Monthly Archives: September 2019

.desertion.

my father told me that he was too deaf for the war

so stayed in britain instead

of fighting

my father said he did not understand my mother’s illness

no one told him beforehand

the incidents

said that the doctor advised his leaving; the desertion

he said that he was there at my brother’s funeral;

stood back

where no one saw him, no one heard him

my father said he was always around if we had needed him,

so i said where?

but he did not hear me

.james.

yes we have our daily habits
our daily likes
that make life pleasant
your bikes, my broken pots

our separate adventures

i feel for the beautiful moments
that pass not recorded here

the gardens unseen
yet ever there

yesterday i went to bunners again
to collect the crocks
garden things that arranged

became a power house again

the realisation of why i admire them

it is all back before with pleasantness
and no hurry at all

it is a different landscape there
bricks come regular
whilst here homes are mainly made of stone

today is pleasant so far, slightly pink
with an unusual comma
in this paragraph

the radio plays a song that brings
on tears regularly
yet i have tea to strengthen me

news comes again that i remain with my
desired nationality a while at least

the bears hopes it will last for him too
he does not say much
just endures

those shadows James.

Sonja
7.30am
battery one third
yesterday’s issues
mostly forgotten

.the reply.

you keep things going

in others absence

this is a talent

a task that gains recognition

when those around are failing

some times we needs loosening

to start

when blocked

blocking comes with tiredness

we need an empy head

the things it holds at present

(the head that is) are important

never the less

those little things we feel are not

are those which inspire

it may be that major issues

are beautiful challenges

yet are dire reading

not for the early morning

thus rambling i say all is well

here

we do not have locusts

there is no escape

glad for your days off

and domestic tasks

we are ordinary

i like that

i like your description of flowers

while i say nothing

Sonja

6.52

have hurt the end of my toe

it is nothing at all

.home.

settled back here yesterday

nice to be home

miss their company

it is cooler here now

late summer

early autumn

i am working today

while you have a break

i shall look at the garden today

and talk more

about it

another day

6.36 am

shortly

thinking

listening

..jones of ffestiniog..

nice that josie came home

that your braces are right

and hoping they are strong

enough against gravity

apologies in that i had hoped

to visit again yesterday yet

the day slowed and failed

slightly

our news came and carried on all day

we watched the weather change and

saw a hint of blue from the window

here

i am assuming you and nancy work

at the same place?

if so convenient for travelling

to and fro

softer light this morning

less glare and while the radio

plays

i plan a trip to the bala studio

today. am stuck here/ an impasse

so i will move and see what comes

i too like mothths an spell it so

a sound of silk and softness

sound of thththths wingthths

the knapweed is real gone over

now yet still retain a beauty so

will remain

ah the news again each twenty minutes

in the hour and uk is no longer measles

free

a shame

a worry

i have no experience yet

am sure it is a really difficult

illness

we must look after ourselves

some how

i hear greta is landed

for now James

Sonja

6.42 am

music from the mission

lorries on the road

jones of ffestiniog

.bournemouth.

come gently with birth

come gently with life

grow with the place

until we grew beyond how it was

beyond the culture and crowding

thinking

becoming unsettled

moving

retaining memory

1.

cycling the promenade hoping

some one will love us some day

baking down dunes

walking down tracks

barefoot hoping for less paving in town

2. humbling for a home

walking looking in windows

will some one want us

house us?

3. finding the two above

settling for the place where folk

come to holiday beautiful

while we work the bones of it

the grit beneath

bournemouth beautiful

the reason beneath the move away

is beyond any words i have just

now

where folk

come to holiday beautiful

.then there was machester.

maybe in the fifth visit i met him

in the city in the thrift shop

open

from nine maybe till six or five thirty

several buttons and an open face

head

adorned with patterns

he opened easily

recognised we are not robots

despite the badges

it is colourful in the city

she mentioned it in suprise

immediately apologised

notice i talk more about people than

the architecture though that was appreciated

and wrote of it especially

do you know i watched the pigeon paddle

the parakeets flying

crossed

over the road carefully minding the trams

the tram lines

tripping gently forward

we found our way together

in manchester the fifth time

..little city..

little place

we did not live there really

only in heart in memory

power house

god of clattering birds

hills and history

a place to look at cows

look at

clean houses

pieces

coffee small cakes

pot jam

trusted patrons

we need to concentrate on detail

to describe things properly

need to

go there each year a while

to retain to remain in memory

need to

care for little things

st david

may be a myth a memory

he carved it so

said it was the centre of the universe

for some it is

so

so

st davids

the city is in wales