the language of light fills the sky once more
comes down to share our table
- life pulsating from out the Earth
clear clean water.
We eat our bread and drink our wine
while the Sun shines on all we do.
the language of light throughout the Universe
- crackling stars
our hearts pulsars
love a river, an ocean wide
dive on in, in reckless abandon.

He lies flat on the rooftop
looking at the stars.

Useless worlds birthing and dying
he muses
the colossal magnificence of waste

if atrophy is the verdict
why create a complex web of universe
just because someone from an island
would stare at them
in awe of the beauty
seeking a key to the riddle
himself a grain of dust
lost in reading the firmament
and not grasping
of what significance
he is
within his shrinking space and time
in an expanding universe.

once a day I spend ten seconds sorry for me
then ten hours on those worse off
I think about my problems too long
and not enough on what I can do to help others
after all what good is pity for me I don't like it
nor do I pity others I empathize
try to put my foot in their shoe
and it makes my problems dematerialize
and one day I will wittle it down to ten seconds a year
and hope I made a difference
before I go
on to whereever
it is old hippies go to
then

Sister Moon and brother Sun
water and air cousins all
your flesh is my flesh
and when I dream you dream too
Stars at night to see the way
Mother Earth beautiful globe
holds our hearts one and all
a cosmic romance full of love.

Millie's pondering Georgia's
next earthquake , a tsunami
over Sapelo Island , volcanic
activity around Stone Mountain
Her mind is quite medicated yet
the clockwork control freak is firing on all
cylinders , she's got blue , pink and beige pills
to control "the jitters"
A week full of rage to spill in a two hour period ,
anxiety drunk , her two o'clock tea , her momma's
favorite scissors , cutting photographs for a
collage late at night , hanging her wet resume on a tree branch
to dry
Poor , poor Millicent , not a friend in sight* ...

The  early  Azaleaus    are  blooming
in  the  garden.

A  rich  deep  purple  color.

Quite early in  late  February

But  we  have  had  a  very  mild  winter
here  in  the  Lake  District.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK. 2017.

Tunneling into Sunday with a
gift of self
I'm the number twelve on the clock
The copied , most followed bird in the flock
A dominate loblolly
The general of a fictitious army
I'm the sunny side of the yard
A one eyed jack wild card
Let my contemporaries be the paddle ,
for today I am their handle*....

A connection atop the oceans circuitry ,
exchanging the tug of maritime electricity ,
moving into dawn , at mercy of the undertow ,
within the timpani flam of inquisitive waters
slamming the morning shores
Receiving her fury and knowledge
from the sea oat ridge
Connecting the bridges of unsure men* ..