I am a pen
Safe in a warm hand
I can write poetry short stories
Even novels
And I am always put away safely
Ready for the next time.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

You kiss me as if
I was lost and you never
stopped looking for me.

I was stumbling in a field.
Firelight in my eyes,
Burning bright red
in the camera lens.
It wasn't a trick of the light,
the drugs or the beer;
it was a glance of love.
I was stumbling in a field.
Red-eyed and smitten,
Crossing minefields to you by choice.
Perhaps that is the only way
to walk the course of love.

a long time coming
the snow
two weeks from April's warmth
and calming showers
it has finally arrived
mother nature's way of saying
slow down
sit back and reflect
take the day off and build a snowman
with the kids
live
when life gives you the cue

She fears its omnipotence
It breathes in the quiet
scans her humanity,
her fire

She holds tight
to the golden refuge
and plants sweets
in the bottom of
blossoming trees

The void is a savage lover
with delicate fingers
and a pretty mouth