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*to be spoken in clear voice…

*to be spoken in clear voice…

howard rose profoundly swearing ; his end perforated with a rose thorn from the thicket
his friends found his behaviour boring, wondering what he had been boring down there in the hedge
howard removed his suit to apply the ointment to his wound, yet it did not suit his skin.
he felt inclined to seek help for this affliction, got up to quickly and fell down the incline.
‘darn it’ he yelled,’ now i have ripped my trousiers and do not know how to darn and mend them’
so he hid in the shed where he shed all his garments and bared his soul. tada!


you ask for a fantasy ,a challenge.

there is a house full of ideas, statements,

a house of dreams and nightmares.

i find it is your birthday today.

i have no zoom burst,
only this dodgy insect,
light and sound, is

pretty, i always
do my photo a day.

my htc wildfire
does not zoom,
tho once or twice,
has burst.

deleting his texts.

cold snap.

.fail in the cold.

the days of heaven gold

are coming to its end.

are we the children

of the fall, those of us

who dance in the leaves,

who fail in the cold or the

brashness of summer


read about the courage of others,

about the closing of doors,

against the rain and the wind


read about the loss of brothers,

about the moving of house

escaping pain,and remember

these golden days of autumn.



read about the perfection

that never is, the quality that fades

in time, with crosses,

people’s minds.

read about the rain in the cwm,

that blinds and blinds,

and loses paths and footings


read about the days

in the old house

the days that are, and were,

and may come with dreams,

and fortitude.

read about it all, and i ask,

why do you read



**( words and uncertainty)

i am a painter and decorator

with colour and words

the confectioner,

i like sweets, jelly rings.

i shall measure uncertainty, probably

..floods again..

:: floods ::

seemed to be the topic, yesterday.

watched the water creep, saw the water


into the cellar, under the door.

down the lane to see the water,

meet the boys from reading,

their kayaks and head held cameras,

only about £200.

“my battery went flat,

we fell in, swimmimg,

and we cannot say

betws i coed”

i can , and i can say mawddach.

i remember the flood of 2001.

. tiny things.

it is the little things that excite so

in the height of summer low look for seeds

small flowers studded in hedgerows

dry stone walls

our lane remains dusty, unmade.


what you see is magnified.
they leave here larger than life
petrified in their own forests.

scan beds and lens.

light the boxes.
tie the books closed, leather


words lost.

boxes can be opened to


tiny things become intimate


It is nice to see you here
in the thread. I feel there
are rare visitors.

We continue to dream, move stones
and occupy a darker room. All things
come clear with light and service.

I too sleep with worry and just
sometimes pleasantries come.