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 Jun 2016
r
From time to time
I sit outside
and watch the night sky
deep in its shadow
and dreaming
of a dusky woman
with black hair
and a sequined dress
riding high on her thighs
until my eyelids
grow dark
from the starlight.
 Jun 2016
r
Like wild oats
the lonesome poets
grow in the ditches
alongside back roads
and when it rains
they drink too much
like the low cotton
in dry fields forgotten
by dirt poor farmers
whose wives run off
with the first stranger
who wipes his shoes
on the porch before
selling her a pretty pair
of green lace underwear
like a bird sick of its tree
dreaming of new leaves.
 May 2016
r
Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?

Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.

Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.

For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.

Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?

Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new boquet soon fading into gray.

What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.

Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.
In memory of those who gave their all.
5/30/2016
And again, lest we forget. 5/29/17
Remember to remember.  27May2019
Remember-5/25/2020
 May 2016
Keith Wilson
My  next  door  neighbor
as  just  died.
I  knew  he  was  dying.
But  it  still  came  as  a  big  shock.
I  was  just  thinking.
Life  is  so  fragile.
You  can  be  snuffed  out
at  any  given  moment.
R.I.P.  Norman.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016
 May 2016
Sjr1000
We started a conversation
Many years ago
It never really ended
There was always
More to go.

It's in our conversation
It's in the eyes we both behold
Whole world's inside
Our conversation
They just continue to unfold.

Some may call it love
Some may call it
Talk talk talk
We started a conversation
And until it's ended
I have no where else to go.

Landscapes
may change
Friends and names
may come and go
Children
Ourselves
We all grow old.

Conversation
Our connection
Started many years ago
It never really ended
There is always
more to go.

The  mountains
have called us
The ocean too
It's on these walks
I talk with you

One more conversation
And maybe we'll be through
But first I know
I will be listening to you

We started a conversation
Many years ago
It never really ended
There is still always more to go.
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