Over by the wild fields, crossing wired fences
climbing into view, we saw the sandhill cranes
like airplanes, impossibly winged
they weaved in and out of sight
stalking tall amid the grassy screens
prehistorically made and in the green
of murky shallows to wade
warming in the sun, they come
returning every year
and we can feel the air move
in a giant swoop, a flapping wave
breathing heavy winged
we sighed, at their precarious lift off
the feathery snow of sky
alas, the distant birds 
silver streaking by.

the other day
     it felt like overnight
spring flowers had appeared across the meadows
      cowslips  spring snowflakes   crocuses   daisies  daffodils

they tell me
in a little while  it will be spring
no matter that white caps still decorate the mountains
storms blow rain  sleet and snow across the land

the flowers know

they will not fold their leaves
grow back into their cozy soil and wait some more
they will defy a few more frosty days
slow down a little in their flow of energy
then blossom forth in all their power

show us that nature’s life renews itself again in force
no matter what our mood might be

flowers will bloom

a hollow
swinging gourd
the swallow
snatches sustenance
mid-flight

an orchard
cherries rotting
on a mossy lawn
fodder for the
grounded dove

two shells
unhinged
sand erodes truth
the pearl
is an iridescent lie

a fissure
lost river deep
timeless echo
ricochet
repeat

Monsoon Rhapsody



I am rain on a summer day
Drenching drowsy, lifeless buds
Stirring them to a dancing wakefulness
Washing leaves dull and dry with dust
Dousing fire in a desert ringed inferno

I am the drizzle on a pale moon night
Easing into the heart with music
The melange of water humming with the wind
The splash of puddles in fields of barley
Gently filling thirsty river beds craving for a flow

I am showers before monsoons
Impregnating the air with soothing droplets
The hint of life in an oasis of colours
Breathing moist on a farmer's bronzed skin
Tingling the world with shimmering emerald

I am sawan, the monsoons
Winding my way through a chorus of clouds
Thundering my presence into the sea of renewal
Cascading on sandy shores that glisten with light
Whisking away waves of gold with jubilant darkness

I drape the land in arrays of greens
Scent the soil in my fragrance
Dance with the rhapsodic dance of the peacock
Wreathe petals into flowers that vine
And curve in the soil of growth.

In China, towering spires of green
with pine trees, the fog that hovers
breaks lucid in shades of mauve
blue flame of night's dawn
gives birth to stars, the skies
white snow of clouds,
the evening cranes
that fly above.

The  Deluge

Heavy  thundery  rain
Cascading  down  from  the  heavens.

The  sheer  volume  of  water
Causing  a  sinister  mist  across  the  rooftops.

A  waterfall  suddenly  fell
In  front  of  my  window.

The  gutters  unable  to  cope.

For  a  few  moments
It  felt  like  the  end  of  the  world.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.