earthy dark
below ground

no crystals here
no cave
no tight spaces

we have a freedom

i cannot see
it takes another to
show to me

talk of sea spray
early years
and the price of food
these days

tax on bags
and sculleries

language speaks of other days
small boys with
m box five
or something

back to the cathedral
where the book says
it is all for nothing anyway
talk about giving hope away.

a spiritual reduction, a sad deduction
from some who should
know better

deep mine #rewritten

1856

I work the deep mine

Small

1858

Eight now nearly nine.

Tall

Break your bread and poetry

Save your breath or whistle?
Save your breath or sing?

1862

Apprenticed

for promotion

Chained

Look

He is forty one

Lungs of stone

Forty five

Done

Slate breath

.a dress.

wanted to show
the photo of the
yellow star pressed
with the steam iron
ready to be pinned
on her dress, labelled

seren

the dress is finished
clean, white, pressed.
the star is finished
pressed, to be pinned

rusty pin.

who is this?

worried over news

trembled
a while gathered back the warp,
the weft

slowly he flew

before us

we watched him prepare

carefully, smiling.

then he rose and flew

before me

.fancy dress.

this is pretty
if not indeed
a fancy dress.

if one could see it all
with the peripheries,
one will agree
that
one can fancy
to own
such a dress.

( often know as frock)

sbm

.clouds.

5
time is limited these days. those one admired in youth devastate us now

2
they saw clouds imagined it was heaven
i saw it on the stairs

to wander, hoping not for repetition, hoping to find little journeys

rather blustery. today storms blow in, leaves crake. …

clouds. we stood together working pushing rags through to make things neater.