It seems these antihistamines
Are causing reoccurring dreams
For every time I go to bed
The same old scene is in my head
Like the one where all my teeth fall out
As I sit and pluck them out of my mouth
This one causes a lot of strife
For I've had this dream my entire life
So I searched for answers everywhere
And this is what they had to share
The native said it signifies
Remorse I feel from telling lies
Which I guess would be appropriate
I tend to say things I regret
So I went to see a medium
To trace back where this all begun
We tried to get mister Jung
But as the Latin rolled off her tongue
To our surprise
Before our eyes
Stood the spirit of Sigmund Freud
Claiming I need *** to fill the void
A conversation I'd rather avoid
Needless to say we ended the spell
I gave her my paycheck and bid farewell
And as I exited out to the street
I almost hung my head in defeat
But the natives words came back to me
Bringing a sudden epiphany
It occurred to me as I was walking
I really need to just stop talking.
Perhaps I'll be a silent monk
To help me get out of this funk
But that just sounds absurd
I can figure out how this problem incurred
I don't need to see a therapist
Or invoke a psychoanalyst  
I will just continue on my quest
Until I obtain some dreamless rest
I'm sure I can find the connection
By immersing in more self-reflection
So when I go to bed tonight
I'll study my dreams with all my might!!

Arriving in a lonely dark room
In which my misery loom
Unpacking a suitcase of doubt
No windows nor any way out
I take off the coat that protects me
It was made of your laughter and glee
Now I settle atop of this bed
Supported by things that I dread
I took the path that lead me here
For love and joy was all that I fear
I will forever live in a room full of sad
When I ran away from the good that I had

My story is being retold
as if the past has found its grave.
Now I use my words to describe
the feelings I want to convey.
So many things that I never could see,
All the dreams time had stolen away,
finally now have returned back to me,
And with me is where they shall stay.
From a nightmare you have rescued me
Restoring beauty back into my life
Giving new truth to all of the things
I had convinced myself were just lies.
Angels rejoiced when our paths combined.
It can only be defined as spiritual.
A natural essence of a power divine,
What many consider a miracle.
With a symphony led by the Maestro of Heaven,
the soundtrack of my life is found.
You fill my heart with a sweet joyful noise
where once there was no sound.

it's not your fault baby bird
they never taught you how to fly.
you were forced out of the nest
while they watched you fall and die.

The  Canal  stands  out  in
early  morning  splendour.
Freshly  painted  small  boats
Line  up  in  the  early  morning  sun.

Mallards  duck  and  dive
Across  on  the  far  side.
The  white  clad  houses  reflect
In  the  water  in  mirror  fashion.

The  Red  of  the  boathouse  stands
out  against  the  Green  of  the
summer  dressed  trees.

Yes,  sometimes  it's  good
to  be  alive.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

the sad truth is
so many people are in love and
not together

and

so many people are together
and not in love

I said something profound the other day,
So someone asked me, “Are you God?”
Well, strange as it may seem, I might be!

It’s possible, if unlikely, that I’m the Only One;
A Matrix Hero if you like,
That Everything Else is but a figment from my Super Id:
Perish the thought.

Yet I’ve precious little power
In this world around me now.
I’m just as helpless
As in my dreams.

I’m Not the God Religious folk talk of:
Omnipotence does not spring here.
Dare I suggest, though,
That God isn’t all He’s cracked up to be?

I’ve said before, maybe we All are part of God:
His eyes, ears and touch.

But what IS God?
I have to ask.
We each define Him (or Her, or It)
In our own way.

There must be higher powers
Of some sort
And Star Wars has its “Force”.

All things are Relative
And without end
So find your “God”
And make your choice.

Define your God
In any way you can.
But remember
It’s not your belief in God that counts,
It’s your belief in GOOD.

Paul Butters

I never wanted to be everything to everyone.
I just wanted to be something to someone...

The very first thing a poet should do
Is throw that ego in the bin.
For being Great, or finding fame and fortune
Should hardly be your goal.

Just say whatever you have to say
With passionate heart and Voice.
Forget about Perfection
As all is relative:
And simply be Inspired.

Don’t be a slave to rigid forms:
Variety is the key.
Pulsing rhythms may match the heart
But missing beats have clout.

Be respectful to other poets at all times
And always return their praise, where you can.
Never criticise in a negative way:
Always be positive and supportive.

Keep out of inter-poet politics:
Such a waste of time!
Just write and write and write and write:
I simply cannot help it!

Paul Butters