Monthly Archives: November 2019

.decline & fall.

to decline

to say no, or even to fail softly with a sloping line

with b lead pencil

tapering off into dots repeated

the fall is abrupt and possibly dramatic

related to weight & gravity

like a

thick black ink line ruled sharply down

ending with an abrupt grand splatter

unless we are talking of autumn the gold

time which comes gentler with occasional winds

and related sweeping

autumn comes softly so

we fall

.is a hole.

there is a hole in the ground

it was not there yesterday

there is a tear in my vest

which is really new too

one day the phone works and

the next day it doesn’t

all things gets broke

don’t work

you can mend them now

not buy new

remember how he mended your mother’s plate

for the memory, souvenirs can come cheap

the glue showed brown on drying now

it becomes habit, a signature dish

it was suggested i have a little shop

to sell the twigs and badly mended


seriously why not

these also have a value

then the car worked yesterday

now it does not

it is a hole unlike any other

it appeared overnight and while i am small

i can try, take my time to fill it up again

with earth and other things

.my heart.

my heart is quiet

i do not feel it beating yet

the rhythm is there

my heart is silent

while all comes well around

yet roused it will sound


come the other days

come the sadder ways

heart is there just there, look


i think my soul is thereabouts

where the feelings come and pain

or gain



they say it is the brain that does the thinking


we may also listen to our heart



.autumn cameo.

later i am today

the darkened room

resonates still with

all the goings of the night

things come backwords


while i felt all was well

perhaps it was not

news startles

we shared it at the meeting

i find i am a small part of

the worrying

yet what can we do?

some were busy, then

they were stopped so

i may not see them

drew the curtians early last eve

while waiting and through the chink

left saw one golden tree

autumn cameo

each little thing

while some things break

.your reply.

your lovely reply
good that you broke the dread
or solitude could have placed

good that you have company
make company in linen piles


laundry full with
no respite

though promised faithfully
by others, those that wish
you to work, to keep working
for them

enjoy your three days
i hope that off you go
bike riding

i am comfortable back home
interesting times

with a note that i shall
be unavailable a while
extinction rebellion
despite all claims
and opinions

i saw joker
i found the threads

it is still dark

.who rang?.

the phone rings

an empty room, back room

quarry tiled

dust settles on


bakelite , cream, twisted wire

bell sound

bell sound

wind blows around the houses

leaves fly ; a mass extinction

red tiles, bell sound

dust settles

dust motes

phone rings ; bell sound

no one answers

no one is left

who rang?


numbers mix with words

i am returned

it was a pause in proceedings

a breath for continuation into

the season

a sociable hiding

it rained a lot &

i found friends


look out for cors caron

to walk on water, wood

the space between where

words will seep out

walk alone

look out for florida abbey

the woods beyond

the man who talks of moss

touches it gently

i explained about the twigs

a metaphor for kindness, care

remembrance not to overlook

the small things. to treasure

the differences in folk. to treasure

familiarity in that which surrounds us

James. you already know this

perhaps it is i who needed


how are the cats

mine are good

and so is betty

who stayed

.the film.

the film with more than four qualities

more than four colours spent

red stained the face

he crammed in the fridge

freezing anguish

cold incidents leading

from black into blue

leaking, bleeding

hot tears

he danced beautiful

a tepid loop of indigo suiting

dripping , loosening

green gel of madness, sadness


.cul de sac.

she said dead ends

i thought of split ends

i got with long hair

should be cut they said

some one like that

now it is cut regular, more short

like a boy. she would have liked


though i admire those with long and stylish

yet i can’t be bothered no more, am honest

about my feelings


she said dead ends so i muse on cul de sacs

you know those with bungalows and trees about

i remember from the fifties

and people like that

those that had cars, dogs and telephones

while we did not

i guess the cul de sacs still abound


i would not discover

with them

being a dead end

which should be avoided

going nowhere

yet have been down quite a few on this life journey

to the

bottom of the bag

and risen out


a bit like that