Monthly Archives: February 2019

.broken glass.

they do not know the darkness

how the light can fade into latin

& all things unreasonable

today i write of glass and ashes inspired before

then swept by other’s moments witnessed the cleaning

a month passed & in our surprise forgot the soot and dashes to burnish wax

today a small task.…

careful what you dream on a cusp of night

know that all stars are not the same

while standing the realisation have got it wrong

pale words a clue in the breathing

the stone set left in barns

caught the words hopefully in burning hands thinking that the sky was clear

though in the past

never so far away

i wish I can tell it in a more orderly manner….

did i sit quietly thinking

then place a few

things together?

yes

exhausting the star

.i wish i wrote.

i wish i wrote romantic on love

&

great escapes into relationships with hormones

that matter

or dreadful deeds

blood & murder in filthy ditches

i wish i wrote like clever folk with long flowing lines that rhyme

i wish i wrote dark & meaningful in sticky ink on paper

instead i write small in code with biro or

on keys in bed a ‘morning

i am i am

.the visit .

life comes in many stages

we are more than what happened

some people stay home a lot nothing wrong with that & curtains drawn

had been home some time perhaps twenty six years when she persuaded me to go with the promise of a clean dress and ragged towel to hide in

the journey was fine in the bag with the elo wishing they were a wild west hero

unveiling was painful a challenge to follow such a handsome wholesome chap

before me

the comments came with nothing nasty yet my discomfort & embarassment rose as always

my body lagged sagged

my spirit broke

even so i may have inspired as i did those years ago

an old coat refigured with buttons and gatherings until i am become

to be

put on sale without the podium

teeth unchecked as i had none

sad

i thought it was abolished

she bought me

the child herself

yet no one owns no one

returned home

covered

curtains drawn

later i heard that karl lagerfeld had died

curtains drawn

no one owns no one

.i am.

i am the solo flight

signs & patterns

non sensical

i am the timer

the quiet time

i am a broken plate glued

reused

i was a mouse found hiding

i am embarrasment while others are not

i am reluctant

a hero

another life

i could be a leader if you listen to me

i am non binary without your finery

i am no one i may be someone

listen to me

.birds.

a small thing ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

work along the coast with thread and diligence

gather wools

layer carefully we shall have warmth this winter

once we touched through holes in blankets now we have our own demise

the news came suddenly

not everything
is
black and white

slip away
we watched them slip away

the news came suddenly

.sea birds.

it was
the dream

the cloud
the quarry

water flows down this valley

wind blows round our houses

i have said it before yet seems that those who should know better

talk of gods

may judge the people

live in remote places

between mountain sea the land becomes

dry

this arid land

are you sleeping
while i watch the burial
the pain
the madness
the snowdrops

are you sleeping,
while they hold her up

still the dog goes on each day
slower now
still the morning comes

forge forward
with obsession

a
variety of colours

there is another language

came with madness

romanticism

there is no broken glass

no face at the window no god no more

sea birds

.things that can be mended.

**( notes on roots)

grow deep in ground may hold us down

i noticed the same in paintings at exhibition looking out

the grave yard noticed a touch of colour by the white

red that seeps insidiously into mind

spoils all things

things that can be mended

he said that most people throw broken plates away

the mass the clouds lay heavy

rain came that blinded

again

blinded those that could not see

the love and idle artefacts each one

a statement of nothing in particular

phased those that drove the cwm

in site of home

that stopped saw nothing

water that seeps insidiously into mind

spoils all things

things that can be mended

he said that most people throw broken plates away

.2 a littled dress.

a pattern of letters, ideas, or associations which assists in remembering something so it does we do and test ourselves early

on a still day i

can smell it here

when the tide

comes up to

the bridge

remembering days

life was unclouded

and knowledge

was simple

sleep came easy

ran through paris

streets

in black and white.

no sub titles.

painted circles

the land

used all the paint

the natural light

and st david

watched the colour

make marks

watched the light

turn dark

now i wait the early sun,

to take a photograph

i should like you

to be happy

it looks like a new poetic form-lovely

and there unfinished

tacked and smocked

the littled dress

sewn quietly with love.

.parlay.

bear knows no god Jared they said that all the insects will die extinct is what they said all the little things & he cannot bear it

a storm came yesterday dark and loud the landscape veiled

awash a while

black things fade and all is grey

win or lose hedge your edge

write of parlay

we chatted over manners and harboured edges. these things … moved the line into a place of rural contemplation.