when did the
mirror break?

a different angle
for every mood
sharper lines
and harsher truths

jaggedly cut through the glass
same stripes up my sides
personal lightening storm
down my shoulders and thighs

when did the
mirror break?

when did fat stop
being a feeling
and more of just
a state of being?

With holes in pockets
Can we buy?
Gain truth from
The lips that lie?
Without ever asking
Why?

Is guidance in
A folded map?
Wealth within
Bottle cap?
Does fine champagne
Come on tap?

Does knowledge come
From books fast closed?
Water from a frozen hose?

Motion from a
Locked up gear?
Faith from gurus
Full of fear?

Can oil flow
From stoppered jars?
Travel made in totaled cars?
Peace be won from
World War?

Calculating sums from nil
For naught we pay
Usurious bills
No winning wars where
ALL are killed

The wind listeth
              where it will...

We beard the lion
In his lair
Close the pane

To breathe the air.


SøułSurvivør
5/23/2017

A creeper once was planted,
On a cold North-facing wall,
The gardener wanted her to spread,
To cover the bricks and all.

In the weeks that followed,
She strove her best to grow,
But the sun was so unkindly
And the frost so cruel so.

Alas, one day a child at play
Broke off her slender stem.
'It's no use' she cried
'I'll never grow again.'

But she was so courageous,
A brave, hidden spirit she found
And started sending up new shoots,
Directly from the ground.

One day she got her just rewards,
For all her courage and strife,
The gardener came and transplanted her,
To start a brand-new life.

Now on a warm, South-facing wall,
Where the sun kissed her all day
And the gentle breeze caressed her,
She grew and grew away.

She grew so strong and beautiful
And when the tale is told.
Her crown of joy was autumn,
With her leaves tinged red and gold.

Keith Wilson . Windermere  UK  2017.

A bee here
another there
the bee catchers busily chase

enjoy every bit
hit and miss
miss and hit

the urge to live is the sugar
sweetens the grind
keeps death out of mind.

If you keep death in mind
high is the cost
in the momentary dying
life is lost.

Some nights I shade
my eyes
from dark dreams
like a broken hawk's wing
stuck in the hot tar
of a back country road
when sleep seems
like a long ways to go
in a bad war
and desire and desire
and desire like a fire
in my bones
won't leave me alone.

my blue eyes attract moths
blue flamed
hot breath
they die falling in love

Sending vines of thorns
to grow upon high stone walls.

  *- I will touch every star in the sky...

Birds come to feed
on the nuts hanging
from the Sycamore
I planted as a seed
seven years back.
Its my joy to hear
them singing,
and wonder
if they hear
my songs,
a poet
in
flux.