tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-21:/theyMokoFeed2009-11-21T11:16:09+01:00tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-08:/2009/11/08/gazing-at-the-stars-7329925/blckbird2009-11-08T11:49:16+01:002009-11-08T14:49:08+01:00 <p>Remember those who died<br> fighting for that<br> which was not theirs<br> nor ever would or could.<br> Weep for those distorted faces<br> lost ambition and empty chairs.<br> Then pray for those with more to lose<br> in khaki clothes riding on the roundabout.<br> Handsome faces in the fair-ground jostle<br> candyfloss and rifle range<br> coconuts, children in surprise<br> laughing with their mothers;<br> sweethearts slipping to the night<br> gazing at the stars.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/gazing-at-the-stars-7329925/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/08/bonfire-7328533/blckbird2009-11-08T00:32:09+01:002009-11-08T11:22:40+01:00 <p>Still again after the fire works<br> children snug in bed,parents making love,<br> embers in the parks and gardens<br> languid sparks rising to the silent night<br> homeless mouse and hedgehog......<br> and those the lucky ones.........<br> who saw the torches coming. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/bonfire-7328533/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/08/the-sentinel-7328470/blckbird2009-11-08T00:15:05+01:002009-11-08T00:15:05+01:00 <p>I heard the blackbird in alarm,<br> saw him on the topary yew<br> stretching neck and wings<br> jerking tail, clock work automation<br> in the summer garden,so quiet until now.<br> staccato calls to all who listen<br> defying,sentinel and un-afraid;<br> so small and black, a golden beak<br> your only means to fight,<br> but enough defence it seems<br> to scare away the cat,<br> climbing the ivy wall,<br> and nestlings safe again.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/08/the-sentinel-7328470/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/07/there-was-one-thing-about-today-from-the-start-it-7327402/blckbird2009-11-07T20:09:13+01:002009-11-08T00:50:59+01:00 <p>There was one thing about today<br> from the start it was predictable<br> well rehearsed as yesterday<br> and many days before.<br> Through trees and stiles<br> passing from the meadow,<br> the geese and cattle beside the lake<br> ignored by Jack and ignoring him.<br> This is a well tried comedy<br> practised to a fault,<br> walking in the rain or sun<br> often on a Monday<br> kicking through the winding track<br> deep in blackening leaves,<br> rooks restless in the cold east wind,<br> blue tits in the holly,<br> gloves and boots and home by dark<br> as will be tomorrow. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/there-was-one-thing-about-today-from-the-start-it-7327402/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-07:/2009/11/07/the-phone-7325309/blckbird2009-11-07T13:26:20+01:002009-11-08T00:52:37+01:00 <p>Bought a new phone<br> a set of two<br> a station on my desk<br> you know the way.<br> The other satelite ?<br> where the hell to put it<br> They took seven hours to charge<br> three weeks to enter all my friends<br> nearly sent it back<br> but lost the packaging<br> made today from corn starch<br> degradable in three weeks!<br> my mobile was only half the trouble.<br> Now I wait for friends to call<br> not a bell all day<br> when it rang on Tuesday<br> didn't recognise the tone<br> they didn't leave a message<br> IT could have been the gas<br> BT or the 'lectric,<br> someone selling glazing<br> in dulcet erotic persuasions<br> I fall for every time.<br> Going for a walk in Wales this afternoon,<br> inlaws tonight for supper,<br> then home and one five seven one<br> to make it all worthwhile. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/07/the-phone-7325309/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-03:/2009/11/03/drawing-the-alphabet-7301095/blckbird2009-11-03T20:23:29+01:002009-11-03T20:26:14+01:00 <p>What did you do at school<br> I asked.<br> Drew the alphabet<br> she said.<br> watched her draw her name<br> with greatest care<br> in her drawing book;<br> you must understand her style,<br> she feels the world as once we did<br> discards sophistication,<br> before she even knew it.<br> the "R" the wrong way round<br> "K" laid on its back<br> but all made sense,watching<br> saw the world as she did;<br> the drawings on the table<br> signed in felt nib strokes<br> reds and blues and why not!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/03/drawing-the-alphabet-7301095/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-11-02:/2009/11/02/the-birch-leaves-fell-like-tears-autumn-weeping-for-lost-7292727/blckbird2009-11-02T15:39:59+01:002009-11-03T19:56:26+01:00 <p>The birch leaves fell like tears,<br> Autumn weeping for lost summer skies<br> the balm of evenings lit 'til nine<br> beer,dogs and childrens'laughter,<br> climbing moorland trails<br> paddles in sheep lined streams,<br> curlew calls,hawk and bleating lambs.<br> Songs of innocence centuries old.<br> unscripted,rehearsed each dawn.<br> Ghosts of summer days invade,<br> crowd me round my little wood,<br> guide me through the storm<br> dry my tears with ecloplasmic veils,<br> join with Autumn's mourning<br> as she,soon forget<br> remembering that tomorrow<br> was but yesterday.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/11/02/the-birch-leaves-fell-like-tears-autumn-weeping-for-lost-7292727/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-31:/2009/10/31/i-smelled-smoke-in-the-evening-air-walked-the-way-7281885/blckbird2009-10-31T18:32:04+01:002009-11-09T13:47:02+01:00 <p>I smelled smoke in the evening air<br> walked the way as every day<br> birch leaves crisp and yellow<br> pine greens and ginger larch.<br> I stepped the ditch<br> not trusting the simple bridge<br> and saw the chimney smoking<br> to the east from whence I came.<br> Through the doorless doorway<br> entered uninvited,never thought to ask.<br> no door,not for many a year<br> neither was there window frames.<br> It was then I saw the candle flicker<br> on the tree-trunk table,<br> clay beaker steaming tea.<br> I quickly turned to leave the hut<br> felt I was not alone<br> but a door slammed shut,<br> never there before, I could not leave<br> my dog nowhere to be seen.<br> Again I turned, logs burning in the hearth<br> orange flame and blackened kettle<br> saw him sucking on a pipe,<br> sitting in a Clun-back chair<br> made from green-wood,bent by calloused hands,<br> through the spider web of years,<br> He did not speak; nor I.<br> He seemed to know me,<br> we had never met or so I thought<br> The two who leaned the wall I knew<br> from another time; lovers from the war<br> I had intruded once before,<br> caught them making love one late afternoon<br> envied their delight.<br> Had he all these years<br> shared his home.....why not?<br> I should leave but could not;<br> the logs burning in the fire,<br> were not consumed the candle grew no shorter.<br> for one brief moment,the old man seemed alive<br> the lovers warm and smiling,<br> heavy coats held close,<br> loved again,as once I saw.<br> When had they met,these three?<br> nowhere else to live; nowhere else to go.<br> I was out of place their world was not of mine;<br> they turned and stared, held out their hands,<br> pleading or was it welcome?<br> faded in the candle light;<br> a door behind creaked open,<br> the fresh cool woodland air welcome,<br> my watch resumed its vigil,<br> a village clock rang six,<br> one last glance and they were gone,<br> as was the chimney smoke.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/31/i-smelled-smoke-in-the-evening-air-walked-the-way-7281885/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-28:/2009/10/28/the-nest-7260242/blckbird2009-10-28T11:17:50+01:002009-10-29T21:16:06+01:00 <p>The nest in the hollow wall<br> perfect in its symmetry;<br> empty with success,its work well done<br> siblings in the garden now<br> tired parents anxious watch<br> the cat and magpie and the rat,<br> children of their own to feed,<br> think no more of hunting robins<br> than they of chasing worms.<br> each day, just like our world<br> well worth the fight.<br> Chose with care the conflicts<br> learn when to retreat and give in,<br> there is yet another day<br> learn from robin-red-breast<br> chirping Christmas Day. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/the-nest-7260242/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-27:/2009/10/28/claire-de-lune-on-the-radio-a-tune-for-lovers-7257670/blckbird2009-10-28T00:30:45+01:002009-11-08T11:25:51+01:00 <p>Claire de lune a tune for lovers,<br> take your rhythm from Debussy,<br> there is time to count the stars<br> not yet full, the moon, discrete<br> hides behind the clouds,<br> many layers and yours to climb.<br> Time is all you have.<br> Time is all you need.<br> Slow sweet, slow,waste not a moment,<br> count them all, miss not one.<br> Nine the summit of your dreams<br> reach out,count them all,<br> count them all together.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/28/claire-de-lune-on-the-radio-a-tune-for-lovers-7257670/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-27:/2009/10/27/the-library-7252284/blckbird2009-10-27T11:16:27+01:002009-10-27T13:03:57+01:00 <p>Half passed nine and sunny<br> still in my dressing gown<br> Jack fussing for his breakfast<br> What's in the news today?<br> will find out when I go for coffee<br> listen to the other drinkers<br> regurgitate the Mail<br> believing every word.<br> I'll read my paper when they've gone<br> share it when I'm home<br> just like Dad with the Reynolds News<br> Chronicle and Yorkshire Post<br> We never had the Wizard<br> never saw the Beano<br> read the Childrens' Newspaper<br> do you remember that?<br> The little library in the corner<br> school prizes some from Sunday school,<br> most were Mum's....<br> Treasure Island.Bronte,<br> Golden Treasury, "every thing you need to know"<br> a forbidden book on anthropology<br> hidden at the back learned a lot from that;<br> but more and to the point from the medical book<br> beside the neglected Kingsley<br> Then Sunday nights at half passed eight<br> the Sunday Play on the wireless<br> Lorna Doone and Fumanchu<br> Dickens.Moby Dick,<br> eating supper at the table<br> never on our knees.<br> Nostalgia is not what it was<br> or so I've heard it said<br> but I think I've told the truth<br> This is what it was.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/27/the-library-7252284/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-26:/2009/10/26/triste-7249780/blckbird2009-10-26T22:30:48+01:002009-10-31T10:49:39+01:00 <p>A welcome call near seven<br> half expected but still surprised<br> a long day, on next Thursday.<br> Autumn tints and mountain roads<br> Bodnant our destination.<br> Turbines flashing in the sun<br> close knit in families on the hills,<br> white sleek necks above the moorland bogs<br> spinning fifteen to the minute.<br> Revolution in the air,conquering wind<br> the future in the sky,while sheep beneath,<br> graze the cold blue moor.<br> There is much to talk about<br> and that we will............<br> narrow lanes and oak trees<br> tales to tell of holidays<br> fenland scenes,churches,barns<br> all that makes the east<br> so different from the west,<br> flat and black-soil fields<br> I missed the green and white<br> of Wales,red kites and yes the rain.<br> But best of all,at least for me<br> thick brown hair, with its hint of grey<br> and pretty eyes that smile all day. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/26/triste-7249780/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-24:/2009/10/24/theatre-7234658/blckbird2009-10-24T11:54:29+02:002009-10-24T12:02:27+02:00 <p>The farmer's ploughed the field<br> while I was away;<br> the sheep are gone,<br> all now flat and brown;<br> mole hills and electric fence<br> dismantled,but they'll all be back,<br> you see, the moles that is.......<br> some of the lambs for Christmas.<br> What will he sow so late?<br> the fifteen acre is pale green,<br> sown a month ago,<br> wheat for next year's harvest<br> no doubt he'll sow wheat again;<br> our summer walks no more<br> until the aftermath returns<br> with clover,vetch and rye<br> mole hills,pheasant squawks<br> crows in pairs tugging at the worms<br> starlings in their thousands.<br> The woodland in recession now<br> moulds and toad stools<br> feasting on the leaves,<br> smells of peat and autumn rain<br> bracket fungus in the bark<br> plump and yellow in the evening sun.<br> The pace has changed,the hour goes back<br> daylight paler soon to be dark at five;<br> the undergrowth more open now<br> bracken long since brown,<br> fern fronds bow to evening frost;<br> open sky and silhouette branches.<br> Fourth act of the play that we call Year.<br> We have watched...<br> sometimes climbed the stage<br> rehearsed our lines,sometimes forgot,<br> applauded and complained,enjoyed the theatre<br> laughed and cried..... sometimes terrified.<br> Days are shorter 'til December.<br> When it rains clean out the barn<br> lean the bar do those things<br> for which you had no time<br> when walking in the sun.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/theatre-7234658/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-24:/2009/10/24/waiting-7234096/blckbird2009-10-24T09:53:47+02:002009-10-24T09:53:47+02:00 <p>I am waiting<br> a game I often play<br> can be played by one<br> doesn't work with two<br> unless she's late<br> but then I'm on my own<br> so it's just as good as one<br> gives me time to think<br> of things we're going to do<br> coffee first at Costa<br> a chat and pretty eyes<br> once a week and sometimes two<br> sometimes even more<br> where shall we go today<br> always country lanes<br> primroses in Spring time<br> heavy coats and leafless trees<br> weather is no problem;<br> home by half passed six<br> all the year through<br> waiting for the next time<br> to see those pretty eyes. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/24/waiting-7234096/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-23:/2009/10/23/i-m-getting-back-my-hour-they-took-it-in-7231482/blckbird2009-10-23T19:20:23+02:002009-10-24T09:33:32+02:00 <p>I'm getting back my hour<br> they took it in the spring<br> never asked if I would mind<br> have never worked out why they do it.<br> When a kid, and dads went out to war<br> they made it two, so<br> we went to bed in sunshine<br> to save on lights and coal<br> But farmers didn't like it<br> upset the cows they said<br> so when we'd won,<br> and search lights were no more<br> they took one off us,<br> Bin like that ever since.<br> At least they do it on a Sunday<br> two a.m I think, but the chap<br> who does the parish clock<br> doesn't work on Sundays,<br> normal time will resume, again<br> just like it was last year,<br> by Thursday at the latest.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/23/i-m-getting-back-my-hour-they-took-it-in-7231482/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-22:/2009/10/22/october-holiday-7225022/blckbird2009-10-22T20:07:22+02:002009-10-24T08:57:21+02:00 <p>My pen is dry, I cannot write<br> my wrist is cramped and cold<br> but I must try a history.<br> I have seen such things<br> you would not believe<br> autumn leaves the least of it<br> no rain for fourteen days<br> except a little drizzle,<br> gentle winds and fluffy clouds<br> red kite watching asphalt roads<br> badgers in the gutter, stoats<br> stretching long across the roads,<br> white tails in alarm, hedges<br> maple trees orange red<br> waiting for the first sharp frost.<br> Crows bramble black<br> waiting for a careless mouse.<br> Beers with funny names,<br> bitter hops and friendly talk;<br> home tomorrow leave behind<br> the harvest trailers<br> potato full scratching in the dark<br> before the winter time;<br> home to see my dog,I left behind<br> and wished I'd not<br> country walks are not the same<br> when no one says come on!<br> but there's a bone and biscuits<br> in the boot where he would sleep<br> a present from my holiday.........<br> next time he'll come with me. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/22/october-holiday-7225022/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-06:/2009/10/06/waiting-for-the-shot-7112896/blckbird2009-10-06T19:58:01+02:002009-10-07T15:04:08+02:00 <p>Mournful in the stubble field,<br> shining black and golden beak<br> cold late sun cruel<br> glistening on the barrels,<br> orange cartridge,silent on the ground<br> a panting dog waiting for the "fetch".<br> Country day raw in tooth and claw<br> a life-time now, alone.<br> Away she flew,dazed and careless<br> to the lonely wood,<br> waiting for the shot<br> which did not come....... </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/waiting-for-the-shot-7112896/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-06:/2009/10/06/the-drought-continued-late-into-the-night-my-sandals-dusty-7109233/blckbird2009-10-06T10:43:19+02:002009-10-28T16:57:40+01:00 <p>The drought continued late into the night<br> my sandals dusty in the peat and leaves<br> it was light, no more than six.<br> (late for us,the dog and me<br> an hours walk,then Hobsons Choice<br> a pint,within the statute limit)<br> Black lace stockings on the fence<br> reminding me of early days,<br> or should I say of nights<br> when nylons,too expensive<br> to discard so carelessly<br> were folded for another day.<br> Through the ginger bracken<br> the woodland more open now<br> the birches, lost their leaves<br> oaks orange red,acorns in their pipes.<br> today the same as yesterday<br> as will be tomorrow.<br> So beneath the gothic pines,<br> echoing modes and plainsong chants<br> black-hood crows,<br> compline eve and evening star<br> to light the stile......<br> lace stockings on the fence. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/06/the-drought-continued-late-into-the-night-my-sandals-dusty-7109233/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-10-03:/2009/10/03/october-7092188/blckbird2009-10-03T19:10:34+02:002009-10-27T19:36:07+01:00 <p>Dusty leaves and three weeks drought<br> cooling in the autumn glow<br> five o'clock and low above the hedges;<br> the hour still with us;<br> soon it will be dark<br> curtains drawn and orange hearth.<br> October,winter's herald, home for tea,<br> "In the car Jack" down the dusky lane<br> left behind the quiet wood<br> no rooks in the sultry pines<br> black feathers strew the ground<br> a cartridge here and there.....<br> Safe behind the electric fence<br> our field, its clover, out of bounds<br> until the sheep have had their fill<br> to take them through the winter<br> waiting,with the starlings.<br> for lambs and mad march-hare.<br> pale and blue the cloudless sky<br> expanding in the fading light.<br> Seven Stars beckons by the road,<br> too good to pass at one pound fifty<br> (and that a pint for Barnsley bitter!)<br> served with a pretty blouse;<br> an hours fun and laughter,crisps for Jack<br> the bright lit bar,children cuddle Jack<br> mum and dad and grandad animate with me<br> their dog black.....like mine.<br> Then home to lock the garage door<br> bolt the back-yard gate.....<br> fading green and rusting hinge.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/10/03/october-7092188/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-27:/2009/09/28/doreen-7052080/blckbird2009-09-28T00:40:39+02:002009-11-14T23:32:28+01:00 <p>Timed to perfection our tracks crossed<br> I to home at half passed twelve<br> she too rode the other way.<br> I had a friend ,she was his girl<br> lovely,dark point chinned<br> tall as me,coal black eyes<br> heavy in her blouse<br> laughter in her voice;<br> lovely again,I thought and dad too.<br> Ray was his name<br> brash confident team mate;<br> we ran miles together<br> the best in town.<br> I the captain,Ray,loyal at number two<br> road or track,we shared the prize.<br> They quarrelled much,I the intercessor;<br> I loved her from afar and she I think did me<br> but never ever said.<br> They quarrelled once<br> I again the intercessor,<br> we to the pictures, the Regal<br> not spendid in the light<br> but in the brightness of my love<br> it earned the name.<br> We sat and shared the scenes<br> our seats touched (and hearts?)<br> but not our hands or knees;<br> Van Johnson on the screen,<br> she said I had his face,<br> innocent, I missed the touch of words.<br> Then home,to hers,we walked<br> before their gate we only talked<br> then home......alone again.<br> I walked to mine. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/28/doreen-7052080/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-27:/2009/09/27/two-of-a-pair-the-opal-and-the-rose-7050483/blckbird2009-09-27T19:03:57+02:002009-10-25T22:46:27+01:00 <p>Two of a pair,both of the earth<br> symbols of affection<br> declaring love and loyalty<br> to be worn in faith;<br> of the body and the soul<br> do not use them lightly<br> gifts as these, give only once<br> they are rare and must be so<br> one discrete upon the breast;<br> the blood red rose fades fast;<br> declare it every day.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/27/two-of-a-pair-the-opal-and-the-rose-7050483/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-26:/2009/09/26/the-snake-7043587/blckbird2009-09-26T13:29:27+02:002009-10-27T19:36:55+01:00 <p>Walking through the clover<br> autumn grass and long,<br> silver as my fading hair,<br> damp in the dewy morn;<br> a stirring at my feet<br> quaking seed-heads, brown and ripe,<br> a lowly snake,green and cold<br> tangling at my feet<br> brushed my sandalled socks.<br> He had more right than me, so<br> I stood and watched him<br> uncurl his slippery coil,<br> alarming slug and snail,<br> pushed him with my stick<br> so's not to hurt the pure complexion;<br> his attack on me was not offence<br> he as scared as me. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/26/the-snake-7043587/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-23:/2009/09/23/the-shower-7023836/blckbird2009-09-23T11:35:43+02:002009-10-27T19:37:20+01:00 <p>A welcome shower today<br> cracks in the lawn now healing<br> rosettes of next year's flowers<br> turn green again;<br> long grass waits scythe and sickle<br> mice scurry through the straw,<br> thistle wool and rose hips<br> red crab fuit for March,<br> heavy strigs,groaning branches<br> to the ground.<br> Do I hear them sigh ?<br> the rain has gone away<br> the Wrekin clear again,<br> the aerial standing clear<br> dusty streets, autumn leaves<br> and blowing plastic bags.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-shower-7023836/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-23:/2009/09/23/the-welsh-poppy-7023648/blckbird2009-09-23T11:01:55+02:002009-10-25T22:47:12+01:00 <p>Orange flower out of season<br> growing by the wall<br> surprised as much as me ?<br> If I ask you why<br> can you;will you tell me ?<br> is there time to ripe your seeds<br> before the frosts invade?<br> have you changed your mind<br> will you flower next year ?<br> Hover flies and butterfies<br> will company you as in the spring<br> and I shall take your seeds<br> upon the window-sill.<br> Will they too bloom late<br> next year, before the frosts invade ?<br> can we make a pact<br> a promise both will keep,<br> to be here as of today ?<br> a glass of wine and siblings,<br> laughter,orange blooms<br> growing by the wall. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/23/the-welsh-poppy-7023648/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-20:/2009/09/20/painting-the-gable-end-7000613/blckbird2009-09-20T09:30:34+02:002009-10-27T19:37:56+01:00 <p>We painted the gable end<br> filled in the cracks,<br> the ladder from a neighbour,<br> covered up the leaf stains<br> from the bay and rambling rose<br> ten years I think it lasted<br> facing south blazing in the summer<br> south-west winds and snow<br> one stroke of paint,no more turning back!<br> county cream they call it<br> the once moss-green turned mouldy<br> ten years it must have been,<br> two coats,one transformation.<br> Shame to cut the bay and rose,<br> but they'll be back in ten years<br> for another coat of paint.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/20/painting-the-gable-end-7000613/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-19:/2009/09/19/the-lovers-they-were-there-before-me-some-how-out-6997731/blckbird2009-09-19T19:02:06+02:002009-10-26T16:22:32+01:00 <p>They were there before me<br> some how out of place<br> well dressed, watch<br> and pendant, gold about her neck<br> careful hair and smiling eyes<br> blue as I recall, like mine.<br> I was alone but joined her<br> for awhile across the café tables<br> as they read the menu;<br> looked away when she looked up<br> so’ s not to seem to stare.<br> They agreed and so he ordered<br> She smiled upon his back…..<br> Never once stopped smiling<br> heard him ask big breakfast;<br> her dress belied the menu<br> his too was smart, no tie,<br> corduroy pants with slanting pockets<br> shoes to match his style;<br> She in blue well cut.<br> Her smile lit up the room…<br> for them this was a special day<br> on their way to some where....<br> no one ever stays for long.<br> He asked her tea or coffee<br> and if a cup or mug,<br> she smiled again,<br> her eyes and lips in unison<br> This was a happy day<br> perhaps the first of many.<br> I made my paper last<br> let them go into the street<br> followed close behind<br> before the handle cooled,<br> saw them to the car park<br> looked away when she glanced back<br> So’ s not to seem to stare.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/19/the-lovers-they-were-there-before-me-some-how-out-6997731/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-18:/2009/09/18/a-sea-of-cookers-stretching-to-the-walls-calm-glazed-6990175/blckbird2009-09-18T13:04:17+02:002009-11-14T23:33:36+01:00 <p>A sea of cookers rippling to the walls<br> calm, glazed, silver black and shiny<br> a's and b's and sometimes c's<br> all at three feet high;<br> made to fit where ever,<br> close your eyes, choose any one<br> you'll not be disappointed,<br> one shape fits all<br> one height,two widths,one depth<br> prices to suit your pocket;<br> defered or plastic,now or never<br> they'll come next week<br> and throw away the old one.. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/a-sea-of-cookers-stretching-to-the-walls-calm-glazed-6990175/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-18:/2009/09/18/the-market-6989041/blckbird2009-09-18T09:35:42+02:002009-10-27T19:38:32+01:00 <p>Again the air is still<br> the mist hangs silken folds<br> shadows in the curtains<br> waiting for the sun,<br> desultory shutters in the streets<br> roll back,shirts and shoes<br> early tea and breakfast<br> beside the bus stop's rumble.<br> Friday market bargains<br> unsigned vans spilling<br> well known brands at half the price,<br> kaleidescopic nations,babel tongues<br> jingling coins in apron folds.<br> Here since thirteen hundred<br> its charter on the wall,<br> the very heart of town<br> four times a week,'til four,<br> wrapped in Victorian splendour.<br> You'll find it here,what e're you want,<br> if not they'll get it for you. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/the-market-6989041/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-17:/2009/09/18/late-harvest-6987251/blckbird2009-09-18T00:02:17+02:002009-10-25T22:48:32+01:00 <p>So still today,the air clear and crystal<br> pink the couds as yesterday<br> the corn comes in, four tons to a load<br> stubble in the fields,straw and rabbits<br> bales, thermos flasks and sandwiches,<br> yellow lights in cottages,children snug in bed;<br> late harvest bonus before the rain.<br> Winter could be soon,always sooner than one thinks<br> don't be caught out, money in the bank,<br> Micklemas, bonfire, Advent Eve and Christmas<br> Santa Claus but twelve weeks<br> but not until the potatoes,<br> the hanging beef and pig. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/18/late-harvest-6987251/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>tag:www193111.blog.co.uk,2009-09-13:/2009/09/13/after-thoughs-on-felix-6955649/blckbird2009-09-13T17:17:44+02:002009-11-14T23:35:27+01:00 <p>His nails were proud and aquiline,<br> searching in the cardboard case,<br> cotton reels and thimbles,<br> but it was the buttons mother bought<br> stitched to a blue-white card;<br> pyjama jackets, shirts for school,<br> through the mangle every week<br> until they bent....or the soda in the water<br> which ever was the first!<br> Some times Mam would say<br> there was nothing that she needed<br> offering him a penny no, he'd say<br> scrabble in his case..........<br> proud nails, aquiline and strong,<br> a toy for me.......<br> no charity for Felix. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://www193111.blog.co.uk/2009/09/13/after-thoughs-on-felix-6955649/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>