hese are the longer days, lighter days, wood pile growing, apple wood, colours of joy. believe in the world, that you can spell first time. be proud as you point out where you live, at all there is.

they are asking in the village if the pub is open yet.

i question have they called by to ask?

they are asking in the village if the pub serves food.

have they popped in to ask & to see the menu?

they are saying in the village that the front needs tidying

as does the car park.

i ask the folk in the village if they will tidy their own place

and to be glad the pub is open again.

i called in to a lovely guided tour and a warm welcome.

let us not be so critical. tyn y groes.

yes i did.

each spring

before easter came

she bought me a new cotton dress in m&s.

st margaret.

a bigger size

taken up, tucked in with

room for growth.

the next year it was second best for school

taken down , let out

and fading in the summer holidays.

the jackets were my brothers.

no she never bought dishcloths

my mum.

that does not mean she did not use them.

remember

she was a single parent of four

and things were still rationed

after the war.

we asked the butcher for meat cloths alongside pig’s heads

and liver.

i hated asking for breast of lamb

rude to mention private bits.

later mum boiled the cloths in the pan with persil

&

possibly bleach.

it got the fat meat out.

cut them neatly for dishcloths.

old vests were not wasted nor discarded, underwear

was useful for cloths and dusters.

never a yellow one at our house

though we did have candy stripe

formerly a pillow case.

you make speeches, you rally while i remember my mother.

i thought it was tarmacadam as did the passer by

who remarked upon it.

it is not mine, it is the neighbour’s

drive.

i know now it is ashphalt

a stronger surface allegedly. the former surace cracked

in danger of breaking up like mine which i prefer.

more country

where flowers seed.

i know that pitch comes from a lake in trinidad

and i like the words bitumen and tar.

i like the aroma and stickiness to poke with sticks

set now

time stops in winter

here.

we find it manageably quiet.

today we drives to conwy busy

with people making holidays

is lovely.

yet i cannot find it easy.

i buys the trousers i have wanted for such a long time

from the pound rail.

look at cakes as is my hobby.

talk about angels and return home.

quiet.

apart from the men laying tarmacadam opposite.

it smells nice as does the creosote from yesterday.

while the music plays softly.

there on the road ahead.

looking toward me with dead eyes.

mouth open.

i could not stop

nor swerve

for sunday traffic.

slowing i gently made sure the body

was not touched by wheels.

straddling.

as did the car behind

me.

after i stopped to post a letter

and stayed a while to look

at the fields around

me.

i saw it sailing by

at the night watch

clouds arranged dramatic.

let it go,

oh let it go,

let it sail free

there on the road ahead.

looking toward me with dead eyes.

mouth open.

i could not stop

nor swerve

for sunday traffic.

slowing i gently made sure the body

was not touched by wheels.

straddling.

as did the car behind

me.

after i stopped to post a letter

and stayed a while to look

at the fields around

me.

ran out yesterday

lost you completely with the pattern in the sky

the leaves on the oak

on the mountain. i lost you

you left the group

took off and flew

flight was not sustained

hovering over past demeanours

faltered

landed carefully

in disappointment hugging

affirming it did not matter