leaving heysham

looking for a legacy i find nothing

no words no comfortable leavings

parting on the wrong side can be painful /

some hide secrets

five

pound discount on the lorry

explorers do not really need fancy notebooks

goods wrapped mainly in plastic the invention must have seemed a good idea

the sun came &

shadows lasted only a short time

it was quite a shock that there are no boxes left

only those of a different size

quite a shock your anger that leapt from nowhere

of course it does not matter
yet with that and the moon how can one sleep

how can one pack and tidy when things are the wrong shape and emotions rise

do me a favour and know it was a favour looking for boxes

foundation for these days
hard work won
there is another way with privacy and organisation
industry
leave things simple leave things be a while
oversight and overland travel

i was asked a couple of weeks ago if i looked out for the lorries would i describe
no not any more
yet the bridge is small and narrow seems room for two to pass

i took the other road wondering why the block saw the burned ground
fuller cloud
looked down on the tower
went home alone

i am short without magnification
with electrical notes & other insignificant items
did i tell the story of my life
i asked before
i cannot say

69.

is this jane austen
the same that deleted
suggestions
yesterday.

is this the book mark
hunted for
in the bed.

light dispersing.

is this the character
squashed
with bad
intent?

or the sickly child
looking for escape…..

it was world book day
friday

ot thursday……

these days of jollities cares slip away

shoulders down

we buy our little treat

mine red and white spotted

flamenco shoes

we visit the rarities,

charities and dusty

places where book binders

work late

tiny clean hands gently folding leather

as you may know,

it was a seedy day

yester day

so i lit the fire and sewed

superman pants.

used herring bone stitch

soothing in white

watched the film

flickering

and remembered

fridays was fish

we had herrings

fried the skin crisp

the roes plump and hard

the boys liked soft

suppose they would

used old cotton,

naturally and the wire

needle threader

fingered stiffed

sewing done felt a little

better

more coal on the fire

all will be well

as i read

the herring fleet

words of fish

remember

newlyn days

fried egg breakfasts hard

friday, same as last week,

and all has changed

but not changed,

just the words are different

driving home i could not see

for dark and names,

yet i saw the power house.

i have the small boy

trousers to mend

and dry by the fire

and feel slightly

peculiar.

in scarborough,

we saw richard wilson,

but no one believed us

we looked for god,

in york,

amongst the money changers,

he had gone outside

with the music.

in whitby we played boats,

pirates the next day,

and all the while we were changing,

thinking of herrings,

and eating nuts.

she caught a small thing,

tiny tiny mouse,

ate it,

but the bitter entrails remain.

nasty

she should have let it go.