I throw stones
at the ancient brick
just to pass the time

Pretending these
shadows are my friends
dancing along
parking space lines

The air is stale
smelling of gasoline and
cheap perfume
I'm throwing stones
while thinking of you

What will you become?
A question I heard when
I was younger
I wish to change
my response
now that I'm older

I wish to become
human in a world
designed to make me
feel small

Stand tall in  
time and space
and never again
listen to
anyone at
all

"Don't strive to know everything,
because everything has a habit of changing more often than you would think."

-Hadrian Veska

Spring  is  now  resting.
After  some  lovely  spring  days.
It  is  now  snowing.
Typical  British  weather.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2016.

If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.

I drank to forget,
drank deep, long and hard for years,
forgetting nothing.

My suede shoes are green.
Well, no, they're forest.
My, how the sky is blue.
More cloudy and teale.
The Church is corrupt.
Their message isn't.
The educated egot.
I've been called
Egit, stupid, idiot,
And codface
(try to find a definition for that).
Not proud of those nomenclatures,
But at times they fit me like cells.
But when I come across the Midvale gifted,
Who try to convince me that
East Indians are West Indians,
Well,
I remove my simpleton's conical cap.

Ha!
Just hitched my pants
Above the waistline;
Added a tight notch.
What's to become of me.
Should I consider
Knee-high socks,
With Bermuda shorts
To match
My peppered stubble.
Perhaps man-scaping
And Botox,
A ****** moustache
And comb-over,
Or live life
Like Benjamin Button.

Little killers
one, two, three...
Learning all the letters

Little killers
one, two, three...
guessing for the answers

Killing sibling's learning man
A game once we did play
You learn to spell or die
Okay?  The old fashion way