Summer’s time has come and gone
The walls, floorboards release a yawn
With nine months then to recoup, recover
From being a home, just for the summer.

Eloquent memories freshly remain
Of friends who nestled within her frame
A cabin of bunk beds, cubbies, fresh air
Where girls unwound with little a care.

Her crevice now holds a left-behind letter
Whose parchment hardens with winter’s weather
Yet the season’s sleet knows the warmer reflection
Of late night secrets and encouraged imperfection.

Spring has sprung most slowly for some
The evergreens exclaim a harmonious hum
Her wooden steps defrost, and patiently await
The coming of campers to the cardinal state.

Fall, winter, and spring all pass
Warm rays have woken the mountains at last
Each cabin’s frame stands taller, *****
While girls, all ages, reconnect.

Anna Blake

this day made no sense apart from
   being polite to a surgery
receptionist  and downing a bottle of whiskey...
  birds? spring? colours? can i just go back
to england imitating alaska? the more i age the more
i realised: **** day! bring on night!
   and it's not like some horror movie scenario...
i'm not even conjuring vampire
to sell them to you...
   i just think my eyes are sort of: too distracted
                   by the light?
a bit like: am i serious about
buying this vacuum cleaner?
should i be serious about
buying this vacuum cleaner?
   i'd love to live in a matriarchal society,
turn all cannibal and ****,
go shrimp! go!
          swing *******! bite the railings
while you're at it!
            let's see if a gypsy tooth plops out
of your jaw, so we can cast a magic spell
turning the lead into gold!
the ****?!
             oh **** me, i'd love to live in a matriarchy...
it would mean that i wouldn't have to be a man
and have this social construct of
pampering to women... i'd be a lion
with a harem of females hunting...
             need a fridge? go **** yourself...
need a toilet? go **** yourself...
           need a blender? go **** yourself:
chew on a terminte mound...
                to be honest i have a fetish for the chance
to live in a matriarchy... it's almost like what islam
concerns itself with theocracy...
      i'd love to live in this wendol society...
    look how much less you need in a matriarchy!
i'm watching it going: giva'h more giva'h more!
            tazmanian bush-wacker aussie...
   god... i'd love to experience a matriarchy more than
i'd care to support a theocracy...
that's like patriarchy: or what's called
                                              second generation...
islam has nothing on me, i want to
experience a matriarchy... the amazonian
    queens 30ft women doing the new zealand
rugby team's haka!
   oh please let them have it! let them have
women football teams... i'll really want to ****
them afterwards!
                              what is man is what
allows man to internilise his emotions up to
the point that he's playing poker...
               what allows women to be women is
volcanic outbursts of unsolicited emotion...
                 funny how the genitals play a part in
the whole affair... or don't... whatever...
i woke up early today and thought to myself:
****! not enough whiskey!
        theocracy is just second / third generation
patriarchy...
                      there's nothing else to it...
imagine islam as it was originally...
     a matriarchy under the guidance of mohammad's
first wife... who was much older than
him and wrote the first koranic verses...
Khadijah...
                      mohammad is a ***** compared
to Khadijah, the matriarch;
mohammad is just a ***** teenager compared
to her...
               well... her stock did come from the myth
of the origin of the Arab race... namely from
Abraham's concubine...
                    hence the weaving of the walking
h
          arem...
                   oh forget it! the west does something
similar to a niqab... when was the last time you
spotted a beauty that fills the pages of a style
magazine on the street?
                             last time i spotted one?
i wanted to **** a donkey.
                               the end.
        the niqab is like a mobility scooter for women
who won't be stolen in the light of day
by some rich patron who suddenly forgot his
fetish for ******* choir boys...
                   let's level it out!
                     she was the literate cougar that wrote
the better pieces of the koran...
          after she died... the koran started shrinking...
i actually think that
  the last surah was written by Aisha...
                         so who wrote it, if not women?
this is a classical example of a matriarchy -
muhammad was just a useful idiot...
                well apparently he was illiterate, he couldn't
read and he couldn't write...
  like that joke about the police in england:
one can read, but can't write, the other can't read,
but can write...
                                     we have plenty of useful
idiots around here, what does the left mean in
western society when there is no economic policy
to support it? i come from the east,
                     what does the left mean in western
lands mean these days?
               well... if theocracy is only a second / third
generation patriarchy
then second / third generation matriarchy clings
to theosophy... a sort of oops-e-daisy: just one step
away from turning the whole thing into an aleister crowley
inspired movement... and where does that lead?
pi zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ah!

Reading through my archives
Of life
On little pieces of paper, napkins and fast food wrappings.

I came upon a note to self and proceeded to read it.
It was dated a year ago and the time was "way past closing time"
So I figured it must be good.
It said "dear self your work ***** and is to short lengthen it!"

At first I was taken back at how angry I was at myself, but then remembered how my readership had been slowly decreasing.

I decided to listen to this old drunken "wisdom" of mine and lengthened many of my works.

I actually didn't think they were to bad either, until I posted them and only got few comments with no likes.
The comments read "your poetry is to long and boring" "what happened to your short blunt to the point fluency? "

That's what a get for listening to the drunken me and taking advice from a fool.

Critics are fine, but bad comments can hurt a guy.
Guess I'll go back to my usual writes with my slowly dying off fan base for a few praises to brighten my ego for however long this three line poet has left in this field of potholes and hand grenades.

I am a pen
Safe in a warm hand
I can write poetry short stories
Even novels
And I am always put away safely
Ready for the next time.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

I love my little garden Lord
Which you have given me
I thank you for this heaven
Where I can feel so free

I pray each night to give me strength
To sow more wondrous seeds
And for you to bless the birds
Who fly right in to feed

I bless you for my sight and smell
To enjoy the flowers so
And all the bees and butterflies
Who gently come and go

So bless my little garden Lord
It gives me peace and joy
For I have prayed each night to you
Since I was just a boy

Keith Wilson  Windermere. UK.  2017.

It,s  a  lovely  crisp  early  spring  morning.
After  a  sharp  frost.
Clear  blue  sky  has  far
as  the  eye  can  see.
Very  quiet, no  wind  at  all.
The  snow  capped  mountains
stand  proudly  on  the  horizon.
A  few  holiday  makers  arriving.
For  a  brand  new  season.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

Friday is an old day now
Where black and blue skies meet
Where the same people walk -
the same potholed streets
Intrigue in the afternoon breeze
Barbecued meat , perfumed ladies ,
the flowers of Spring , the wild onions of
the field , warm meals
Fridays rolling up the streets
The same old cars , the same urban
scenes* ...

A quarter till two , a distant siren wails ,
up from the bushes a peeping tom bails
A hushed night interrupted -
by a lone owl ,
Tonight a thief is on the prowl
Silence suddenly crushed by screaming air brakes ,
the thunder hides the sound of a rock through a
window pane , the cries of the homes occupants
are in vain , the Southern railway's aided and abetted burglary once again  
Bloodhounds bray till morning light ,
not a trail in sight ,
The quarry has disappeared once again ,
rode the two a.m. to Montgomery like the
howling wind* ...

A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection

I WOKE UP IN HELL

I must've slept a good four hours before I was awoken by a peal of crazy laughter. The other girls had gotten up, and were not at ALL respectful of the fact that I'd arrived only hours ago, and needed a full nights sleep. There were nine of us in that room... the size of a small motel room. And one mirror. One sink. *ONE TOILET. IT WAS INSANE.

The cackle was emanating from a bleached blonde who's face was reminiscent of a Proboscis monkey. "How'm ah gonna bleach mah hayah?! She asked, querrilously. Her drawl was purposely drawn out and irritating. She pulled at the lifeless black & white reverse skunk fur on her head. Then announced that she needed to dye her ***** hair, too! except she put it with such vulgarity I blushed.

"SHUT UP!" Shouted a girl with eyes flared open so wide you could see the whites completely around the irises as black as olives. This female was to become my worst enemy. But right now I seconded her sentiment profoundly. And said so. Her eyes snapped my direction and narrowed. She didn't like me from the jump. Some women are like that. And there is no appeasing them. The other girls I got along with. But not her. NEVER her.

The blonde stormed from the tiny room, shooting me such a poisonous look that I felt the acid spray my face. Cheers went up from several of my roommates. But black-eyes just turned a shoulder as cold as liquid nitrogen.

"Serious. How do we bathe? I asked. The shower was, evidently, broken.

"There's showers by the pool area," replied a pretty, albeit rather pear shaped girl. She was stuffed into a blouse & skirt which appeared 2 sizes too small. "C'mon. I'll show you..."

We left the mildewed room, the lazer beams of black-eye boring into my back...

*I HAD JUST MADE A DANGEROUS ENEMY, WITHOUT KNOWING HOW OR WHY.

We live in a velvet world
Soft. With comfort. Free.
We've seen only kindness here
Love and liberty
Each person here lives without fear
In health and dignity
There are those less fortunate
Who lived in war's debris
They weep and cry... they may die
Why can't we all see?

(chorus)
They are children bound in prison
Captives from their birth
Bound in chains, there lives restrained
By poverty's black curse
They are poor, and they need more!
They also have worth!
Can't you see? They must be FREE

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARTH

There are those out begging
Those who have no food
Those who have not medicine
Long ago approved
Those who drink of water
From muddy lakes & streams
Also used as toilets
Can you not hear their screams?

(chorus)

I don't want to hurt you
Or put you in shame
You're not the ones who did this
Not personally to blame
Just remember that you have the power
To END this wretched game
All children should play in peace

ALL CHILDREN ARE THE SAME!

Imagine there's a world
Where kids can laugh & play
In the warm, soft meadows
With flowers bright & gay
I will fight for their rights

I LIVE TO SEE THAT DAY

We ALL have RIGHTS AND DIGNITY
Fundamental WORTH!
We'll find a way
To help TODAY

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARTH.


SoulSurvivor
3/25/2017