what if
my father's earrings
were golden ?

چه می شد
اگر
گوشواره های پدرم
طلایی باشد؟

fury, winds raged the treetops
threshing branches, approaching brush.
but from a distance, natural destruction,
looked like beauty in the forest.

and this was just a piece.
this is not the whole.

inhale, exhale,
increasing repetitions
repeat, repeat.
decrease and deepen.

pause in awe of the machine you're given
watch the forest faint, beatific ruin.

feel the fibers tear in effort
feel the area inside you swell
this is just a piece
this is not the whole.

process unto another day
with brighter light and seasoned winds
as repeated swells exhale an ending breath
gawk, inhale, hold, process, yawp; repeat.

understand this thing, know it truly
die through effort, repeat, repeat.

beaks with feathered wings swarmed in silence
Persephone cheers with distance, "defy their gravity"
here; pause; absorb the leaded revolution
weigh inside this mockery of death

"this is just a piece,
this is not the whole."

abandon seated distance, chase with fire
the unknown of the unfolding.
ravenously consume  the untouchable time
feed, inhale, pause, process, exhale, deepen

repeat, repeat;
endlessly repeat.
this is just a piece,
this is not the whole.

A  stiff  breeze
blowing  the  cherry  blossoms  away.
Petals  floating  into  space
like  tiny  butterflies.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

We will know no sorrows here..

Dark matter poured taut
in ebon plastic,
elegent, limber, perched on spikes.
Confined in chosen monochrome,
so lithe in gritted temper.

Full fraught on waves of jaw - smoke,
tumble nails from this wretched pelt.
Enscribe my will
on soft , ribbed, levees
Spread and buttered oysters
downed , your earthy spices ground
against my viscid grin.

Now raise the dead in frantic transport
Sound the depths of this cracked voice
Imagining....

We will know no sorrows here.

where the river runs
is a ghost
blue as the sky

i want the beauty
of my mind
to run through
my pen

i want the sky
to cast its shadows
of the shadowy clouds
to where
darkness flows
and the moon,
the arching moon,
grows cold,

love could not be
more beautiful
when i am,
flower of the wind
sea of dark sky
ghost of a river
that runs.

he left
Now
She see more him
than her in mirror

when words have wonder seem to
glow like the dawn over a mountain
a soft hush lush forest growing slow
on the edge of the portrait
and a meadow calls to you
out of the corner of your remembrances
cautious you tread the
path  leading on to not misstep
go beyond the boundaries
of the essence
very soft shoe mocassin
crept
tiptoed holding breath
to see nature's beauty unfold
there right there before
you in all it's glorious
colors smells glory
what stories do you tell
your children young
the myths of a theocracy
or those of the mountain queens and forest kings
the wise brave animals

Always it is so this side of Glory:
Aftertastes linger
Though forgiveness covers us.
We roil sometimes in regret,
Though we are healed.

Grace greater than our foolishness
Surrounds us.
Wisdom grows
Though sadnesses arise;
Caution joins us.

Somewhere along our way
We realize a joy that joins us,
Leads us, cleansed, toward peace.

Journey on, Sisters and Brothers.
We, all of us, have sinned and fallen short.
He is carrying us and making His Kingdom in us.
Never give up.
Look forward to joy.

Walking in the Light,
We sorrow for the scars received in Darkness.
We press on toward the Scarred One
Who calls us Children of the Day....