I was sad  so sad
To see you go
Sad to hear
That whistle blow

I saw you sadly to the train
Knowing I'd never see you again

Another Lost love
Another Lost love
No farewell kiss
No tender hug
Just a heart of pain
And a waiting train

Lost Love Lost Love
Love Lost Lost Love

We hadn't long together
We changed just like the weather

As your train speeds away
There's nothing more to say

Another Lost love
Another Lost love
No farewell kiss
No tender hug
Just a heart of pain
And a waiting train

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK  2017.

Clock, don't mark the hours...
It is maddening!
She will leave forever
When morning comes again.
This is the last night we have
To live our love
And your ticking ever reminds me
Of my irremediable pain.
Clock, detain your path,
For my life is ending!
She is the star that
Illuminates my life.
Without her love, I am nothing.
Hold time in your hands,
Make this night perpetual
So that she will never leave me;
So that we won't ever wake up
From this dream,
Clock don't mark the hours...
I am truly going mad.

You are no longer by my side, love
In my soul there only remains solitude.
If I can no longer see you,
Why did God make me love you,
If it makes me suffer more?
YOU were always the reason
For my very existence
To me, adoring you
Was my religion.
In your kisses I discovered
The warmth, the love
Of your passion.
This is the story of a love
Unlike any other
Your love made me comprehend
All good, all evil.
It gave light to my life,
Only to later extinguish it.
The story of a love
So different from all others.
Then, I understood all
Good and all evil.
Your love illuminated my life,
And then dissipated.
A dark and obscure life...
Without your love I cannot exist.
This is the story of love.

Black, Swiss cheese hulk on horizon
The James Longstreet
immobile old freighter of the bay

Towed to the ignominy
of its last commission
in the curled arm of The Cape
Tides flex their muscles against it
But The Longstreet is steadfast
in its dark purpose

Standing target for practice

A sortie if planes home in on its bulk
Honing their skills
on this  “fish-in-a-barrel”
Thunderhead-etched pyrotechnics
Booming follows the miles over water

Against The Longstreet’s silhouette enduring
even God fixes sights
firing bolts across its bow
taking aim at our futures

Standing targets for practice

Vietnam? Cape Cod?
No difference to teens
before life’s ocean of conscription

Sand is cold beneath dunes
Beach grass rustles
to the pulsing surf
to the wind’s whispers
just below hearing
as if there’s a secret
that must be kept

We are targets for practice
We are meaningless din

Pulling our sweatshirts and blanket closer
The Supremes sing thinly
from transistor
“Stopped for a moment in the name of love—

Thinking it over”