Passed  the  lake  last  evening.
It  looked  dark,dank  and  threatening.
In  the  fast  fading  light.
The  moody  mountains  stood  tall.
With  thick  mist  swirling  across.
In  ghostly  fashion.
A  complete  contrast  to  the  summer  view.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

.

do not even blink;
once it's out
there's no holding back
what follows;
lids and eyelashes
keeping in check
all of this
salty bitterness,
a levy or a dam,
and I'd never rhyme your tears
with anything

your words are razor blades
and I have seen you
shaving others
enough to know
I'd never let you be my barber

for if your mind,
the hand that guides them,
were as sharp,
you'd see that Occam's razor
is not a proper tool of art

life
a careless child
messy room
scattered toys around

too young for chess
abusing pawns
and queens alike
some lost at best,
others lying broken
on the ground

and me
I am a cube
at the hands of curiosity,
fingers tightly clenched;
is it persistence now
or is it animosity
beating sides and edges
against the circle slot;
it doesn't take a sage
to see
there never was a plot

The candles of the dead
will not be extinguished
floating like blossoms in the deep
cradled by spectral hands
never seen by the living
except in dreams
or art

Did you come this far
for the view?
Or was it a curious urge
to find forgiveness
in a time of grief?

I can grant you forgiveness.
I have the power
through time and the tides
my calloused hands
have held the sun like an egg
my feet have climbed
Mt. Olympus
and none the wiser

So come gently with me
leave your battered dreams
on the bedside table
drink a draught of this noble wine
stand upon this precipice
of uncertainty
and contemplate something
near to eternity.

The candles will light your way.

Now is
what
never is.
Can't you see it?

Now is just
a suspension,
the bend before
the wave,
not the flow
nor the wave
but
the suspended
breath
of a perpetual
motion.

Winter is here.
Its romantic
******,
frozen death,
nights that linger.
Yet,
arms crying
into windy skies,
trees carry
a pregnancy,
sprouts
like a plague
ripping
every branch.
Oh yes,
spring
is coming.

Now is never.

Quietly,
silently,
let us watch
as time bends,
unfolding
what was
and what
for sure
will be.
Quietly,
silently,
let us ride
that bend
and know
that
never
is now.

Bubbling molten gurgles in the belly
Ready to surge and burst through convention,
Burning its way
Through convenient lies like a blow torch;
Scorching pure flesh on the way
To bring awful clarity.

Salt tears wash the grit from reddened eyes
And hearts rise as searing lava obliterates the ego.
Purpose may crystallise as the magma cools
But for most of us; shaken
We limp back to the habits of our
regular lives.

Oh mind! Where are you drifting?
Where will I follow? Where will you lead?
Oh mind! I watch as you are sifting
Through boggy marshland and shifting reed.

Oh mind! Stay on the right side:
Stay in the present. Don't wander through the past.
Oh mind! Don't fret about the future
Just stay with these joys and hold them fast.

Oh mind! I watch you as you wander
Down darkened alleys and grimy lanes.
Don't lose your way now. Look where you're heading.
Don't look behind you to grief's sharp pains.

Oh mind! You are my friend now
I've trained you well and given you peace.
Oh mind you always were there;
Always waiting for your release..

Oh mind! It's time to soar now
To loose the chains and reach so high.
It's time to spread now beyond the confines
Of time and custom. It's time to fly!