I split open
        right down
the center of
   my lit-up blue
                of throat,
gutterally lush
        into deep green
tumbled brush
forest heartwave
zipping straight
between the sloping
landscapes of *******
as the heavens
          take me in,
                temper my
weathered blasts
of tempest
that have thrown me back
unto the wall of ether
Impacting through
the fibers of time and
spatial relativity,
the poisoned burns
along my spinal chord
                   crackle
with the scent of sage
and a
savory-flavored wisdom
of a more enlightened age
Yes, the time
for cleansing has come
and, as electricity
trips off my energetic crown
I can only see hazy
                         ribbons of
                   purple light        
          becoming
       one large
             sea of dreams
                        fully expanded
It is time
for visionquest and
I must make ready,
arms taking in the world
preparing for
silent battle
wordless in whisperings
yet ready to howl
           
I sit back on
my haunches
eyes on lookout
heart alight
in licks of green fire
my weapons hidden
my eyes that of a child
ever soft, pliable
ready for all to happen
and I must gather
my own children 'round
like a she-wolf
surround them with the
            timeless protection
                          of my breath
               as ancient spells
re-alight in the sparks
and a wispiness, like smoke
envelopes my being
By daybreak,  
         my old soul
will align
and dance with
           all the new
        I can
possibly
muster
or even
       think
to  
     bear

Leaning on the grass
like the late September breeze,

she traces as a path,
the pattern pressed into my knees

to where the lines are thickest,
finds my fondest memories,

and softly drops her kisses
like the falling autumn leaves.

Those marble plaques in the cemetery
hold no dead beneath them
yet in the rising mists of winter evenings
when night like loose dark pebbles
fall from the sky
can be heard hooves of trotting horses
from the rows of cold white stones
and on nights favored by moon
is visible cavalry in scarlet serge
with pith helmets and carbine rifles
piercing the terror paused wind
with cries of vengeance
mirthful in washing blood with blood
on the fields of Cawnpore
dissolving into marble white stones
steeped in the peace of moonlight.

There's a face at the window,
an old one I don't know,

I do hope he's not slow
to answer my knock;

It's late in the evening,
it's christmas and freezing,

I think he stopped breathing,
well ain't that my luck.  :0/

Passed  the  lake  last  evening.
It  looked  dark,dank  and  threatening.
In  the  fast  fading  light.
The  moody  mountains  stood  tall.
With  thick  mist  swirling  across.
In  ghostly  fashion.
A  complete  contrast  to  the  summer  view.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

.

If by chance
your prayers be answered
ever, could I trouble you;

whilst your palms
be pressed together
and fair is fortune's mood;

could I trouble you to pray
there some time soon will come a day
your need of prayer is gone away,

without appearing rude?