plumes of mist
kissed with

an electric
charge

grateful son
of grateful souls

who lived and died
a human span

no torch to pass
no punches to pull

when I hide
they come to me

they smile at
my unwillingness

love is no joke
not just another spoke

with no string to pull
fumbling habitually

in tongue and groove
endlessly laid out

to crawl until I walk
until I fly

Drowning in a sea of disappointment
Swept away by the undercurrent
Into the depths of my own hatred
The weight of my heart
Set in stone and cast in steel

Kick me down
Complete submission
I reached for the stars as a last desperate
attempt to be part of the light

But you extinguished the sun
And you swallowed the moon
And by the time that I had finally made it
The stars had all died

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

A  beautiful  laburnum  tree
as  just  come  into  flower
outside  my  window.
Drooping  clusters  of
yellow  flowers.
Hanging  down  like  jewels
on  a  chain.
Truly  beautiful.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Sad  to  hear  of  the  passing
of  Muhammad  ALI.

One  of  the  greatest  boxer's
of  our  time.

Henry  Cooper  knocked  him
down  once.
But  he  was  saved  by  the  bell.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

It's  blistering  hot  here  today.
Not  at  all  like  the  British
Lake  District.
I  have  borrowed  a  fan
from  the  lady  next  door.
To  try  and  cool  off.
I  don't  know  how  long
this  weather  will  last.
Perhaps  it  will  end
In  thunder  storms.


Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

Lucid dreaming is the doorway
        to the unconscious.
So dream.
Do not stay closed
        behind cement barricades
        blocking the moon
        from shining.
Live.
Each second is for you.
The tumbling of life
         does not promise
            anything.
In one breath
you can have
        a time table
        handed to you.
A distinct framework
        of how much
        longer you shall be.
Stay in illusion.
Keep in mind
that very little
is worthy of
being screamed about.
Politics
        and
people games
        are not
         the substance
        of existing.
Picture colourful images
         that flutter
          playfully
            across the
           mental horizon.
A traffic light
      will
       blink
red, yellow, green.
A noise
        will dominate
         the shading sky.
These mean nothing.
Moments of distraction
        soon
         gone away.
Focus on fantasy.
Allow yourself
the freedom to
         celebrate
        the essence
        of harmony.
When you die,
       it will be
         your dreams
         that are
          remembered.
Breathe.
It's just
      a bad day,
      not a bad life.

.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.