oil pond mirrors the darkness the november
day sun draws white against the grey
this leaf lays on earth
there is no god
not hungry nor otherwise
you look at me straight and ask the past
and briefly I say & say there is no god
you did not smile nor shout you are the deadest thing
dead down . no smiling despite birds gone by
on greasy wings .i remember your look
your face
drawn grey as mourning doves
that remind
for me there is no god
yes the theatre was good
who done it now we
know who done it
yet the culprit swore
us all the secrecy
it is the longest running
here
a mouse trap
hope all the kittens came well
thet you are over run with cuteness
i stayed away a while and we rode
the narrow guage as always there
and back again
as always
then up the lake fishing
saving imaginary folk
with a rope then bound
him up happily
while he remained that way
an hour or so and no one
blinked
we made reed boats and caught two tiddlers
we placed them back of course
we don’t eat meat nor fish
yet the ice melts
it is all a worry
which i will not clarify
let you feel it is just
ice
i am glad it was nothing serious
and that there will be funds for an engine
Sonja
6.48 am
glad of my lot
wished better for others
“The Gift – Sonja
Every now and again I binge on Sonja’s poems, reading several weeks’ worth at a sitting and entering into the quiet goings on of her life in Wales, charmed by her wit and humour. This is of a piece with that great sequence. I didn’t quite understand what the poem meant by “not a metaphor”, but it did alert me to the possibility of metaphor within the poem, which I soon found – the cutting of the path, which is a nice way of thinking about the renewal of friendship through meeting.”Thanks Halls, Oxford.
it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss
on each cheek with out avoidance.
it may seem continental, yet we are
dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,
near the church. there are similarities,
yet this is not a metaphor.
we met at ten, talked of family,
one hour led to two, and overstepped
the parking time.
later in the garden, i thought of you.
i cut the paths and thought of you too.
it is a gift.
sbm.
i hope all is well with your health
despite the word of tests
i worry
have been worrying for years
over folk & stuff
it does not help only
with planning
the albert dock is lovely
a shopping , cafe place
with a tate gallery
we have four i think
in total, two in london
one in st ives
i like that one
i lived there while little
and have friends
there
i hope the job is doing well
mine feels better that a couple
of months back
like tides
i hope you get to ride your bike
soon
it is good to be out & about
the brain & the soul
i go now to plan a bus trip
to the theatre
his car is broke so
public transport will
be fun
Sonja
monday later
than usual
been got groceries
drank coffee
ate an eccles
cake
you were awake so early
yesterday and
i hope that day went well
for you
the day in the city was splendid
around the docks & liverpool
one
we went up the eye, the big
wheel despite the wind & vertigo
felt the admin in the tate was splendid &
told her so
she comes to stay in garndolbenmaen
on holidays
a firm voice demanding that all body parts
were kept behind the lines & we did so
while others did not
forgot
we are safe & i hope you guys are
too
do you work on sundays
like i do?
James..
Sonja
6.35
warm, cosy
there is a storm outside
the knapweed is going
over
now
seems to me you caught on
damn quick
it is good to feel organised
in control
even though we are not
ultimately
naturally
yes have had company
now i miss it
am in transition
drinking tea
the thunderstorm
was grand i think
the pressure leaves
me with an headache
as does the politics
here
and
there
later than usual
which does not
matter today
it will tomorrow
early
you did not write
yesterday.
that is fine.
i shall worry about you
guess you are busy
about the new job
your gainful employment
or worry
that you fell off your bike
hurt your typing finger (s)
or worry
that i got it wrong again
and
that you just
did not write
yesterday.
