Monthly Archives: December 2019

.the guy’s hat.

we saved our money and earned a bit

with paper recycling carted down the yard

same cart we took the guy down the road

penny for the guy mister sir?

to buy our fireworks

a penny squib cost you know


jumping jacks got banned

rockets in bottles, dead ends collected after

sparklers at arms length

light the blue touch paper and retire


the word of the time

nail the catherine wheel and hope for the best

such grim anniversaries

sparklers remain for cakes at birthdays


celebrations are limited now by health

and safety rules

and group bookings require firemen




my brother’s panic racing up the flaming fire

to rescue his lumberjack hat

he survived

. imagining my heart.

my heart is in my chest

a particular siding

i feel it sometimes

when i am walking hard or eating chilli

so i avoid that last thing


pink i expect with tubes

mostly like in the pig’s hearts

mum used to buy from the butchers

for dinner

now i am vegetarian

i think that if i have a soul

it may be behind the heart


and maybe that is where my work

comes from

it seems odd that at times of rest and when all is quiet around

that i cannot hear it

nor the other workings

like lungs and veins and stomach


except the latter rumbles

.a coffee affair.

quite a business keeping warm, making friends
missing them when they move on whichever

the coffee affair with pods and seasons is recordable
into a small book, a journal of morning feelings while
i use a spoon for instant gratification . the modern
is much improved on the old ways

my gran used camp coffee (with no inuendo those
days) syrup in a bottle and tasted alright in warm milk

though i never liked milk solo and felt it a punishment

i deserved that
she said so
she said so many things that i believed because
why not
it may have been true

for some reason i remember lampeter and the feeling
of well being

my new glasses are red and the keyboard is clearer
and slightly domed

as is the tregaron bog you know.


we have kiln dried birch logs
and coal type nugget things

morning sticks, while some say kindling

newspaper and bought firelighters
that smell

in boxes

i use two now, my mother only would
use one

she was thrifty with the need to be

storage heaters too. we are all electric
there is no piped gas in the village

there are electric blankets alongside
those others for warmth

so we tuck inside and face the fire
we shall have warmth this winter

we buy supplies as required
not sure how long it will all

.memories of riding out.

i like to hear throat singing
& spent a while with you tube

and had a go
by the window

no one heard me so is it true?

i always park the same at work
by the old pickup left for security
needing an mot

by the organised piles of things
i envy

while the pheasants strut about
not bothered about building salvage

we had a walk yesterday
down by the estuary
after the downpour
before the downpour

the woods were like an
other world
with songs of light and water pearls

with memories of riding out
a hundred years ago or more
when we were younger
and vaguely beautiful

she said all things thicken with time


quiet day yesterday
there was a mistake so we did not go
out for the day as planned

nice day at home so all
is clean and tidy; the green

gloves found and put with others

i bought them expensive in gretna

we seem to focus on that which we deem
a luxury to buy

maybe i think i do not deserve
an overlap from former days

i hope you are enjoying your coffee

the word here is coffi
it comes natural now

.a place of hope.

we find it when the rain stops,

light comes through. yesterday morning

looked nice.

find it in the leaves scattered in piles waiting for the wind

to scatter

hope in the plane flying over

run out to see

i found hope in the mountains here

a home, a refuge plain

and simple things, the ordinary

become as sacred in our life

and brings a sort of hope

we can hold onto

cherish inside of us


there may be


small birds sing

.peanut butter.

marmalade is good and tangy
tingles the tongue buds

i find the peanut stuff may not
be to my liking

i cannot even taste it maybe
it is a childhood thing
a memory

it has rained here and
that partcilar tree i see
from the window still
has green leaves
unlike the others

looks deco

since i started the last
sentence light changed
the whole cameo before

before me hangs the day
beautiful in the now absence
of any timetable

our trip out cancelled
due to weather and other

i did not worry about the cloth
until the texture changed with
a years washing when came the

so i desire egyptian cotton
smooth against the skin

expensive at my expense

.a good idea.

things come together with time and patience i find
sometimes they do not
and what then?

yes curses at what is and at what came before

a true sailor will suck lemons with grit
and a parrot upon the shoulder

i used to say soldjer and cannot spell it

that has become a word here now for use
in the present time
with all the wars and conflicts

folks die

i should say killed

i imagine you a pirate, with stripey trousers
and a large black patch

on imagining things
sometimes scare myself silly

so the day begins here again and i find i
prefer cotton pillowcases so will discard
those others

they will make laundry bags for travelling

a good idea

.ordinary places.

here we like the ordinary

travelling to such places

bala became extraordinary
the trees come gold
dark birds flocking

down the centre of town
an avenue in fall

and the day came divine

so much changed since the
birth day

so much improved yet
the past remembered
the now appreciated

even with the current

it must be the time of year
this restlessness and reflection

here and there

here we have changed our seating
to face the fire and candle, the house

cat joins us
except there is only me
when i say we it is a habit
gone on long


we don’t mind

it is comfortable here